Crystal Crowned [ARC] (42 page)

Victor was terribly clever. His initial wave of soldiers carried crystals. Every one soldier that moved upon the Imperial army created two or three more enemy soldiers as they shoved small crystals into the corpses scattered throughout the battlefield. The crystals flared, and Vhalla could feel Victor’s will summoning them back to a twisted form of life.

His magic twisted within her. She grabbed hold of the wriggling mass under her skin, pouring it into her hands. It resisted her some now, her exhausted state prevented her from being able to easily funnel it to her will. But the sorcery eventually sprung from her hands and rendered useless half of the crystal-reanimated soldiers.

Vhalla gripped her knees, winded a moment.

You wretched creature!
Victor’s voice raged faintly in the back of her mind.

“This works both ways,” she panted. “If you’re going to insist on invading my mind, then I’m going to use that against you.”

The magic was a brutal and uncomfortable feeling. Each time she used it, it was harder than the last. It was like wrapping a noose around her own neck and tightening it one pull at a time. But this would be their final push; the castle gates were in sight, and Vhalla would give it all she had. And if that meant working herself to death, then she would die and hope to take Victor with her.

She moved through the field, willing her magic alongside his. They’d almost reached the castle when Victor finally gathered the strength to stop her, making her feel the same sharp feeling inside as that night in the tent.

“Jax!” she cried. He was at her side in an instant. “I need-need—” She inhaled sharply, the freezing pain blurring her vision. “Sehra.”

The Westerner looked conflicted, assessing the field quickly. Deciding it was too unsafe to leave her where she was, he picked her up in his arms and bolted in the direction of the other half of the army. Vhalla watched Aldrik until he disappeared from her field of vision. The Emperor pushed on toward his palace.

“Princess Sehra!” Jax called. “Sehra!”

Vhalla began to shudder, and Jax’s grip tightened on her. They had to move faster, but she was in too much pain, and her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering long enough for her to tell him so. She closed her eyes, focusing on fighting the magic, on doing whatever she could. Vhalla felt the world slipping away as she began falling into the dark void known as death.

But, like before, light exploded within her, bright and brilliant. Vhalla’s mind cleared, and awareness surged through her, momentarily free of Victor’s weight.

Sehra was held tightly in Za’s arms, the archer shaking her sovereign, trying to wake her.

“Sehra . . .” Vhalla sat. “Sehra!” she joined Za’s call.

The princess opened her eyes weakly. “That was the last time . . .” she breathed weakly.

“I understand.” Vhalla nodded. “We won’t need it again.”

“Sehra use too much of her power.” Za began angrily. “Sehra in danger. She can no more—”

“I know, Za.” Vhalla boldly rested a palm on the archer’s shoulder. “Take her away, go, hide. If you can, flee.”

When Vhalla expected Za to be relieved, her scowl only deepened.

“You think North listen to South command with no Sehra, no Za?” She shook her head. “North is proud. North finish our fight.”

Vhalla stared in awe as Za stood and helped the exhausted Sehra to her feet. An explosion of fire shook the ground nearby, jolting them all back to the battle. Vhalla looked between the two Northerners and the exit of the alley they were currently hiding in.

“Stay alive, both of you,” Vhalla demanded before returning to the battle at Jax’s side.

With Victor’s magic shut off, Vhalla could no longer disarm crystal traps or slay beasts from the sky. The army was forced to complete the final push to the castle gates using only traditional means—magic and steel. Vhalla and Jax returned to a thin, disorganized host. She scanned for majors, for any leadership, and found none. It had devolved into utter chaos.

“Jax,” she spoke from the outside edge of the fray.

“Lady Empress?”

“This may be where we die.” She faced the truth openly.

“No.” He shook his head. “You’ve never done things the easy way, Vhalla. And death now would be the easy way out.”

“You’re insane,” Vhalla laughed quietly and spurred her feet into a run.

