Ice encased Dracon. Or, it would be more accurate to say ice encased the walls surrounding the dark kingdom. The black gates rose before the Belaen army, spanning the length of the pass between two mountains. Fog swirled through the valley as Etta nudged Vérité forward. The cobbled-together army of Bela waited behind her.
They’d never been in battle. For most of their lives, they hadn’t even been able to use their magic. Now, she was asking them to wield it like a weapon.
Etta let her hand drift to the sword hanging at her waist, getting more comfort from that than the power in her blood. She’d spent more of her life practicing with sword or pole than with magic. It would always center her. The weight of the blade. The memories of it slicing through her enemies.
“How are we supposed to get past those?” Tyson asked, gesturing to the gates.
Edmund met Etta’s eyes. “We’re not.”
“Oh.”
Etta jerked Vérité around and faced her people without a word. A crown sat atop her head, but it didn’t belong to her, and it was time the true crown returned to Bela.
“Make camp,” she ordered brusquely before sliding down from Vérité’s back.
Landon approached tentatively.
“General,” Etta acknowledged with barely a nod.
“Your Majesty.” He lowered his head.
“Have your men prepare a watch.”
“I’m a little unsure of this battle plan. In Madra, we believe in striking first. He who catches the others unawares will win the day.”
Etta studied the older man. He’d seen many battles from what she’d been told. The Madran forces told her people tales of their kingdom’s constant wars. But he’d never faced magic.
“Tell me, general, do you truly think La Dame doesn’t already know we’re here? That she hasn’t known we’ve been coming since the day we left Bela?”
His brow furrowed, deepening the lines on his face.
“I didn’t think so.” Her eyes drifted back toward the gates. “No. We will wait. She will let us enter through this very gate.”
His jaw clenched. “And it will surely be a trap.”
“Well, I am the queen. I will decide which traps we fall into.”
“You’re insane.”
“Probably, but I also understand what she wants and I plan to give it to her.”
“What does she want?”
“Me.”
Someone tried to take Vérité away to feed him. “I’ll take care of him,” Etta snapped.
“But, your Majesty, that’s what I’m here for,” a young boy stammered.
“I said I’d handle him.”
The boy ran off. She didn’t like to be away from Vérité on a night such as this. It might very well be her final night.
She didn’t need to take Vérité’s reins. He followed her through the mess of people setting up tents and stoking fires. There was no point in trying to hide their presence.
Once Vérité finished grazing, she left him near her tent. Edmund fell into step beside her and she wondered how long he’d been following her.
“I don’t like the silence coming from the wall,” he said. “There should be lines of archers atop them. I still don’t like your plan. She may not do as we anticipated?”
“No, Edmund, La Dame has a fatal flaw.”
Behind those walls should be an army of Madran mercenaries, every Draconian with magic, and the most powerful sorcerer in the world.
Etta didn’t expect they’d beat a full army, but they didn’t need to. Everything had been orchestrated to get her close to La Dame to end this once and for all.
La Dame’s fatal flaw? She would sacrifice every person in Dracon for a chance at her revenge. Killing Etta would mean ending the direct line of the Belaen king, the very source of the Basile power. If she took Tyson and Matteo out as well, the entire Basile line would be no more.
Her single-mindedness in her desires made her predictable. Or, at least Etta hoped it did.
The other possibility was as Esme said—that La Dame wanted Etta and her power to stand beside her.
She wasn’t sure which was more worrisome.
She entered the command tent to find Ara, Tyson, and Landon in a heated debate.
“The Madrans are the most skilled fighters here,” Landon claimed. “We will not be pushed aside.”
“But you don’t have magic,” Tyson argued. “That makes you vulnerable.”
Ara’s mind had gone in a different direction. “I’ll challenge your best fighter and then we’ll see who the most skilled is.”
“Enough,” Matteo snapped, his eyes finding Etta. “We will stick to the original battle plan.”
“I don’t like it,” Landon grumbled.
Etta sat in an empty chair and leaned toward him. “No one said you have to like it. Look, my goal is to get to La Dame, but I will not sacrifice everyone else to do it. We stick with the original formation. Landon, you will position your men among mine. My most powerful magic wielders will take up their positions in an outside ring. I’m sorry, but if we face the Draconians right away, and without magic, we will be rendered useless.”
Landon crossed his arms over his chest but leaned back and nodded. He’d been trained to take orders. Ara and Tyson had not.
“Ara,” Etta began, preparing herself for an imminent argument. “I need you to remain with the small force I’m leaving outside the gates.”
“You can’t be serious.” Ara scowled. “You need me.”
“I do,” Etta agreed. “But think with your magic right now, not your sword. We don’t know what La Dame has in store for us and I need you to find somewhere where you can watch for any surprises to warn us.”
Ara sagged back in defeat. “That’s…” She sighed. “A good idea.”
“I know.” Etta turned to the rest of her most trusted people. “I…” She stopped, fiddling with the end of her braid. Her fingers inched up and she removed the false crown. She wouldn’t enter Dracon wearing it.
“You don’t have to give us the speech, Etta,” Tyson said. “We all understand the stakes.”
