…
The door burst open and the Black Shields climbed easily over the few chairs blocking the way. Mara hurled fireballs, igniting the upholstery and sending the barricade up in flames. The first attackers fell back, but more soon appeared. They climbed through with no regard to the fire and Mara flung bursts of fire directly at them. Some dropped, but a few stepped clear of the barricade and rushed at her. She held up her hands, creating a roaring wall of fire.
"That's good…" a voice murmured in passing. Mara watched, shocked, as Fastion leaped through the flames, sword bared. His silhouette twisted and lunged, deftly battling the attackers. Mara pulled her magic back, stepped around the fight, and renewed the fire, spinning it around her hands until it erupted through the doorway. "Mara!" Fastion shouted. Mara whirled and the vortex whipped around the room. Fastion shoved one assailant into its path, then ducked to spare himself. His sword flashed red as it cut through the flames to stop a soldier coming up behind her. Steam from the boiling blood marked the trail of the blade as it danced through the devouring fire. Mara was euphoric—she knew the fever still ate at her, but this elation overpowered it. The magic rushed through her entire body, pouring from a furnace deep inside of her and roaring out of her hands. Fastion's black form darted around it—he used it, worked with it. The flames coiled around his sword as though they were one and soon the attacks lessened until they were no more.
The fire vanished from her hands and she stood, panting, by Fastion's side. He looked around, then said, "The room is burning." They tore down curtains and tapestries, using untouched ones to extinguish the simmering carpet. Flaming furniture was pushed into the stone hallway and any bodies that still burned were treated likewise. Once they were finished, Fastion dropped into the only undamaged chair. Mara fell to her knees beside him.
"That worked well," the Weapon observed.
"What happened?" Mara asked once her breathing had calmed somewhat. "I thought you were controlling them."
"The king is safe," he answered. "I didn't want to stay inside of it any longer than I had to." He smiled feebly. She returned it.
"I understand. How do you feel?"
"I feel well."
"Good," she said. Their gazes lingered.
"Mara," he finally murmured. "Thank you."
She looked confused. "For what?"
"For staying with me."
She smiled. "It's not that easy to get rid of me," she said jokingly. He smiled again, then reached for her face. She jerked away and yanked dirty strands of hair over her burns. He grabbed her wrist.
"Don't do that," he said. "You always do that." He pushed her hand away. "I've seen them before. You received them when you slew the wraith." He leaned down toward her. "They should honored, not hidden."
"Oh," she said as one of his hands slid around her neck; the other curled around her arm. He shifted nearer, his lips a breath away. Her heart galloped in her chest, faster and faster as she waited for him. He continued to delay and her hands clenched and unclenched in the empty air. Finally, she grabbed his head and their faces crashed together as her mouth hunted for his. Her fingers twisted in his hair and she could feel his long, slow shudder in response to her insistence. She forced herself away. "Sorry," she whispered. "Sorry. I'm sorry."
His eyes flashed, but he pulled her head back to his. His kiss was sweet, gentle, deep, and it was her turn to shiver. "F—" was all she could utter before he seized her waist and yanked her against his cold breastplate. She gripped his legs for balance as he became hungry, demanding. His mouth swallowed hers; a stifled sound escaped her throat as he dragged her up so close that her feet left the ground. Fire rushed through her, into her hands. She smelled burning cloth. Anxiety and fright flavored her kiss. Some feral force fueled his.
She could have pulled, or he might have pushed. Abruptly the chair was abandoned and they crashed to the floor. Her head smacked the floor and his throat swallowed up her cry. Lungs crushed beneath his weight, she searched for a grip as his body twisted against hers, all lithe muscle and lethal power—and sleek armor, which jabbed deep into her flesh. The pain warred with her passion, keeping awake a quietly fearful voice that cried out against his aggression. His mouth released hers and dragged across her skin. As she struggled for air, her bleary eyes looking past him at something—the device. It hummed and winked at her with deep red glimmers. A horrible suspicion entered her mind.
"Fastion—" she gasped. He kissed her. "Fastion—is—the device—is it—"
His fingers dug into the muscles and bones of her shoulders. She screamed, but her mouth wasn't hers anymore. It wasn't even her breath. There were teeth in his kisses now and one of his hands crept up around her neck, fingers curling around her throat. The other he slipped beneath her clothing. Repulsed and desperate for air, she groped at his leg until she found a knife. She drove it into his thigh and he recoiled. Sobbing, trying to breathe through a crushed throat, she dragged herself up and stumbled away. Fire…she needed her fire— Her ankle was grabbed and she toppled to the floor. She kicked out at him and struggled to rise, but he was up before her. He hoisted her into the air and dropped her abruptly onto a table.
