As the resistance pushed into Golgerra, timid citizens left supplies—food and clothing—outside their homes, then scurried back inside and barred the doors.
Ro suspected the noncombatants were trying to avoid being penalized for not taking part in the conflict, but the provisions helped nonetheless. They paused in the deserted marketplace and washed from the spigot the vendors used. The wonder on Kani’s face both moved and infuriated Rowena. There was so much that those who’d always lived below couldn’t even imagine, conveniences and marvels that they should’ve had access to all along.
Rinsing off the blood of their enemies and getting dressed in clothing left in tribute made everything feel more…real somehow. They weren’t a desperate band of refugees, but people who would carve out space for themselves in this world. Ro straightened her shoulders and stood a little taller, noticing that same pride in the posture of all the resistance soldiers. Kani and Nolen handled the garments they’d been given with reverence, as the fabric was much better quality than anything they’d received in the undercity. Down there, people only encountered the loose tunic and trousers made for prisoners or guard uniforms. Well, except for the clothing they sewed in the workshops but were never allowed to wear.
“Stay focused!” Chantisse called. “There will be time to explore once we’ve deposed the tyrant. Until then, rest and eat. We’ve come so far. Don’t lose sight of our objective now.”
That was addressed to a few soldiers ranging toward the stairs that led to the residential tiers. It wouldn’t do for their force to be split and picked off by Elite ambushes. Chastened, the troops rushed back and everyone settled for a makeshift meal. Slay sat beside Rowena, quiet but watchful. She didn’t entirely trust Lucan’s intel, even if he had seemed terrified of being injected with poisonous mushroom tea.
Now he’s just…dead.
That part didn’t seem entirely real to her. There could be no redemption for her former friend. Certainly, he’d chosen his side and made it clear that he didn’t care about those he’d left behind. Only bitterness lurked in his heart at the end, and now…nothing. Historians never wrote about this aspect of war—about how sometimes all choices felt wrong and even afterward the dying stopped, there was no glory, just finality. Grimly, Ro shuttered those thoughts. There would be time for sorrow and grief later, once they finished this fight.
After the break, they marched on Vega Rising. The streets were mostly deserted; civilians preferred not to face the wrath of the resistance, it seemed, and the tyrant’s forces were occupied keeping Prince Alastor at bay. Or so Rowena thought—until she shifted and took wing. Elation surged through her as she registered the scene. Three tiers up, the last of Tycho’s forces faced the collective might of Prince Alastor’s army. Even before the resistance joined the battle, the hated despot was outnumbered and beyond all hope. With the sharp eyes of a predatory bird, she recognized Prince Alastor, Dedrick, and Dr. Halek, accompanied by several Elites she couldn’t identify. Close at hand, stood one of the tyrant’s most competent officers, a scarred and massive warrior named Chadri. Rowena had encountered the woman more than once when the despot summoned her for his twisted games. But Chadri must have sworn to Alastor when so many changed loyalties outside Hallowell.
Ro circled overhead, once, twice, confirming what she’d witnessed, then she looped back, landing lightly at the head of the procession. Slay had her clothes, but she didn’t bother getting dressed, relaying the information with breathless excitement. Word spread quickly among the ranks, whispers given ear to ear, and a ragged cheer went up from the exhausted resistance fighters. If Rowena was this relieved, she could only imagine how the others felt. They’d been in captivity much longer, had less strength in reserve, so many probably had been marching on fury and determination alone.
Chantisse closed her eyes briefly, whispering a nearly inaudible litany of thanks. “I feared we’d do this alone, but the exiled prince kept his promise. How unlike a Vega.”
“He’s nothing like his brother,” Rowena said.
With a nod of acknowledgement, Chantisse raised her voice. “Gather your resolve and let’s move. The tyrant dies today!”
The tyrant dies today! That sentence became a marching song, energizing everyone. Their footfalls on stone rang out boldly, keeping cadence to the chant. Rowena got dressed quickly and joined the army toward the rear, moving with Kani and Nolen. Slay stayed close, guarding their backs in jaguar form. She didn’t think there were any enemy forces left on this side of the city, but better to be safe than sorry.
The tiers were empty as they marched, desolate as the frozen plains Ro had passed through from Ash Valley to Hallowell. There was no snow here, but her heart thundered in her chest, as each step drew her closer to the final confrontation with her greatest enemy. She walked instead of flew to conserve her energy; if it became necessary, she should have reserves left to shift once more and she planned to make it count.