“She probably wouldn’t be good at the death speech, anyway.” Edmund laughed, and it sounded wrong in the tense atmosphere.
“Death speech?” Matteo raised an eyebrow, but the fond look he gave Edmund spoke of hidden depths.
“Yeah. She’d say something awkward like ‘we probably won’t all make it out of this’. Then there’d be silence because she never knows any comforting words to say and we’d all leave with the singular thought that we were probably going to die because the speech had never moved past that point.”
“You would speak to your queen this way?” Landon asked. Etta almost laughed at him. His defense of her was admirable, but he didn’t understand Edmund.
So instead, she fixed Edmund with an unblinking stare. He met her eyes.
“You’re an ass,” she said finally. “I’m not that bad at speeches.”
He draped an arm over her shoulder. “Trust me, I just saved us all. When you speak to the army in the morning, make sure you leave out the doom and gloom we love you for.”
She scowled, and he laughed. How did he take everything so lightly? She envied that about him.
“You have a bit of an emotional streak,” he went on.
Etta pushed him away. She’d never told anyone other than Alex how the Basile power tore her up on the inside, infusing anger into every thought and action. If she did, they wouldn’t fear her, but they’d fear for her. They’d try to prevent her from everything she’d planned.
She’d spent so much effort learning to gain control over the magic, but that wasn’t how she’d beat La Dame. She’d win by ceding her will. By giving in. By letting it overpower her and unleashing its wrath.
But none of them knew that. They might be going into battle against the Draconian forces, but when the real war began, she’d be utterly alone.
She left them in search of her own tent. A bedroll sat inside and not much else. Bela didn’t have a lot of the luxuries of Gaule so even the queen must make do. She didn’t mind though.
She left behind the emptiness of her tent and found Vérité outside. As she closed her eyes, she ran a hand along his soft mane. “Remember when it was just you and me, boy?”
He snorted as if he too recalled the wide-open forests and their time riding among the flowers. The only power she’d had then was magic that made plants grow.
“Would you go back?” she asked, leaning into him. “Me either. They’ve always needed a queen, needed a kingdom.” Back then, Bela had been an empty land, the idea of a thriving kingdom that only existed in the minds of magic folk hiding in Gaule. “We may not make it out of there. Dammit! Stupid Edmund.” His words ran through her mind. A death speech. She would not give a death speech.
Vérité nudged her as if agreeing with her assessment of Edmund. For the first time all night, Etta grinned. “You’ve always known he was an idiot, haven’t you?”
She sat down and Vérité lowered himself beside her. “I’m going to need a miracle, Vérité. Are you ready to be a hero?” She wouldn’t be there without the horse. He’d gotten her out of more than a few situations.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she asked. “I told Alex we wouldn’t need them, but I wish I had him by my side.”
He bared his teeth, and she laughed.
“You have no reason not to like him, you stubborn beast.”
Another voice broke through Etta’s one-sided conversation. “I used to think that was really weird.”
Tyson sat on the other side of Vérité and stroked his back.
“Used to?” Etta asked.
“Yeah, now I understand you two.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve never seen anyone with a relationship like yours. Vérité is your soul mate.”
He said it so simply, but it wasn’t simple at all. From the time she’d found the wild horse in the woods, there’d been a connection between them. He’d started following her and soon she’d attempted to ride him. Nothing had ever been so right as that first time she sat high on his back.
“Alex—”
“Is special to you,” Tyson cut her off. “But that doesn’t mean he has to be your soul mate. Most people fall in love, but few ever really find the one being who is so attuned to them it’s like they’re one person.”
“How did you learn about this stuff?”
Tyson shrugged. “Amalie.” His eyes pinched in sadness.
Etta reached across Vérité–her soul mate–and gripped her brother’s hand. “I’m glad you’re my brother.”
She’d hated her father when she found out. Hated that it tarnished the memory of her mother. But she’d come to accept that some things couldn’t be held on to.
Tyson grinned, flashing his teeth. “I love you, Etta. And Vérité. I love him too.”
Before she responded, the massive gates shuddered and began to drift apart, turning outward as they did.
Etta jumped to her feet and started running toward the gates with Tyson following her. She stopped at the edge of camp to watch them open fully.
La Dame had set her trap.
Etta raised her eyes to the full moon hanging overhead and shook her head. “We aren’t going in while it’s still dark.” She turned to Edmund. “I want a watch on guard until the sun rises. If anything comes out of those gates–even the tiniest bit of magic, I hear about it.” To Landon, she said, “We need to rouse the camp. No eye closes while we sit at the mouth of Dracon.” He issued a sharp nod and left to wake his men. Ara went to prepare the Belaens.
Etta returned to her tent to don the armor that had been put there. She’d left her mail shirt behind, opting for the lighter leather armor she’d always worn when practicing with her father in the woods.
She didn’t expect to need protection against swords as much as magic so the agility the leather gave her would prove a better defense.
Her armor firmly in place, she hooked the sword belt around her waist. After strapping a sheath to her leg, she slid a thin knife into it.