"Stop, Fastion," she sobbed as he crawled over her. "Please. This isn't you. It's not you." He bent down and she hurled flames at his eyes. As he clawed at his face, she rolled off the table and scrambled for the doorway. She'd burn herself to get out, but before she reached it he threw his arms around her, effectively trapping her own arms against her chest.
"Stop it," he snarled in her ear. "Don't fight me." She writhed and screamed and slammed her skull into his face. For a brief instant his hold slackened and she pulled away from him. He gripped her wrist and yanked her back, and the momentum sent them tumbling over the chair onto the floor. Her fire burst across his armor and flesh, but he disregarded it, one hand grabbing her wrists while the other worked the latches of his armor.
"Stop," she sobbed. "Please, stop."
"Your fire is in my head, Mara," he said. "It's in my body. You make me burn." His armor hung undone around his torso and she gripped his waist before he dropped back onto her.
"All right," she croaked. "But Fastion, I'm so sorry." Oblivious to her words, he allowed her to drag up his shirt and held himself still when she curled her hands around his powerful stomach. He leaned into her, poised, waiting for her to act. There was a stranger haunting his eyes, wearing his face. He watched her from beneath his thick lashes, he breathed into her mouth, his muscles quivered at her touch. She took a deep, trembling breath, whispered, "I'm so sorry," and summoned a powerful fire. The flames coiled around his skin and he jolted with a cry, dropped completely onto her, and his hands closed once again around her neck.
In her final attempt for freedom, she burned him. His flesh melted beneath her hands. Her flesh melted. His entire body shook, his mouth hovered over hers, his hands crushed her throat. There was blood on his lips. Her lungs screamed and tears overflowed in her eyes. Moments stretched like hours; the only sound was their sizzling skin. His forehead lowered onto hers. They stared at each other. She could see nothing in his gaze. Vision blackening, head swimming, she dug her fingers into his stomach, felt their skin melt together. His teeth clamped down on his lip, then—there. There he was. A little spark in his eyes. Fastion. That was it, then.
The fire spluttered out.
Silence weighed down on the room. His fingers pried from her neck. He lifted himself off of her and rolled onto his back, staring up at the dark ceiling as agony washed over him from the blinding pain in his stomach. The silence threatened to smother him. He tipped his head and dared to look into her face. "Mara?" he whispered. She was still. He reached over and traced her face, traced her scars. "Mara, please..." Forcing himself on his hands and knees, he pushed the hair from her forehead. His vision blurred. "Mara?" His voice cracked. His bruising hands left dark stains on her neck and shoulders and blood dirtied her mouth, yet somehow she looked serene. Serene and dead. He sat on the floor with a thump, hauled her into his lap, pulled his legs around her, and buried his face in her neck. Grief shook him. Tears like none he'd ever known streamed down his face. His sobs came out in strangled chokes and whimpers, his lungs heaving with the unfamiliar sounds.
The device faded like smoke in his mind. It was done with him. He had given himself over to it and it used him. It used his deepest, most precious desire. He raised his head and screamed. His screams turned into rending sobs that tore from his chest as he wept over his Rider, his beautiful, gentle, adoring Green Rider. Mara. But she wasn't his. She never had been, and she never would be.
His hand closed over the burn on his stomach. Pain dulled his senses. Death. He wanted to die. He pulled his sword from its sheath and held the edge to his neck, but then a flash of color distracted him and he raised his glistening eyes. The device rested in the carpet, dazzling and winking. His lip curled and fiery rage infused his bones as he dropped his sword and crawled toward it. He would tear it apart with his bare hands. He would grind the glass with his heel and rend the metal into scraps. He would not stop until his hands bled from the shrapnel and the pieces were strewn across the provinces of Sacoridia.
Without hesitation or thought, he picked it up.
…
Karigan skidded around the corner. She bounded over debris in quick leaps that aggravated her injured stomach, freshly sliced by Willis's blade. Amberhill ran easily beside her, avoiding trouble much more gracefully than she. Why not? He was the Raven Mask, after all. Wasn't it he that dueled with her in the museum and remained infamous for scaling walls and infiltrating otherwise private grounds? Under any other circumstance she would be much more sympathetic to Fastion's earlier impulse, but right now, as loathe as she was to admit it, his help was indispensable. She didn't know what plans rolled through his murky mind, but he was quick with a blade and in all honesty, that was all she cared about.
