CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Our sacrifices are a burden grave
When heavy hands hold secrets to their breast
Just one decision can lead to the grave
One all-consuming choice conquers the rest
This legacy yet haunts the world today
The cost so long deferred, but all will pay
—THE BOOK OF UNVEILING
As they raced through the castle, Kyara looked over her shoulder again and again, expecting pursuers, but none appeared. She had rendered virtually everyone unconscious, thanks to the locket. Soldiers would have to be brought from other posts in the city to give chase. The True Father would not let the Shadowfox slip away so easily.
The sun was high in the sky as they ran through the main gates and down the long path leading to the Avenue of Majesty. A shrill wailing tore through the air.
“That’s the alarm,” Kyara said. “We need to hurry.”
They passed through the castle gate unmolested and ran onto the bustling avenue, which was clogged with the usual traffic. Darvyn stumbled on the sidewalk, tripping over his own feet. Kyara shot out a hand to steady him.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“My Song—I’m drained.”
She wasn’t surprised after what she’d heard going on in the tribute room. It was a wonder he was moving at all. Though his physical injuries had healed, his exhaustion was evident. The True Father’s whirling eddy of energies had been dim as well at the end; could the fight have weakened the king?
Still, Darvyn moved forward with determination. Spotting an opening in the flow of traffic, Kyara darted into the street. An angry cyclist ran his thumb across his nose in an offensive gesture as he darted around her.
“Whore’s son,” she cursed. Darvyn snorted.
The West Gate was half a dozen blocks away. But between them and the gate was a problem. Six Golden Flames riding crawlers, three on each side of the street, monitored the passing traffic with eagle eyes. Kyara growled when she noticed Aren was one of them.
She pressed Darvyn back against the window of a shop, hidden under its awning. Since he was drained, the spectacles Aren wore would be of no use in finding someone with a brightly lit Song. But Darvyn couldn’t disguise himself, either. There was no way to get out of the city this way, and each gate would likely be the same.
A low whistling tune rang out amidst the din of the street. Darvyn perked up beside her and whistled an answering melody.
The first whistle sounded again, and Darvyn tilted his head. “This way,” he said, moving down the walkway toward the Flames.
Kyara kept her eyes on the soldiers as she and Darvyn moved with the flow of pedestrian traffic.
“Here,” he said, ducking into an alley. The narrow space dead-ended in a pile of rubbish and what smelled like an overflowing sewer pipe. An enormous bald man stood with his arms crossed and Kyara had never been so glad to be in such a foul-smelling place.
Zango grinned and stepped to the side to reveal Farron behind him. The men hugged, relief spilling from them.
“Did they—” Farron swallowed. “Did they take your Song?”
“No, thankfully Kyara got there in time.” Darvyn smiled, but his eyes were still haunted from his encounter with the True Father. Kyara longed to know what had really happened in the tribute room.
“In time to do what?” Farron’s eyes were wide and round.
She shook her head. “Don’t ask me how I was able to stop the tribute, I don’t know.”
“But you … saw the True Father?”
Darvyn stared at Farron for a moment, before nodding. Kyara grabbed his hand and squeezed. The others regarded them in silence.
Shifting on his feet, Darvyn cleared his throat. “There will be time to recount my meeting with the king later; now we need a plan to get out of here. My Song won’t regenerate fully before nightfall.” He stifled a yawn that no one missed.
“We have to draw them away somehow,” Zango said.
“Where are the others?” Kyara asked.
Farron’s expression hardened. “Aggar forbade anyone else from coming to Darvyn’s aid.”
“He said we weren’t Keepers anymore if we left.” The big man shrugged.
“Thank you,” Kyara said. Both of them had sacrificed much for their friend. She turned to Darvyn, but found his eyes closed, his breathing steady. He was sleeping on his feet.
“If he’s drained, he’ll need sleep,” Zango said. “That’s the best way to get his Song back.”
Kyara nodded. “I’ll draw off the Flames, and you get him through the gate. Let’s meet at the Avinid temple just outside the city.”
Zango’s brows descended. He shot a worried glance at Darvyn, who was sure to veto the plan. If he was awake. Now his face was slack and peaceful. Kyara longed to kiss him one more time. She wanted to tell him everything she felt, but was scared to say. But she would get the chance when they met up again.
Her chest heaved as she backed down the alley. She gave Darvyn one last look before disappearing around the corner, her heart on fire.
The street was even more crowded than minutes before. The Flames were still spread out, checking the backs of wagons and inside rickshaws.