Edmund pushed the tent flap aside and stepped in. “The watch is set.”
She nodded, her eyes sliding over his shining armor.
He stepped toward her, reaching around to pull the tight braid over her shoulder. “In Bela, we learned of your likeness to Queen Aurora, but we’ve both heard the stories of Rapunzel. Now that we know there is Draconian blood in your veins as well as Belaen blood, we have answers to all the questions we’ve been asking. It’s funny, your father gave you all the answers you needed when he named you Persinette.”
“The Draconian word for Rapunzel,” she said softly. “How long have you known?”
“Esme told me about the translation and then I saw you heal Alex. That’s how Draconian blood entered the Basile line. King Philip didn’t kidnap her. She went willingly. She must have fallen in love with Phillip and Aurora’s son—the first man to fall under the curse.”
She ran a hand down her braid, stopping at the ribbon tying it together. She pulled it free, and it fluttered to the ground as Etta—Persinette untwisted her hair and let the waves fall down her back.
Edmund gave her an approving nod. “Use this. Let La Dame see who’s coming for her.”
“Yes.” Etta nodded. “She’s going to regret the day she raised her magic against my kingdom.”
When the dawn came, the Belaens mounted their horses and Etta rode to the front. Esme waited for her. The Draconian healer was the only person they had who knew her way around La Dame’s fortress under the mountain and Etta had a crown to find. Esme would lead her straight to La Dame. Etta had never been more sure of anything.
Edmund sat on her other side. “No death speech,” he muttered.
This time, she grinned and raised her voice. “We are doing exactly what La Dame wants us to do. And she knows we will. It’s a circle and we will go round and round guessing what the other will do. OR we end it. They are waiting for us. They are hidden, hoping to surprise us. But we are Belaens. We have spent generations being hunted and persecuted. Decades denied our rightful kingdom. La Dame destroyed Bela once, but we are stronger than our ancestors because we’ve had to be.”
She stopped speaking and nodded to Ara who put her hand to her throat. Silken, spine-chilling words settled over them. “We’re coming for you.”
Etta wanted the Draconians to fear them. She nodded again.
“Are you ready?” Ara asked quietly, sending her words across the land.
Etta nudged Vérité forward, knowing her people would follow her every move. Her hawk-like eyes scanned the gates as she passed between them.
The town that lay on the other side had been carved into the very side of the mountain. Flat stone rooflines extended far into the mountains. They rode through what looked like a marketplace, but empty streets greeted them.
No archers lined the roofs. No magic men appeared in the doors or windows, waiting for them to approach.
The farther in they walked, the more Etta expected attackers to descend on them.
“Where are they?” Tyson asked.
It was a miscalculation. Etta had been so sure of the trap La Dame would set. Roads stretched before them like spokes of a wheel, leading up into the mountains.
“The one on the left leads to the palace,” Esme said.
Etta clenched her teeth, her magic wanting to lash out at the woman.
A crash sounded behind them as the gates shut abruptly, then silence.
Then she heard it, the rumble of hooves on stone.
“Form up,” she screamed.
Landon and Edmund both started barking orders as they prepared for the onslaught. The first riders appeared. One man held his sword aloft and stood on the back of a galloping horse.
“It’s the mercenaries,” Landon said.
“Not the Draconians.” Edmund shot her a sharp look.
“They’re sacrifices.” The horror struck Etta. “They just don’t know it. They’re a distraction.” Why else would she send the mercenaries against magic folk to start the battle?
“Esme,” Etta yelled. “We need to get to that palace.”
The mercenaries met them in a clash of swords. Landon led his force against their own countrymen while the Belaens fended them off with their magic.
Etta jerked Vérité’s reins. Mercenaries continued to pour down every road, save one. La Dame was calling Etta to her.
With one swift kick, Vérité cantered away from the battle ensuing alongside with Esme and her horse beside them.
The mountain drew closer, its black face serving as the front of the palace. “No guards?”
“Does La Dame need them?” Esme asked.
“Good point.”
The doors stood open in invitation and Etta slid down from Vérité’s back. “She’s in there.” She turned to the healer. “Where would the crown be held?”
“She has a treasure room.”
Setting foot into the palace was like taking a walk in the darkness of La Dame’s soul. Pillars of black onyx lined a grand entryway. Etta strode across the dark marble floor, a tiny gasp escaping her when she reached the painting at the end of the entryway. It was the same woman she’d seen in the palace of Bela and thought Aurora. But now she knew for certain she was looking into the face of someone else. “Rapunzel.”
Had the man in the painting in Bela not been King Philip at all? Maybe his son?
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Etta asked Esme. “She looks like me. I…”
“I thought you knew.”
Etta backed away from the painting, shaking her head. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the woman with her crystal eyes and golden hair. She tried to breathe as her magic slid within her, cutting off any air. She clutched at her throat and she bent over. Control. Control. She forced out a breath and sucked in harshly, pushed the power down. Her throat loosened, but the rage remained.
She was going to raze this place to the ground.
“Take me to my crown,” she bit out, knowing with sudden clarity wherever that crown lay, La Dame would appear as well.