She ran toward that dream that had lingered in her heart since the Night of Fire and Wind. A dream of peace, of freedom, of a tomorrow without fear. The streets were littered with bodies to be vaulted over or step upon. Bodies that could have been a friend. Or could have been a soldier she’d trained under. Or one she’d eaten with on the march. But she wouldn’t grieve for them now. She wouldn’t collapse before the overwhelming titan known as fear and worry. As long as one of their army lived, all their hearts beat as one. She’d want the same if it was her face-down in her own blood.

Soldiers locked in combat all around her, but Vhalla only had one focus. It stretched beyond the man in white and gold armor wielding flames—flames that didn’t burn nearly as bright as they once had. Her eyes locked with her current foe—the locked gates of the palace.

“Those for Solaris, with me!” she screamed painfully.

“What’s the plan?” Aldrik cried, seeing her running head-first through the chaos.

The only obvious one
, Vhalla thought. She may no longer have Victor’s magic, so there was only one option when it came to opening the crystal encrusted gates. It was dangerous and reckless, and it was something she’d avoided doing since the sandstorm in the West. Since Aldrik had cautioned her about throwing herself into her Channel.

But desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Hold your ground here!” she directed, keeping the soldiers away from the gates.

Wind already howled through the streets. It spun under her feet, nearly lifting her into the air with its force. She wanted to do this as brutally and forcefully as Victor had when he had wrenched the fragile peace that so many had died for under the previous Emperor’s hands.

The wind rushed in her ears, but it was not enough. She needed every ounce of air the sky had left to give her. This was not a summer breeze or a mountain gale; she would be the wind, unstoppable and untamable.

And Vhalla let go.

She relinquished herself to the wind. The world faded away, and she lost sense of her corporal body. Muscles and bones popped and stretched with the force of the twister as her body was flung toward the doors, riding on the wind.

The air refused to let her be harmed while in its embrace so it was left with only one option—break down the gates before her, or smash her into them. They splintered. The crystals around them came crashing down, shattered with the brute force of her magic. Vhalla rolled across the ground, her magic failing the second she realized her mission had been accomplished.

Everything hurt. Everything was stretched past its limit, so far it couldn’t even break. Her bones were too tired to even do that much.

She dug into the recesses of her magic and her will with determination. Vhalla raised her head, drawing herself to her knees. The doors to the ceremonial throne room began to open before her, no doubt thanks to the Wings. Far beyond, Vhalla could see a throne glittering with crystal, a place where she knew Victor had sat and sown horror.

It was a throne she would reclaim before the day was done.

They pushed upward through the palace, fighting against Victor’s every resistance. The soldiers who could still conjure a flame or hold a sword reclaimed the palace, one floor at a time. Sorcerers seemed to materialize from the stonework itself to resist them. But the Imperial army continued, determined. They all hoped that, should they put an end to Victor, the rest would fall.

Aldrik led their center. Vhalla was at his right hand, Jax at hers. The teams were smaller now, and there was barely enough room in some hallways to run three side by side, more or less fight.

Running with them were three men and women who she had neither met nor seen before, but she already trusted them implicitly. They had survived this far, and she had to assume it was for a reason.

The hallway they sprinted through opened up into a larger artery of the palace. Several sorcerers were waiting, and magic sparked on instinct. Aldrik and Jax were a well-made pair.

The Emperor stepped first, arcing fire between them and Victor’s supporters. Jax sprinted, full-tilt, into the flames. By the time Aldrik’s magic had vanished, Jax was searing one of the five to the bone. Vhalla was close on his tail but far enough behind to avoid being burned; she was ready the second the flames disappeared, ready to blow the face off one of the men.

“Keep on!” Jax shouted to her and Aldrik. “We’ll handle this rabble.”

They were close now, close to the pinnacle of the world. It was like they were spiraling upward into Victor’s domain. Once beautiful statues had been toppled. Paintings had ink splattered overtop. Banners of Solaris hung in tatters, defiled. Crystals became more plentiful, as though the caverns had moved with Victor and taken root in the palace, determined to spread its taint across the world and to cast its lot in with the most likely man to help it do so.

They had been fighting for hours, days, weeks,
months
, but suddenly the two of them stood at the end of the hall leading to the Imperial quarters. The once beautiful golden doors hung at odd angles, completely encased in giant spears of crystal. This was where Victor had chosen to make his stand.