With steps steady and will unshakeable, she approached her former colleagues. She felt it in her marrow when Aren spotted her. His gaze was frost on her soul. They locked eyes for a pregnant moment before she took off running in the opposite direction, away from the West Gate, begging him to give chase.
The strength of the locket made her almost giddy. She left the sidewalk, darting through the middle of the street, dodging carts and bicycles and contraptions.
A horse snorted in her direction, maybe reacting to the swirl of power within her, now begging to be released. She tightened her hold on her Song and hopped onto the opposite curb.
The Golden Flames, unable to use their crawlers due to the traffic, fanned out across the street on foot, giving chase. That should allow Darvyn and the others to get out of Sayya.
Kyara raced toward an intersection where vehicles were stopped, waiting for the traffic changer to flip his sign.
A shot rang out. The woman helming the rickshaw next to her fell, blood spurting from her neck. Kyara twisted around to find Aren, standing on the back of an open wagon twenty paces away, staring down the sight of his rifle at her.
His smile was cruel. He was an excellent shot, so she knew he had missed her on purpose, probably wanting to draw this out. She had no time to mourn the innocent woman, but the Nethersong from her death combined with the power of the locket would make this showdown between her and Aren end very differently.
Kyara walked toward Aren and his rifle, leaning in to his malicious gaze.
“No!” a familiar voice shouted. She turned in horror to find Darvyn barreling down the street toward her, pushing people out of the way. Zango was hot on his heels, with Farron behind.
Kyara met Aren’s gaze across the barrel of the rifle, his finger hovering over the trigger. She quieted her mind and reached for her other sight, filtering through all the energies of the people surrounding her to focus on his.
This would be a death blow, and she needed to make sure she was precise. Even with the locket and all the Nethersong giving her control, she had never dared to use her power amidst a crowd. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake.
Aren shifted, turning to point the rifle at Darvyn.
Kyara wasn’t ready. She focused her Song, preparing to strike.
Aren’s finger squeezed the trigger.
Time slowed.
The shot sounded.
The force of the blast lifted Darvyn off his feet. Nethersong mushroomed inside him.
Kyara broke.
Her leash dissolved and her Song escaped, stronger than ever before. Rabid and keening, it ran wild, rushing out for the Nethersong present in every living thing surrounding her. Somewhere, from high above, she watched, but exerted no control over the beast that had broken out of its cage.
Aren fell, the rifle dropping from his hands like a stone. Darvyn hit the ground, and Zango, and Farron. The man on the sidewalk who’d been carrying a bundle of newsprint crumpled. The woman in the carriage next to her dropped the reins and keeled over. The horse went down. People collapsed in a growing circle around her, spreading out. She watched, helpless to stop it, numbed by the swirling eddy of Nethersong rushing through her.
The circle of her spell expanded even farther. It hit the pub, the buildings, the vehicles. Out one hundred paces, two hundred paces. People and animals fell where they stood.
“Enough,” a voice said sharply, though she wasn’t sure where it came from. She could feel the spell’s connection to her, could sense the Nethersong using her as a conduit. There were no barriers, no ends to her ability. More and more people throughout the city of Sayya fell.
“Enough!” The voice jarred her. A slap across the face brought her back to herself. She seized control of her Song and leashed it.
Two pairs of green eyes stared at her.
Kyara sucked in a breath. She, Raal, and Ydaris were the only people alive as far as she could tell.
Destruction surrounded them. Bicycles and rickshaws had toppled over. Horses caught in their harnesses, carriages flipped. People were sprawled everywhere. Birds littered the ground from where they’d dropped from the sky.
Kyara let out a desperate sob and sank to her knees. Darvyn’s motionless body was just out of reach. Her hand covered her mouth. All feeling drained away.
“You shouldn’t have tried to hide her from us, Ydaris,” Raal was saying. His voice sounded far away, as if he were speaking underwater. “All this could have been avoided if she had been properly trained. So much waste.” He tsked under his breath as her hearing cleared.
“She was my best bargaining chip. You would have done the same.”
“I will leave you to clean this up, then.”
Ydaris made a noise of protest. Then Kyara felt a tug on her arm, pulling her to a standing position. Her brain was a fog as she tried to comprehend what she had done.
“I think she’s in shock,” Raal said.
“Such a delicate little thing. Best take her now. When she comes out of it she won’t be nearly as pliable.”
“Hmm.” He seemed to consider this.
Kyara was jostled, still floating outside of her body. Everything was emptiness. There was no room even for grief.
She heard a rustling, and then Raal’s voice speaking in the language of the blood magic. So similar to the language Murmur and the Cavefolk had spoken. Through the haze of her mind, it took a moment to realize. Her vision swam as her body grew lighter than air. The boulevard faded, and wind rushed her ears.