Esme yanked on her arm and pulled her away from the painting to drag her down a long hall and around the corner. A stairwell of dark stone descended into the earth. Damp air greeted them as they took the steps slowly.
Torches hung along the walls, illuminating a massive cavern under the palace. Etta barely took in her surroundings before finding what she was looking for.
Each detail—down to the row of gems at the base—was so utterly familiar.
“Why did she keep it, Esme?” Etta whispered. The cavernous room demanded hushed tones of respect.
Glass cases on silver pedestals held La Dame’s most prized possessions, but only one called to Etta. She yearned to fold her fingers around it and rest it against her hair. Hair she’d thought a remnant of Aurora’s part in the Basile bloodline. Now she knew better.
“Because it belonged to her daughter,” a familiar voice said, the sound of her boots on stone echoing off the arched ceilings.
Esme’s eyes widened and Etta knew exactly what she’d see when she turned around. Maiya walked across the far end of the room and stopped.
The shock of seeing her old friend again—the girl who’d betrayed her—made Etta struggle to recall what she’d said. When she finally did, it all made sense. She’d had the thought in the back of her mind ever since she’d learned of her Draconian healing powers.
Maiya moved forward again. “Hello, mother.”
Etta looked between them as Esme shot Maiya a warning glance. “You led me here,” Etta accused the older woman.
“Just as you asked me to.”
Etta clenched her jaw and glanced back at the crown. “I did. Everything we’ve done has brought us to this moment.”
Maiya continued closing the distance between them. Her eyes flicked to her mother, and she frowned. In that moment, Etta knew her suspicions had been right. It had been too easy. Nothing in life was coincidental. Esme had betrayed La Dame just when they needed a healer.
Because La Dame hadn’t wanted her to realize her new powers included the Draconian ones.
She’d been right about her.
“She’s been manipulating everything.” Etta spoke to herself and for a moment, she would have sworn regret flashed through Maiya’s eyes.
“Why are you here?” she asked Maiya.
Esme moved behind her daughter and put a hand on each of her shoulders.
Uncertainty crossed the younger girl’s face.
“Etta,” Esme said. “Come here.”
Etta lurched forward as Esme’s magic took hold but she held herself back.
“Persinette Basile,” the woman boomed. “Obey.”
“No,” Etta growled through her resistance.
Esme’s eyes narrowed. “Rapunzel.”
“I. Am. Not. Rapunzel!” Power burst out of Etta in a flash of light. It was too fast for her to control. Esme and Maiya flew into the air as if they weighed nothing at all. They didn’t crash to the ground, instead they hung, suspended midair, unconscious.
A slow clap seemed to come from every direction at once. Etta whipped her head around looking for the source, finally finding La Dame bathed in shadows. Had she been there the whole time? She snapped her fingers and light pushed the darkness away.
It was a face Etta had seen in her dreams, haunting her every thought.
La Dame waved a hand and the two unconscious women dropped to the ground. A cry lodged in Etta’s throat as she saw Maiya’s head loll to the side.
“Interesting,” La Dame said.
Magic raged through Etta, knowing its target. She breathed heavily. “Another sacrifice.” Just like the mercenary forces who’d been sent against the magic folk of Bela. A distraction.
“Hmmm.” La Dame tapped her chin. “Sacrifice is an interesting word. It implies the girl was valuable to me. My dear Persinette, the only person of value to me is you.”
She walked forward, her long silver dress dragging behind her. Etta backed away. “I’m nothing to you.”
A smirk spread across La Dame’s face. “Phillip said the same thing, but he was wrong. He was everything to me. I wanted to destroy him for stealing my darling Rapunzel.”
“But he didn’t steal her, did he?” Etta didn’t know where the courage came from but the power swirled through her chest. “She went with him to escape you.”
“No,” La Dame roared.
“Rapunzel healed Aurora, woke her, and then chose not to return.” Etta pulled her knife free and sliced it across her own forearm before La Dame could stop her. “She married their son. That’s how I got this.” She raised her arm and sent a bolt of warmth along her skin, watching as the wound closed before her eyes. After wiping the blood off on her pants, she raised her eyes once more. La Dame had moved beside Maiya.
“So young. So beautiful. She’s not here as my sacrifice, Persinette.” Dark eyes met hers. “She’s yours.”
“No!” Etta forced her magic to shoot straight for La Dame’s heart.
The sorceress waved the power away.
Etta pulled her sword from the scabbard at her waist. Instinct. Everything her father had taught her. Fight first. Think second. No time for hesitation. She lunged forward into a sprint and jumped toward the raven-haired sorcerer, twisting her sword arm to bring it down at an angle. La Dame pushed a hand out in front of her, sending Etta sailing backward. She rolled as she landed and popped back up.
La Dame raised one brow. “I see Viktor’s influence in you.”
Etta ground her teeth. “Do not speak of my father. You knew nothing of him.”
“My dear, I fear it is you who are gloriously misinformed. Viktor was a dear friend.”
“You lie.”
“Well, we all have our opinions, don’t we? It saddened me to hear of his untimely demise.”
