Thora stepped away from the body, heaving with adrenaline. Then she dropped the knife and flung her arms around Raife’s neck, breaking into a sob.
As Raife clung white-knuckled to his brother’s body, Marai met Keshel’s pale and frightened face.
Ruen is our Ruin . . .
“It’s up to you now, Marai,” he uttered. The wall of impenetrable stone had shattered. A ghost, Keshel wandered to Raife’s side with the others. Keshel closed Leif’s open eyes with two gentle fingers, then mumbled a prayer to Lirr.
But it wasn’t Lirr he should be praying to.
Laimoen, God of Destruction, was who Marai called upon. She dug deep inside the well. She pulled and felt the charge travel up her spine, igniting her.
Let them burn. Let them all burn!
As the air came alive with electric, volatile power, Thora looked up at Marai. Her tear-lined eyes blazed with ferocity.
“Do it.”
Marai unshackled her magic.
She became the storm. She became the nightmare. She released a primal scream that came from deep within; the place where she tucked away all the anger, all the sorrow, guilt, shame, and hatred.
The bloodstone ring rattled and sung. At last! At last! It cried with joy.
Marai raised her hands and unleashed.
Chapter 32
Ruenen
It was impossible to miss the tower of blinding white light.
It shot straight up into the sky. A beam of pure lethal power with the crack of a whip, amplified a thousand fold.
Lightning, a blazing scar across the black sky. Clouds flashed and shimmered. The earth shuddered. Vibrations, more powerful than Rayghast’s dark magic, knocked the armies off their feet. Ruenen stumbled, lowering to a knee, as he and everyone else gaped at the left flank of the Nevandian army.
Like a geyser, the column of lightning collapsed and expanded outwards. Snaking strands of lightning snapped across the moor in the direction of the enemy, engulfing blue and black soldiers into swirling terror. Long, white fingers reached out, ensnaring all within their path. Bodies disappeared in blinding light and splintered electric bursts.
The screams of torture were unlike anything Ruenen had ever heard.
His heart stopped. His gut clenched.
Marai.
Her power was unreal. Something improbable. Something Ruenen assumed belonged to the gods . . .
The majority of that terrifying magic was focused on Tacorn forces. Several hundred Varanese took one look at that magic, turned, and ran. Ruenen watched their blue and white flags travel farther and farther away. Varana abandoned Tacorn on the battlefield and headed towards the woods, out of the valley.
Ruenen’s palpitating heart nearly burst forth from his rib cage.
Marai could destroy everyone with that kind of power. She could take over the world if she wanted. But she had control . . . the magic didn’t touch a single golden-clad soldier, no one on the Nevandian side, no boy or wilted old man.
Nevandia had a chance.
Ruenen stepped forward, breaking ranks with the astounded Nevandian army. Both armies had frozen, goggling at the power displayed before them. Ruenen helped an injured man, not much older than himself, to his feet. His leg wound was deep, and hand sticky with blood.
“I don’t want to die,” the man moaned, face as pale as death. “My wife . . . my babies . . .”
“You won’t,” stated Ruenen, clinging tightly to his hand. “Not today, my friend. You will see your family again soon.”
Ruenen wouldn’t let this man die. Not one more Nevandian would perish.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” the injured man croaked, face shining with gratitude and tears.
Ruenen called two soldiers to help the man to the back of the line, then continued walking as he gazed up. The flying shadow creature had paused, wings beating in midair, as it, too, stared at Marai’s magic. The other horned beast was gone, vaporized by Marai’s power or brought down by soldiers.
As lightning turned bodies to ash, Ruenen shouted across the moor.
“Rayghast! Let’s end this now!”
I will kill you today. The thought was a sunburst, bright and explosive within him. If Marai could defy the odds, so could he.
Ruenen had been sacrificed for this kingdom, for this war. His mother had sacrificed her newborn son. He’d been ripped right from her arms. He would never know that love. It was a life he’d not been allowed to live. Ruenen had been hunted, tortured, and wrecked for a lie.
But he would no longer be a pawn in anyone else’s game.
Nevandia was his kingdom. He was King. And he would destroy anyone who tried to hurt him and his people.
“Rayghast,” he yelled again, wrenching open his arms wide. A clear and easy target. “Come and get me, you fucking coward!”