They both paused, catching their breath, staring at the magic that was tangible in the air. It was the last barrier between them and their impossible dream. But it was a barrier of a power far beyond explanation and the madman who harnessed it.

“I’m not going to insult you and tell you to turn back,” she said, wishing her voice sounded a little stronger.

“Then I will do the same.” Aldrik turned to her, and she looked at him. It was a sliver of quiet before the storm. “I’m not going to say goodbye.”

“Then I will do the same,” she parroted in turn.

Vhalla turned, and Aldrik caught her arm. He didn’t have the strength he usually commanded when drawing her close, and Vhalla didn’t quite leap toward him as she usually did, but their desperate kiss still held weight. It didn’t feel like her first kiss; it was greater than that, more refined, heavier with all the words they couldn’t say. Her lips tingled for that brief second, and Vhalla wondered if they’d both lied, if that had been goodbye.

The Emperor and Empress started down the hall that spelled certain doom, intent on reclaiming their home.

Vhalla unfurled the taut control she’d held over Victor’s magic inside her. She slowly let it seep unhindered into her one final time. Sparks glittered on her fingers as she cleared a path through the crystal barricade to the central atrium of the Imperial quarters.

Victor sat bare-chested upon a throne of crystal. Stones embedded in his flesh pulsed in time with the crystals around him, their magic radiating outward. Victor had been right all along—the Crystal Caverns did, indeed, have a heart, and instead of killing it with the axe, he had claimed it and traded it for his own.

In a slightly different light, the crown shone weakly on his head. Her magic was dwindling from it slowly—perhaps another explanation for his weakening control over her—and that meant the taint was fighting more forcefully for his body.

They didn’t come armed with anything other than their magic; they held no crystal weapons to aide them, but Vhalla knew this was their best chance to destroy the heart of the Crystal Caverns once and for all—while it was attached to flesh. Victor slowly raised his head from where his chin had fallen onto his chest, flashing a wild smile.

“Look who it is . . .” he rasped, his voice like stones grating together. “The prodigal Emperor and Empress, returning to reclaim their home. You’ve created quite the stir.”

Aldrik was blank, impassive, immune to the taunts. Vhalla tried to follow his example.

“If you want power, come to me,” he cooed. “You’ve had a taste, you little leech. Come to me and have it all.”

Vhalla’s shoulders quivered, and a muffled huffing noise escaped before she could contain it. The next thing she knew she had thrown her head back in laughter. He had no principles or morals; it shouldn’t be surprising that even now the man had no shame.

“Oh, Victor.” Vhalla shook her head. “You underestimate just how much I need you to
die
!”

The gust of wind was among the strongest she’d ever produced, and Vhalla didn’t even lift a finger to create it—Victor had no time to brace himself. He was slammed back into the crystals behind him, his head snapping against their smooth surface. Vhalla knew better than to think that would be all it took.

Victor leapt up before she had time to summon her magic for a second attack. Aldrik was ready, however, and fire blazed through the air. Vhalla watched as he winced, his fire flashing in color briefly as he drew from the magic of the crystals to level the playing field between him and the other two combatants.

The crystals on Victor’s chest shone, and the fire moved over his skin harmlessly, as though repelled. Vhalla and Aldrik split, dodging in different directions as Victor launched into his first attack. They scrambled to their feet as the room tried to eat them whole. Gurgling and groaning, the walls shuddered to life. Thick layers of crystal rippled and rolled like waves at Victor’s will. Vhalla turned, holding out a hand and deflecting a sharp crystal point with her fingers. But these stones held a deeper connection with the madman than any prior, and she couldn’t control it for long.

Aldrik grunted, and Victor’s laugh followed, drawing her attention from her own struggle. Her head whipped around, hair sticking to her sweaty cheeks as she saw him, armor caught on a glowing crystal point. Aldrik grit his teeth, clearly not wanting to grant Victor the satisfaction, but it was a battle he was losing.

With a scream of her husband’s name, Vhalla cast aside instinct for self-preservation and swung at Victor from a distance. One of the crystals upon his chest exploded with a satisfying pop and spray of dark blood. The man gave a welcome cry of agony.