Etta lurched forward, flinging her knife with every bit of strength she possessed.
La Dame laughed as it clattered to the ground. “So very Basile of you. Viktor always thought of conventional weapons before his magic as well. Though, he didn’t possess the great Basile powers.” She cocked her head mockingly. “You can’t control them, can you?”
A crunch snapped her attention to Esme and Maiya who were stirring. Maiya scrambled out of the way, her doe eyes huge. Etta tried not to pity the scared girl who’d been dragged into her parents scheming, and for a moment it worked. Her magic found its target, and a flame rose, spreading toward the two women Etta once counted as friends.
Maiya screamed as the fire engulfed her mother’s body and Etta felt nothing at all. She no longer had to direct the magic, it took control on its own.
La Dame’s laughter slammed into Etta and it was only then she realized what she was doing. The flames extinguished immediately and Esme coughed.
“Yes,” La Dame said, standing still among the shadows. She smoothed her hands calmly down over her black dress before settling her blazing eyes on Etta. “Good, Persinette. Give in to the darkness.”
White-hot fury raced through Etta and it took everything she had to control the power it brought with it.
“You can sense it.” La Dame grinned. “I know you can. The emotion. It feels good.”
Magic expelled from every part of Etta, twisting around the room. Every glass case shattered at once, the shards lifting into the air.
Etta pointed them at La Dame and flicked her hand. They sped through the room, dropping with a clatter before reaching their intended target. One made it farther, scraping against La Dame’s cheek before falling. She wiped at the tiny trickle of blood in surprise.
Etta’s chest expanded rapidly. La Dame was right. She felt the power, and the intensity was exhilarating.
Fire raged in Etta’s eyes.
“Feed it, Persinette. Let it take you over.”
“I-I can’t.” Etta stumbled back. “No.”
“You came to me for a reason. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time. Your father thought he could thwart me by marrying a woman with no power. He thought that would keep the curse at bay. But I own you. I’ve always owned you.”
La Dame threw a force at her that sucked the air from her lungs. Her knees buckled and slammed into the stone floor beneath her. Anger. Hatred. It was all she had. All that had existed since the curse no longer filled her.
Blackness clouded her vision as a scream rose up around her. It sounded like her, but she was so very far away.
“Yes!” La Dame laughed.
“Etta, no!” Maiya yelled. She was cut off abruptly as La Dame forced her back against the wall.
Etta sent wave after wave of power toward La Dame and she fought each of them off easily. With every moment, the magic took more control. Etta faded into the background and Persinette was relentless.
Her golden hair glowed and whipped around her shoulders. When her blazing eyes met La Dame’s, she sensed approval, respect even.
“This is what you’ve wanted,” La Dame said. “Ever since the day these powers invaded your heart. They are who you are, who you’re supposed to be. My Rapunzel.”
“Rapunzel,” Etta whispered, the name sounded wrong. She wasn’t Rapunzel. Rapunzel had been courageous. She’d given up everything to escape this life. She’d never ceded control. No, Etta wasn’t her. She was weak. The darkness crumbled everything beneath her until her feet no longer stood on solid ground.
She thrust her fist against the floor. Tiny shards of glass embedded themselves in her skin. She hit it again. The blood trickled between her fingers. On the third time, the ground rumbled as if she called her magic from the depths of the earth. The mountain that housed the palace shook. Pillars of stone fell around them.
“More,” La Dame yelled. “Release it all.”
Maiya screamed as she dodged falling stone, her dark curls coated in raining debris. “Etta, you’re going to bury us.”
She didn’t care. All that mattered was tearing it down. Holes punched into her soul and she screamed as if it was ripping her apart. Her body couldn’t hold it. The magic must be released. She raised up on her hands and knees as someone else ran into the room. “Etta!” Tyson yelled.
“No.” She shook her head, unable to see anything but darkness. “No!”
“Etta stop,” Maiya pleaded. “She’s trying to drain your magic. To make the Basile power leave you! If you use too much of it, you won’t get it back.”
Tyson acted quickly, sending a tunnel of water straight for her, but La Dame blocked it. The force of his halted magic threw Tyson into Maiya and they crumpled to the ground.
La Dame laughed as Etta’s power built. The dark queen jumped away from falling stone. “Come to me, Rapunzel. Together, we can hold the world.”
She held out a hand.
Etta stood slowly and stepped forward. “I am not Rapunzel,” she gritted out, forcing breath into her lungs. Her feet moved as if stuck in quicksand as it pulled her down, trying to take the words before she could say them. “I am not yours. My father was Viktor Basile. I am the rightful Belaen queen. You will not control me.” La Dame brought up her hands to ward off Etta’s magic with her own, but it was no use. The burst of light broke through her shield, striking La Dame in the center of her chest.
She stumbled back but remained upright. Etta advanced, her power begging to test itself against La Dame’s again.
The Basile magic and La Dame’s existed to balance each other. To make sure each always had an equal, an opponent. It was never meant to be on the same side.
The hatred that burned through Etta was strongest when staring into the eyes of her greatest enemy—the woman who’d destroyed her kingdom, her family.