Recognition set in as she understood the word he’d spoken.
Home.
Ydaris grasped the compass Raal had handed her before he left with the girl. With it, she could finally return to the land of her birth. She had spent decades in this godsforsaken country, scheming and planning her way back. And more than that, a way to return home on top, not at the bottom, not crawling on her hands and knees the way she’d left.
She was not the same child who’d killed her lying, thieving, whoring mother. Nor was she the urchin who had escaped the Physick-run reformatory with a stolen and very powerful amalgam medallion and had hidden in a shipment of silk on its way to Lagrimar.
No, she was the Royal Cantor, second-in-command only to an immortal madman. She had fooled an entire country into believing she was an Earthsinger. And one little Nethersinger was all she needed to return to the good graces of the Physicks. Imagine what she could do outside of this dilapidated desert and in civilization once more.
But first, she had to clean up the mess the girl had made. The sight made her wince. So much power, so little control. It had not been in Ydaris’s best interest to teach the girl to manage her Song properly, though over the years she’d wondered if just a touch more mastery would have proven useful. Still, she had done what she’d needed to, and it had all worked out in the end.
Ten years ago, when she’d first discovered Kyara’s rare gift, Ydaris had approached the Physick who had been infiltrating Lagrimar with his pesky experiments. But Raal had insulted her and hadn’t stayed long enough to hear her out. So she had rethought her plan. A trained Nethersinger, even one as barely competent as Kyara, would give her a stronger bargaining position. So she’d bided her time. Waited until the Physicks were on the cusp of desperation. When Raal returned to the country, she hadn’t allowed his snobbery to affect her. And the deal had been made.
Now she just had one more task to accomplish and she could return to Yaly. She grasped hold of the medallion around her neck and took a deep breath. It would take a great deal of Earthsong to reverse Kyara’s love-addled chaos. Perhaps it would be easier if Ydaris had a true Song as the Lagrimari did, but the medallion she’d stolen mimicked one effectively. It had held up quite well over the years, regardless of the strain the idiot king had put on it.
She whispered the words to activate the medallion and draw Earthsong into it. Another spoken spell released the energy into all the bodies within the range of damage that Kyara had wrought. In the girl’s tantrum, she had pulled the Nethersong out of her victims, allowing the Void to fill them. They weren’t dead, merely on the cusp. An infusion of Earthsong was all they needed to awaken. This was fortunate for Ydaris as a thousand dead bodies would have been quite inconvenient to bury, and she no longer required the Nethersong they would have produced. Though she did expend a regrettable amount of time and energy rousing everyone.
Everyone except Aren. It seemed Kyara did have some level of subconscious control.
The Cantor shrugged. Good riddance. Her job here was done. She opened the compass Raal had given her and whispered the words that would take her home again.
Darvyn rose, rubbing his aching head. He had no idea what had just happened. One minute, he’d been running toward Kyara, the next, he was on the ground, confusion swarming around him.
Dozens of crashed vehicles littered the street, but no one appeared injured. He scanned those around him and found them all perfectly healthy.
Among the oddities he noted: his Song was restored, but not yet at full strength. The sun was considerably lower in the sky than before. A hole marred the front of his tunic, burnt around the edges like a bullet hole, yet he didn’t recall being shot. But most importantly, Kyara was nowhere to be found.
Aren, however, lay dead where he had been standing.
Darvyn hoped the man met every person he’d ever wronged in the World After.
Zango and Farron brushed themselves off beside him. “Where is she?” Farron asked.
Darvyn rubbed his head again. “I don’t know. She was right there.”
Everyone else on the street appeared as discombobulated as he was. He reached out his senses to search for Kyara, though he knew it was useless. He couldn’t feel her even when she was right next to him; there was no way he could find her with his Song.
“Do you think she was captured?” Farron asked.
Darvyn looked around once more. The other Flames who’d been monitoring the street were rousing with the rest of the crowd. “No, I don’t.” But what had become of her? Why would she have left him?
“Maybe something happened and she’ll meet us at the temple like she said.” Farron’s voice was hopeful.
Darvyn didn’t want to contradict his optimism, but he had a bad feeling.
As the Flames began to regroup, Zango clapped him on the shoulder. “You know she can take care of herself, mate. Are you up for a row?” His voice was low, and he eyed the soldiers warily.
With Darvyn’s Song still recovering, he’d rather not get into a fight. Especially not in the open like this.
“Let’s go wait at the temple,” he said.
Zango held his eye and nodded. They disappeared into the turmoil of the crowd.