They neared the throne room doors. Their swords hissed from their sheaths and with a quick glance at each other, they charged into the chamber. It only took a few strides for them to notice something was amiss and they stopped, their blades drooping. "How disappointing," Amberhill drawled. "He doesn't look at all like he's dying."
King Zachary crouched beside a Black Shield convulsing on the steps. He held his arm awkwardly at his chest and a dark bruise colored his forehead, but he was alert and very much alive. "Now that poor fellow on the other hand—" Amberhill groaned, "—is extremely dead."
Karigan saw what he spoke of: a mutilated corpse strewn at the foot of the throne. To the right of it were heaped even more bodies. Blood streaked the polished floors and Karigan and Amberhill approached the dais cautiously. They had almost reached it when the king finally noticed them.
"Karigan!" He limped down the steps and met her with an entreating hand.
"You're safe," she said with a relieved smile. "Your arm—"
"It's fine, but Rider Spencer…" He gestured to the Black Shield. Karigan looked at him in some confusion, then hurried to the woman's side.
"A Rider wearing black?" Amberhill mused aloud.
"What is she doing here? What happened?" Karigan whipped off her coat and pressed it into Beryl's back.
"She was stabbed," Zachary answered in a low voice.
"By who?"
"By one of them, I imagine," Amberhill murmured. Karigan looked up and saw the line of Black Shields hidden in the shadows. They stared back at her, their eyes dim glints in pale faces. She found herself more unnerved than usual by their unflinching gazes.
"Why?"
"Why has any of this happened?" Zachary snapped. He turned and pointed. "That."
His finger accused the strange black box resting on the throne. Karigan stood. "Then let's have done with this." The blue and black key rested beside it and she grabbed that and the device. As her fingers touched the box, however, the world around her whirled. Scenes unfolded before her eyes. She watched, shocked, as an old woman threw herself onto Jendara's sword. Then Jendara was stabbing Amilton, and then she was rushing toward the blades of a dozen Black Shields. The world spun again and Karigan witnessed the assassination of an unknown king, then a violent argument between two faceless lord-governors. She saw a queen, heavily pregnant, collapse on the dais. A Black Shield was chained and led away from a shocked young king—
"Karigan!"
The world stopped spinning and she found herself flat on her back. Zachary and Amberhill bent over her, concern written across their faces. "What happened?" she asked.
"You fell down," Amberhill answered. "Hard." He helped her to her feet.
"I touched it and it showed me…" She fell silent, unable to explain.
"Showed you what?" the king urged.
"I saw…people and scenes. Jendara…." Her eyes lit up in sudden comprehension. "Just like on the island. The things I saw—" She shrugged wordlessly. Zachary's brow knit, then he moved to the device. Picking up the discarded key, he searched the box for the lock and finding it, he slipped the blue glass into it.
"Be careful!" Karigan said. "When Mickey used it, it took him away." She paused, then added with a wave, "Let Amberhill do it." The nobleman looked at her, his expression scornful. Zachary considered for a brief moment, then he turned the key once to the left. They waited, but nothing significant happened. Licking his lips, Zachary turned it once more. His eyes widened in astonishment and he sank to his knees. "No!" Karigan rushed to grab him. He muttered an exclamation, his eyes gawking at the throne.
"F…" He blinked rapidly. "Fastion…."
"Yes, what is our Weapon doing with his new toy?" Despite his sardonic tone, Amberhill still stood ready to assist his cousin.
Zachary lurched against the throne. His fingertips dug into the cushion, squeezing blood out. "He's so strong—"
"Is he hurting you? What is he doing?"
Zachary's eyes closed. His breathing became slow and heavy. Amberhill leaned over Karigan's head. "Somehow," he said, "I don't feel like delving into this magic is the best thing for someone's mind." He then asked, "Who brought the horse in?"
Karigan looked up. Night Hawk stood in a corner, watching them. He didn't look at all pleased to be there and threw his head up and down in agitation. Leaving Zachary, Karigan walked toward the horse, careful not to spook him more than he already was. He spooked, however, and kicked the stone and tossed his head. Karigan paused, recognizing the mood, and turned. "Watch out!" she cried. Amberhill spun and barely had time to raise his sword as a blade swung down at him. Karigan raced back to the king as a second Black Shield reached the dais. Night Hawk loped past her, whinnying as he charged the Weapons. The first, caught by surprise, fell beneath iron-shod hooves. The second hesitated as she faced both Amberhill and the apparently crazed stallion. The other Black Shields stood where they were, watching the fight with vacant eyes.