“No more,” Etta said, mostly to herself. Power twisted in the palms of her hands as she raised them in the air. It writhed and fought for supremacy, matching the darkness in her eyes.
She didn’t notice Tyson and Maiya dragging Esme out of the way as her eyes were solely focused on her opponent who was now finding it hard to breathe. La Dame clutched at her throat, trying to break the magic.
But she couldn’t. She knew it the moment Etta lifted her into the air. She’d pushed her too far, past the point of conversation, past the road that led to redemption.
The ancient Basile power that had seen kingdoms rise and fall and lain dormant for generations gathered within Etta’s heart, pulling in all its strength.
She threw La Dame back against the wall with so much force, the mountain shook once more. Her lip curled up, and she hardened her eyes as the magic detonated like a bomb inside of her, ripping her soul to shreds before slamming into La Dame. It curled with her own power before light burst from her every orifice.
La Dame dropped to the ground, her face twisted in pain, and her body charred almost beyond recognition.
Power blasted from La Dame, latching onto Etta’s. She wouldn’t let it go.
Etta stared at her, the rage continuing to burn. She wanted to hurt them all. The ones who betrayed her. The ones who fought for La Dame. They would pay.
“Etta,” Tyson called.
She turned. Her brother stood next to Maiya and a now upright Esme. Their ending would come with one flick of her hand. The desire to see their pain pierced what was left of her heart and she ran towards them. They didn’t deserve her magic. She picked up her sword on the way and lunged, expecting blade to meet flesh.
Steel flashed in front of her face as Tyson blocked her thrust.
“Etta,” he said. “Stop.”
“You don’t give me orders,” she growled as she lunged for Maiya again. Maiya jumped away and metal clanged against metal as Tyson blocked her once again.
“This isn’t you,” he yelled. “Fight it. Fight the magic.”
“The magic is me.” Her voice shook with crazed intensity. “I am the Basile heir.”
“Please.” His eyes flicked between her and what remained of La Dame. “We need you, Etta. We’re losing out there.”
“Etta,” a voice sounded around her. Ara. “There’s another force moving in from the South. We can’t hold our position here. Get us inside those walls.”
Some sense of purpose returned to her. Maiya’s fate had to wait. Sword in hand, she took off running. Along the palace halls, tables lay on end, chairs were strewn about, paintings had fallen from walls.
Everything was a blur as she tried to find her way. The past melted away until all that existed was the power. Where was she? Who was she? The magic took hold of the beat of her heart, her every breath. Pain sliced through her chest, the power tearing her up from the inside.
She couldn’t stop.
It wanted to ravage.
Blackness swam before her eyes but she pushed on.
Outside those walls were people who deserved its wrath. They’d followed the woman who tried to keep the power from its rightful owner.
She paused at the entrance to the palace. The onyx pillars that had been so ominous before, now leaned, doing their best to hold up a falling roof. The earth shook again with the tremors of what her magic had done.
Wood cracked and her eyes snapped to the source. The portrait of Rapunzel had fallen from its place of honor, its cherry red frame broken. The woman in the painting stared at Etta through her own eyes.
“Rapunzel,” Etta breathed, only slightly aware of Tyson’s approach. Her father thought he was so clever, using a different language to name her for the first woman who defied La Dame—her own daughter.
Persinette was the last. The final. La Dame was no more. At that thought, Etta’s power leaped inside of her and she turned her back on the girl they all wanted her to be.
She might have had the golden hair and the defiant eyes, but she was no Rapunzel.
Outside the palace, chaos reigned. The battle had closed in on them. Madrans faced off against mercenaries from their own kingdom. Belaen sorcerers fought those from Dracon. None of them knew La Dame was gone. She’d disappeared from this land without everything breaking apart and Etta had never felt more powerful because of it.
Before, her power had only been part of a whole, but the magic she’d taken from La Dame made it complete.
“Etta,” Tyson said. “We need to get to the gatehouse.” He pointed down the road that would lead to the structure containing the mechanism that opened the large gate. Etta shook her head. How did he expect her to follow him when there were so many enemies to be dealt with here?
She balled up her fist, letting the magic pool together before throwing it forward. Draconians, Belaens, and Madrans alike flew through the sky, blasted apart, leaving behind a gaping hole in the earth.
One side of Etta’s mouth curled up, and she held her sword aloft as she charged toward a group of Draconians. They gave her everything they had, sending their magic her way, but she brushed each bit of power away. Nothing could stop her.
Pulling back her own power, she dove into the fight, only releasing it in pieces as she sliced through her enemies. Warm blood splattered onto her face and she laughed. A tall Draconian man with thick tattoos snaking down both arms charged at her. She held up one palm, and he stopped, clutching at his throat as she sucked every bit of air from his lungs.
His face contorted, and he fell to his knees. Other Draconians tried to help him and she fought them off while maintaining her hold.
The magic seeped deep into her mind, stealing everything from her except for her need to fight.