There were no bells up here, marking time, so Ro had no idea how long it took for them to reach Vega Rising. Outside the palace, the once-pristine piazza outside swarmed with allied forces, and she smiled when Dedrick shouted her name. The big bodyguard shoved through the crowd to get to her with Prince Alastor close behind. They both hugged her without thinking, and she tried not to recoil. But the jaguar standing at her thigh snarled and swiped with a claw, making the other two dart backward.
“You’ve acquired a companion,” Prince Alastor observed with a wry smile. “Not a friendly one, it seems.”
Though she was beyond overjoyed to see her old friends again, she still didn’t enjoy being touched by anyone but Slay. In his usual fashion, he saved her from having to articulate that reluctance. Instead, she ran a hand down the black jaguar’s back. “He’s protective. We’ve been through a lot together.”
Prince Alastor closed his eyes briefly. “I should imagine. I’m so relieved to find you whole. I wanted to—”
“I know,” she cut in. “But I’m pleased more prudent voices prevailed.”
Dedrick grinned. “Let me tell you, it wasn’t easy getting him to see sense. We all took turns sitting on him and promising him we’d set you free as soon as possible.”
“But you didn’t need rescuing at all,” Prince Alastor said. “Instead, it seems you’re leading an army of your own. When all of this is over, I’ll be fascinated to hear all the details, but for now…” He cast a speaking glance at Chantisse and Hettie, standing just beyond her shoulder, waiting for introductions.
“Understood. This is Chantisse, leader of the resistance. Hettie is her second. Slay and I have been acting as field officers.”
“Is that the missing lieutenant from Ash Valley?” For the first time, Prince Alastor demonstrated true astonishment, both brows shooting up.
Dr. Halek joined the group in time to hear the pronouncement and she crouched before the black jaguar, dark eyes softening. “So many people have been searching for you. Did you know Mags went all the way to Kelnora and back, following your trail through Eldritch lands? She never gave up searching, never relinquished hope that we’d find you.”
The big cat rubbed against Dr. Halek, letting out a low cry. He must be so happy to hear that. Tender sadness pierced Ro’s chest at the reminder that Slay had a home to return to and people who cherished him. He probably won’t stay when all this is over. The price seemed quite steep when she considered it properly.
I’ll gain my freedom and lose my love.
Slay should probably shift.
He knew that, but he couldn’t make himself do it. Sheyla Halek was the first familiar face he’d seen in gods knew how long, but he’d been living in this bubble, almost. Before and after. Though it should have, it never occurred to him that his new life would eventually cross paths with the old one. Hell, Sheyla would probably expect him to fucking go back to Ash Valley as soon they wrapped up in Golgerra and—
He didn’t know if he wanted to. Sure, there were obligations waiting for him and old memories, but most of it seemed like it had happened to someone else. And in all honesty, he didn’t like the person he’d been in Ash Valley. Didn’t like looking back on how he’d treated Pru. Yeah, he had excuses, rationalizations about not wanting to hurt his mom, but mostly his behavior added up to failure, failure and cowardice.
I don’t want to be that guy anymore.
Here, he’d fought for a cause with his whole heart, done something that mattered. So he didn’t shift. Anything he said as a cat, Sheyla would understand, even if nobody else did, but he didn’t volunteer any words. She let him be. Maybe she thought he was traumatized from living as a prisoner, the way Eamon had been, but most of Slay’s damage was self-inflicted.
Just then, Prince Alastor accepted a voice amplifier from one of his men. His words rang out, probably audible all over Golgerra. “It’s time to finish this, brother. There is no bolthole left for you. I’ve posted guards loyal to me at all potential exits. Face my challenge now, or your handful of loyal Elite will turn on you, rightfully naming you the craven you are, the craven you have always been.”
Damn. Those are fighting words.
Belatedly Slay realized he didn’t want to see the final confrontation play out as a cat. Quickly he shifted and put on the clothes Rowena was holding for him. Not long after that, the doors to the palace slowly opened, revealing at last the tyrant that the entire free world wanted to decapitate. Tycho Vega should have been a monster in visage, just as he was in spirit, but instead, he was a handsome man with gilded skin, flat green eyes, symmetrical features, and mane of golden hair. His rich, tailored clothing was a tad rumpled, not as much as Slay might’ve expected under the circumstances.
Vega measured his pace as he exited the palace surrounded by his honor guard, descending step by step like he was conveying some great distinction instead of marching to his doom. Maybe he couldn’t see the writing on the wall or he believed his own propaganda, that he was a fucking god, immortal and untouchable.
He’s about to learn otherwise.
Slay was already clocking the number of Elites left by Tycho’s side, and it would be an absolute massacre if the challenge angle didn’t work out. Between Prince Alastor’s people and the resistance fighters, this bastard had no chance, none at all. He’d spent all his resources and lost. In the end, he’d only wind up as a footnote to narcissism and failure.