"It's him," Zachary grated. "Fastion. He's trying to protect me."
"From us?" Karigan cried. She saw a third Weapon detach himself from the shadows.
"From everyone."
Karigan retreated from the king. "Amberhill, come away." The nobleman looked shocked, but at Karigan's stern glare, he sheathed his sword and hurried to join her. Night Hawk snorted and pranced about, but the Black Shields slipped quietly back into the darkness.
"At least he's safe," Amberhill observed.
"I need that other piece," Karigan replied. "I need to take it back to Fastion to put an end to all this."
"You can't even touch it."
"You can."
"No. No, I'm not going to end up like her." He gestured to Beryl. Karigan huffed, then called to Zachary, "Can you tell Fastion to stop whatever he's doing?"
"I'm—trying—" The king shook his head. "The magic is completely in his head. I can't touch it."
Amberhill looked at Karigan sidelong. "I'm eagerly awaiting one of your brilliant plans."
"Wait—" Zachary stood, holding the box in his good hand. He looked confused. "He's gone."
"Gone?"
"Fastion. He's gone."
Amberhill and Karigan exchanged anxious glances. "Something must have happened," Karigan muttered. Still keeping a safe distance between herself and Zachary, she said, "Can you come with me? Fastion has the other piece of it." Turning to Amberhill, she pointed at Beryl. "Stay with her. If she dies, I swear I will kill you myself."
"My pleasure," Amberhill drawled, bowing. Karigan instinctively went to the king's side, but quickly stopped herself with a worried glance at the Weapons. Zachary waved the box.
"I won't let them hurt you," he said. She nodded and took his arm, helping him hurry down the stained carpet. Halfway to the doors, however, a great shriek went up. All around them Black Shields fell and writhed, clawing at their heads and screaming. Zachary fell heavily against Karigan and she barely kept him from dropping. "Oh—gods—" he gasped.
"What now?" Karigan groaned, staring at the thrashing Weapons.
Zachary raised himself back up. "Fastion—we have to get to him—" He swore and stumbled forward. Karigan took his arm again and they ran into the main corridors. Guards and Black Shields had all fallen, screaming, sobbing, clutching their heads like something killed them from the inside. Blood dripped from their noses and ears and Karigan prayed harder than she had prayed in a long time. "This way," she whispered to the king, leading him toward the room.
A fire blazed in the doorway and Karigan kicked the crumbling furniture out of the way. Upon entering, all she saw was Mara prone on the ground, her stomach gruesome and bloody. "Mara!" Karigan cried, sprinting to her friend. She crashed onto her knees and checked the Rider for any signs of life. "Gods, Mara! Mara, please!" Horrific bruises stained her throat. She'd been strangled? "Mara, Mara!"
Zachary, meanwhile, limped to where Fastion sat, legs turned and splayed like a child's. His hands were white as they clutched the device, the bright lights reflected in the tears overflowing from his red-rimmed eyes. Zachary knelt before him. "Fastion?" he whispered. The Weapon made no indication of hearing him. The king set the box down and gently shook Fastion's shoulder. Again, no response.
"Put the pieces together," Karigan told him, her voice cracking and unsteady. Zachary slid the box beneath the first piece and they clicked into place.
The lights exploded, becoming so bright Karigan jerked away to protect her eyes. King Zachary lurched backwards and his screams joined those from outside the room. Fastion's eyes bulged as his back straightened. His breaths were wheezing and a vein throbbed at his temple.
Karigan crawled over Mara's body. She felt it now—felt the power of another consciousness pressing against her mind. Her brooch heated up and she felt magic buzzing through her entire body. The lights seemed to cut through her skin, curling around her bones and settling cold fear in her heart. She passed Zachary and reached for the device. Her fingers found the key. It was hot to the touch, but nothing more. She turned it—once, twice, three times in a circle before the lights began to dim. She watched in wonder as the colors fizzled and dissolved, sinking back behind the glass panels until the room plummeted into darkness broken only by the early morning sunshine filtering through the windows.
Fastion's hands released the device and he heaved for breath, his wide eyes finding Karigan's. He stared for a moment, then turned his head to look at Mara. Despair creased his features, then they went blank and he tipped and fell to the ground.