When his body stopped twitching, she raised her eyes to the horror-filled face of a battle-weary Balean soldier. Edmund. His name was Edmund. She tried to recall anything else about him but shook her head when she couldn’t and tried to bull by him. He blocked her path, putting a hand on her arm to hold her back.
“Etta,” he said.
She flicked her eyes from his face to the hand on her arm, the magic goading her into doing something about it. One last shred of sanity reminded her Belaens weren’t the enemy, but that was as far as it went. If they weren’t her enemies, what were they? She didn’t know. The confusion locked with the darkness swirling inside of her. Nothing. They were nothing.
A blast sounded behind them and Etta turned, ready to meet whoever sent rock raining down on them. She froze when her eyes met those of the woman she’d come to destroy.
La Dame’s charred body healed itself, pink skin slowly smoothing over the burned surface. Soon, only her eyes spoke of fire.
Fear tried to intrude on Etta’s mind but she pushed it away. There was no time to be afraid.
Edmund stepped up to her side as if he would be any help against the sorceress. The battle swirled around them. Grunts of pain. Clashes of steel. Bodies dropping to the ground. But none of it would make any difference. It didn’t matter how many Draconians were killed if their sorcerer lived; how much blood was spilled if Etta lost.
“You have something that belongs to me,” La Dame said, not a hint of emotion in her voice. She narrowed her eyes.
Etta breathed heavily, control unraveling in her chest.
“You feel it.” La Dame cocked her head. “My magic fights with yours.”
Pain sliced through Etta’s chest and she doubled over.
“Etta,” Edmund yelled.
La Dame took a step forward. “It’s going to destroy you. That much power. You must release it all.”
Etta sucked air through her teeth and shook her head. “I can’t let it return to you.”
“Shame. We could have done great things together.”
Etta’s ribs cracked as if being broken apart from the inside. She screamed and fell to her knees.
La Dame advanced with the eyes of a predator. She circled Etta but Edmund drew his sword, blocking her way. Etta’s cry ripped through the air as the magic pulsed through her limbs, hitting every nerve along her bones. A soldier fell beside her, hitting the ground with a thud and going still.
La Dame flicked her eyes from Edmund’s sword to Etta who struggled to rise. “You can’t protect her, boy. Not when the thing she needs protection from is herself.” She advanced.
Etta lifted her eyes as her stomach cramped and sweat beaded across her brow. A growl ripped from her throat. “No!”
Sympathy entered La Dame’s gaze but Etta thought she imagined it. Why would the woman feel sorry for her? She wanted to destroy her. To recover the power squeezing around Etta’s heart.
“You feel it.” La Dame’s lip curled. “The darkness. You want to give in to it. Your magic pulled mine in like two of the same kind, but they aren’t the same at all, are they? Soon, what you took from me will overcome everything inside of you. Every light will be extinguished and you will finally understand.”
A tear tracked down Etta’s soot-covered face as she gave in to the agony breaking her. “Understand what?”
La Dame leaned down, her black eyes dangerous. “What it truly means to be me. I am not the villain in your story, Persinette, dear. You are.”
The words sank into Etta, ringing truer than any before them. Was La Dame right? Etta shook her head, trying to let the buzzing of her magic drown out the battle cries around them. Soldiers died because of her. She’d brought them here. She’d been determined to break the curse and to destroy the woman who’d taken everything from her. But at what cost? She’d been right. La Dame knew they’d come. She knew Etta would surrender herself to the power, to the darkness.
She’d planned for it.
A smile tilted La Dame’s lips. Whichever army defeated the other this day, the ancient sorceress thought she’d won.
But she was just a woman now. Only a Draconian with an ability to heal. Unless Etta released it, she no longer had the power to do as she wished; to finally take the last curse-bearer under her power.
Etta gritted her teeth, pushing a stab of pain away from her mind. “You,” she breathed, her voice growing louder with each word. “Will. Not. Destroy.” She rose to her feet, her magic curling in her palms. “Me.”
She did as La Dame wished. She released it, but it wasn’t La Dame’s own power that struck the space between them. Basile magic, once trapped by La Dame’s curse, struck her in the chest, burning through her. Light exploded from every orifice and a scream fractured everything the world knew to be true.
La Dame had been the most powerful woman there was. She’d terrorized people for centuries, trapping three entire kingdoms in the palm of her hand.
No longer.
Now there was Persinette.
Beside her, Edmund gasped as La Dame’s body withered until only a cloud of ash remained. No more healing. No more magic.
Etta’s magic snapped back into her chest, sending her stumbling back in shock. Was La Dame really gone.
“Etta, watch out!”
Seconds after Edmund’s warning, the sun glinted off an oncoming blade. Etta ducked, rolling to the ground and retrieved a knife laying abandoned nearby. Her attacker swung his sword down and she lunged for his legs, slicing the blade across the armor gaps behind each knee.
The large man dropped his sword, pitching forward with a roar leaving his mouth. Etta scrambled out of the way as he fell where she’d been only moments before.
He wasn’t dead, but Etta no longer cared. Her eyes returned to the place La Dame had disappeared from as her lungs struggled for breath. Her magic and La Dame’s continued to battle within her, making her head feel as if it had cracked open.