“A personal challenge? From you?” The tyrant threw his head back and laughed, megalomaniacally unconcerned despite overwhelming evidence that he was living out the final moments of his pathetic existence.
Knowing this bastard had hurt Ro enough to leave her permanently skittish made Slay want to rush him—to choke the life out of Vega slowly and watch the light leave his eyes. But it wasn’t his place to snap this bastard’s neck. No, he had to contain his rage and let this play out. I’m an extra in this scene, not a key player. But he’d pay close attention, and if this asshole even glanced sideways at Rowena, Slay would be on him like a shark scenting blood in the water.
“Bravado,” said Prince Alastor in a glacial tone. “You never believed I could come this far. Consistently, for my entire life, you underestimated me. You also didn’t see the threat lurking within your own walls. Those you’ve harmed most grievously have risen against you. Look around at your mighty empire, brother. There’s nothing left.”
“I will start again,” Tycho snarled. “When I have disposed of you.”
For some reason, Prince Alastor smiled. “Did you forget? It is within my rights to choose a champion.”
“I volunteer.” Rowena’s voice rang out clear and true; she stepped forward then so there could be no doubting her intentions.
Slay’s heart leaped into his throat. Hell no, he didn’t want her to do this—there was no telling what harm might come to her and she couldn’t heal like an Animari either. With great effort, he choked back his instinctive protest. She wouldn’t thank him for interfering.
The tyrant made a scoffing sound. “I should have known you wouldn’t face me personally. You’re weak. Defective. Inferior stock, brother. That’s why Father said you weren’t even worth killing.”
Shit. Even Slay flinched from those words. The Vega family dynamics were deeply and profoundly fucked up.
“He’s a far better man than you,” Sheyla snapped. “And illness isn’t weakness.”
Prince Alastor quieted her with a gesture, addressing his brother in a grave tone. “That’s why you slew our siblings instead. Efren. Caia. Leander. So much blood on your hands. Do they whisper to you? It must be so difficult to sleep. I’d think their unhappy spirits must linger—”
“Shut up!” Tycho shouted, the first sign he’d given that he had a breaking point. Now his bottle-green gaze glinted with madness and cruelty.
Slay glanced at Rowena, checking on how she was taking this. But her face was serene and set, as if she’d passed beyond being moved by Vega’s outbursts. Some part of him was relieved, but also troubled; he hated that she needed such impenetrable defensive walls.
The madman turned to his few remaining followers. “Who will stand as my champion?”
Not a single voice spoke up. Instead, eyes swung away from Tycho Vega, gazing at the floor, into the crowd. Slay smothered a chuckle because this was just too fucking satisfying. Hell, not even his own people wanted to fight for this asshole anymore.
Vega slammed a fist into his palm. “Then I will dispatch the enemy myself and afterward, you’ll all suffer for your insolence and disloyalty.”
Does he really believe that? Or is it that he can’t cop to his own bullshit even at the end?
Soon, they cleared a space in the piazza with everyone present standing witness. Slay trusted Rowena—he did—she’d never start a fight she wasn’t sure she could win but fear still tightened his chest as she and Tycho shifted. He’d seen Ro change before, but Vega was monstrous, a dark golden beast like a creature of a storybook, a demon and a dragon combined, bipedal and horrific, with lashing tendrils streaming from his immense head.
On the ground, Ro wouldn’t fare well. But he should’ve believed in her, trusted that she had a plan. She went airborne instantly while Tycho cursed her in base Gol. At least, Slay guessed that was what the sounds meant. Ro feinted and dove, making Vega spin until he was dizzy with lashing out, and when he faltered, she struck, digging her rear claws in deep. And with her usual grace, she soared aloft, up, up, up, and when their struggling bodies became hard for Slay to see, she let Vega go. The tyrant plummeted, his body impaled on the spiked adornment that framed the piazza. Ro landed and shifted, stalking like an avenging fury toward her dying foe.
“Did you think I’d fight honorably?” she whispered as blood bubbled from Vega’s mouth, his breaths coming in desperate, wet gurgles. “Allow you a fair chance at victory?”
Slay suspected only the Animari among the crowd could hear her next words. “Why would I? When you’ve never displayed a shred of it. For what you did to me, you were mine to kill. Did you imagine I came back by coincidence? How would they have captured me if I hadn’t allowed it? I fight from the air.” Ro laughed with chill mockery. “I returned to destroy you, devil. And I hope the family you murdered is waiting for you on the other side.”
Utterly broken, the tyrant breathed his last.
And Golgerra rejoiced.