On Wings of Chaos (Revenant Wyrd Book 5) (33 page)

Pi stepped back, swallowed, and followed the length of metal to the hilt, which was held by an elf with blue skin that blushed green like heat on cold glass.

“Shelara, stop!” Cianna said, but it wasn’t Cianna. Pi swallowed again.

It’s one of the other angels,
she thought, noticing Joya for who she was.

“I’m sorry, you two look so much alike,” Pi said.

“I understand,” Joya smiled.

The entrance hall was starting to get packed. Soldiers were coming in, and being directed by Maeven up one set of stairs or the other, depending on what root they were in. The noise was near deafening as orders were given and carried out.

“Wyrders, we need you to decorate the battlements,” Mag said as she came in. “Archers with them — if you can’t get on the battlements, then a window will work.”

“What’s going on?” Pi asked, pushed out of the way and closer to Joya by a group of soldiers as they made their way up the stairs to the right.

“The wall’s come down, so there’s been a change of plans.” It was Mag who spoke. “We need all wyrders to the towers now.”

Pi nodded, but she didn’t move. She pretended that she couldn’t break into the flow of soldiers, but the truth was, she wanted to go check on Clara.

Mag moved on.

“If you’re looking for Cianna,” Joya said quietly. “I saw her in the infirmary with Devenstar. They were with another girl, a blonde girl.”

“Was she awake?” Pi asked.

“No.” Joya shook her head sadly.

“She still has her trial of fire to go through,” Pi said, looking down are her feet.

Joya laid a hand on her shoulder. “She’ll be fine. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go figure out where to stand.”

Pi nodded. She watched Joya cross the entrance hall when there was a lull in soldiers, and make her way up the left staircase.

“Oh,” Joya said. Pi turned back. “If you see Cianna, tell her what Mag is telling everyone.”

Pi nodded, and in the confusion of the entrance hall, slipped down the stairs into the infirmary. It was nearly as silent as a tomb there. The healers weren’t needed as much now that most of the cots were empty, their occupants either well enough to be back to the effort, or stacked up in the back, covered with sheets, waiting to be burned because their wounds had been too bad.

Pi saw Devenstar and Cianna almost as soon as her feet hit the floor. She crossed to them, and Cianna looked up before Pi got to them.

“Still no change,” Cianna told her.

“I saw your cousin,” Pi told her. “I thought it was you.” She tried to laugh, but was too nervous with what was happening outside to muster more than a fake chuckle. Nerves swirled in her stomach sickeningly at the thought of the keep being overrun with dwarves. But she couldn’t think of that now; somehow they would make it.

“That would be Joya,” Cianna said, giving a tight smile. “I can see how we would be confused for one another.”

“The wall has been breached, or is about to be. Mag is moving soldiers inside, and has said all wyrders need to find a place on battlements or in windows for the coming fight,” Pi told them.

“We’d better go then,” Devenstar said, standing and offering a hand to Cianna.

Cianna took his hand and stood.

“How about you?” Devenstar asked.

“I think I’m going to sit with her for a few, then I will find you guys,” Pi said.

Devenstar didn’t release Cianna’s hand after they stood. She loosened her grip, waiting for him to let go, but he only tightened his fingers, and she smiled. She tightened hers as well, her heart soaring in her chest.

Dear Goddess, woman.
She didn’t want to be one of those women who thrilled at the touch of a man, but she couldn’t help it. All these years she had told herself she wouldn’t get involved with a man because of what happened with her mother, but here she was.

But Devenstar was different . . . wasn’t he?

Mom probably thought Arael was different, too,
Cianna told herself. Her fluttering heart shut up about that time.

“Where to?” Devenstar asked when they reached the entrance hall, now being quickly overcome with soldiers. There was barely any room to maneuver.

“My room is at the top of the right tower,” Cianna said.

“Oh yeah,” Devenstar said, wagging his eyebrows at her. She laughed. Soldiers turned to stare. She tried to drop her hand again, embarrassed, but Devenstar tightened his grip again. He pulled her toward the stairs to his right.

“Other tower,” Cianna said.

Devenstar stopped and turned to look at her, his brown eyes taking her in. She felt something churn deep inside of her. She cleared her throat, willing it to stop, but had to avert her eyes before her stomach would settle.

“You said the right tower,” he told her.

“Yes, right as you’re coming in. The tower your rooms are in,” she told him, itching the back of her neck to distract herself.

“You’ve been stalking me?” he said, pulling her in the other direction, through throngs of soldiers and up the stairs.

“No, it’s just that most visitors and non-government officials stay in the right side of the keep.”

He nodded. “What floor?”

“Up,” she said.

“Right, but what
floor?
” he asked, teasing her.

“All the way up,” she said.

“Damn, you people and your towers.” He sighed and kept climbing. Along the way he lost some of his zeal, going slower as he walked until finally they trudged to the top.