“Get us through that gate!” The cry surrounded them, spreading through the air, blanketing them in the desperation of the small force they’d left outside Dracon. Ara’s voice grew frantic, but Etta felt the girl’s magic weakening.
Bela was being overwhelmed.
A horn blared from a distance.
Landon ran toward them, blood and grit dripping down his face. “That’s a Madran horn,” he panted, putting his hands on his knees and shaking his head.
“She kept a part of her mercenary army from the fight and now…” Edmund’s mouth dropped open in horror.
Tyson joined them and finished the thought. “They’re outside the gates.” He covered his mouth with his hand. “Ara.”
A low hum rumbled through Etta’s chest and she gave one short shake of her head. “We aren’t losing this fight.”
They tried to follow her as she walked directly through the center of the battle, but she threw a magical barrier behind her to make them stay. In this, she must be alone.
The Belaen’s were outmatched. These people barely had any training and had spent most of their lives trying to hide the fact their magic existed inside of them.
Hers no longer only existed. It lived. It grew. It pushed her to new limits.
It became her.
No one could touch her when she left the Belaen defenses to move directly among the Draconians. Every slash of a sword or blast of magic was met with bone-crushing resistance. She barely had to make a move. The magic flowed out of her effortlessly.
“Enough,” she said to no one but herself.
A battle is loud. It’s dirty and chaotic and everything Etta never wanted to see in her life. But once she’d seen it, it called to her.
Etta blocked out the call. She pushed away every crash of a weapon and the screams of the injured. The only thing that existed to her was the song of the magic in her veins; the pain of the war within her. She funneled the power down her arms and into her hands, her golden hair once again picking up the ethereal glow.
Her lips tilted up, but the concentration in her face was unmistakable. Closing her eyes, she let the darkness consume her. Inhaling deeply, she pushed the magic out of her, tunneling it down directly into the earth.
Her body vibrated with the energy and it felt good. When the earth began to shake and crack open, she didn’t move. A deafening sound came from deep in the ground as her magic tore it apart.
She didn’t open her eyes until something hard slammed into her from the side and she fell. Her eyes snapped open to find Edmund on top of her.
“Get off,” she yelled.
He rolled sideways, a flash of pain crossing his weary face. It was only then that she saw the gash in his stomach.
“You’re hurt,” she accused. Was she supposed to care? She remembered time spent with the man, but the magic blocked her from feeling anything at all, yet something told her to pause and make sure he wasn’t going to die.
“You trying to get yourself killed?” He pressed a hand to the open wound to stop the bleeding.
He stared behind her and she turned to find a rip in the earth separating the two armies. Some tried to cross it, but it was too wide. The fighting inside Dracon was paused for now.
As she decided on her next move, something didn’t let her leave him. “Dammit,” she growled, lunging for the blond man’s arm. Jerking him to her roughly, she put a hand against his wound and it began to close.
“You are still in there.” His stare hurt as if he tried to see something that was no longer there. She turned away.
“Etta,” Ara’s voice sounded again. Another horn blasted through the confusion, different from the one before.
“That’s not a Madran horn.” Edmund’s eyes widened. “It’s…”
Etta took off running, needing to get to the gates. Her feet picked up speed, and she launched herself across the gully, barely coming up short of the other side. She slammed into the edge and grappled for something to hold on to, using her magic to call forth vines. As she climbed to the surface, Draconian eyes followed her. No one made a move against her as she pulled herself to her feet, not bothering to draw her sword. Her magic was all she needed.
There was a rumble from the direction of the palace as the earth groaned and shifted. Still, no one struck. She walked through the gaggle of enemy soldiers to reach the wall. The gatehouse was still a fair distance away, and she knew what she had to do.
She found a set of steps to the top of the wall. It had been abandoned even before the battle. She pounded up the steps, ascending to the top of Dracon.
Tear it all down, her magic begged. Unleash the Basile wrath.
She reached the top of the wall. On one side were Belaens and Draconians still trying to figure out how to cross the divide to resume the fight. On the other side, two armies faced off with a tiny force in the middle. That would be Ara.
From the direction of the mountains, the larger part of the Madran Mercenary army came into view.
And then there was the other force.
He came. A small part of her still held on to the Gaulean king, but any love for him or joy or worry was hidden beneath the rage of her magic.
She crouched down, laying her hands upon the rough stones protecting Dracon.
She clenched her jaw and sweat poured down her face as she battled for control. Her throat constricted before an explosion in her chest pushed heat down her limbs. Magic pulsed out of her. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the wall shook. She steadied herself and poured every ounce of power she had remaining to bring this kingdom to its knees. This was her final vengeance. This was what the power wanted.
Destroy.
Crush.
Bring the barrier down.
The wall undulated, the stones rising and falling with each pulse of magic. Yet she kept going. It would have all of her. When the wall started to break, the section she stood on tilted forward, the ground beneath it moving in sync with the beat of her magic, preparing to swallow it whole.
Her feet left the ground as the rocks sailed through the air and the wall of Dracon crumbled to the ground.