Cianna opened the door, her eyes taking in her messy bed, the clothes still on the floor, and the multitude of ale cups on her bedside stand. She blushed, itching the back of her neck again in embarrassment as Devenstar strolled in.

“Nice!” he said. “I didn’t know a man lived here.”

Cianna’s blush deepened, and she looked to her feet. Devenstar walked further in.

“So this is where you sleep, with a dragon by the looks of your bed.” He smiled at her.

“I meant to make that,” she said unconvincingly.

“Sure,” he said. “So, this is where we’re doing it?”

“What?” she asked. Her head snapped up, and heat flooded her skin.

“The fighting,” Devenstar said, leveling a look at Cianna. “Out this window?”

He was now standing in front of her window, looking out at the courtyard below.

“Oh, yeah.”

She walked over to stand beside him and looked out on the courtyard as the wall vanished and a wave of trolls and chaos dwarves spilled in.

“That’s our cue!” Devenstar said, pushing open the window.

Multitudes of various-colored lightning and fire streamed down from the higher reaches of the keep, showering the enemies below. The wyrd cut through the forces: dwarves fell, and trolls stumbled, but the trolls were harder to kill.

On the ground, the soldiers prepared for the collision.

Beside her, Devenstar hooted, and let loose twin bolts of lightning, golden, one from each hand. He moved his hands, the constant stream of lightning cutting twin swaths through the dwarves.

But there was something else Cianna was looking for. She could feel the alarist’s wyrd in the courtyard below, calling to the side of her that shared blood with Arael. He was the true threat here. Cianna saw him easily; he was the only human walking among the dwarves and trolls. Focusing on him, she readied an attack, knowing there was no true way to kill a sorcerer without taking their head from their body.

Angelica,
she heard in her mind. Her eyes were focused on the courtyard, standing where she was in Jovian’s suite. They were the only ones in the room, since only two could stand comfortably in the window. In the common room were Shelara and Caldamron, the window open, their weapons trained on the enemy forces below. In Joya’s room were Dalah, Grace, and Joya.

She tried to push the voice aside. It wasn’t Jovian’s, so that only left one alternative, her mother. Angelica wasn’t sure how to feel about her mother now, knowing what she had done. A sea of emotions filled her, and at the helm there was confusion, closely followed by anger at not being able to have her own life, despite what people said. She might be Angelica, but what fueled her was Sylvie. Time and time again she had felt her mother’s influence, once, in the Mirror of the Moon, even being controlled by Sylvie. Following the anger, she was grateful that her mother had made the sacrifice, allowing her to live at all.

Angelica,
the voice of Sylvie came to her again.

“Angie,” Jovian said. “Do you hear her?”

Angelica nodded, focusing on the courtyard, refusing to listen to what her mother said.

“I understand the feeling,” Jovian said. “I’m mad too, but she might have something useful to tell us.”

Angelica sighed and let her mother in.

Angelica, you can’t let the alarist reach the doors. If the doors vanish, the keep will fall.

What should I do?
Angelica asked. Now that she had let her mother in, a flood of love filled her. She knew that her mother loved her. What she had done for Angelica and Jovian had been done mostly out of love, and to keep them safe. She shook her head. It was foolish to be mad at her mother.

Thank you for that,
Sylvie said.
But right now we have bigger problems. You’ve dealt with this once before.

“No I haven’t,” Angelica said out loud.

“She’s right!” Jovian said. “In the Ravine of Aaridnay.”

“The Tall Stranger!” Angelica remembered.

Yes! You need to remove the wyrd from this sorcerer. There’s no way to get close enough to him to kill him; the only way to do it is to steal his wyrd.

“Perfect!” Angelica said. She smiled but her smile failed as the wall came down. It was easy for her to refuse that an alarist could do such a thing until she saw it.

“Yes, perfect. Now you just have to remember what you did,” Jovian said, no longer sounding sure.

“No, we can do this,” Angelica assured him.

“But I’ve never done it,” Jovian corrected, watching the sea of dwarves flood into the courtyard. Angelica heard the blast of Caldamron’s gun shoot from the common room window, and a volley of arrows and multi-hued wyrd streamed down on the enemy.

“I know, I need to focus,” Angelica said, closing her eyes.

Jovian shrugged, opened the window, and started showering those outside with red fire.

Angelica tried to remember what she had done, what she had felt in the ravine when she had stolen the wyrd from the Tall Stranger. She’d been afraid, but there was something more, something within her fear that she had felt, that she had done. It had all gone so fast. Joya was standing poised at the edge of the cliff, and then she was falling over the edge. Angelica had lashed out, somehow controlling her wyrd for that brief moment, and the storm had stopped.

But nothing was coming back to her. She opened her eyes and saw the bald sorcerer in the sea of dwarves, making his way to the doors of the keep.

Alright, focus,
Angelica told herself. But as she thought more about what she had to do, and wondered if she could do it, she became tense to the point that she couldn’t even feel her wyrd. Was it even something she had done with her wyrd? Or was it something else entirely?