“Come with me,” Vann says, and he guides me closer to the stands where Arion is trying and failing to use the magic again.
“Arlet!” he screams.
Both Nehvaris and I like the desperation in his voice.
Mrath realizes that something has changed. She drops from her mount, running to her brother.
“Where is your power now?” she shouts, just as she holds up her hand to reveal a short sword glowing blue.
“Mrath—” the Elf King starts, backing up and stumbling. The blade drives through Arion’s back and out through his chest. If I were to wager, the weapon enters at the exact spot of his Living Wood, the one that should have connected him to his heritage had he not sworn allegiance to another god.
Everything turns quiet. One by one, all the smaller fights fade away.
Arion sputters, and sprays blood from his mouth.
Vann and I stand just under the dais, maybe twenty paces away from the action. His voice is no longer amplified, but he still speaks loud enough for those around to hear.
“The throne…no longer belongs to Doros. The elves will never see you as their leader if you cannot sit upon it…”
Mrath twists the blade, picking him up by the weapon. It cuts a line further up his body and he turns his eyes to the heavens, more blood spilling from him like coins.
For a single frozen moment, the world holds its breath. I am tired and dizzy from the collar and magic use. I lean against Vann, trying to absorb every second.
I look up to the dais, to where Arion was just moments before, and see Mrath wearing his crown.
“The king is dead!” she calls. “And a new one rises!” She thrusts her hand into the sky, declaring her divine right.
New worries open before me. It all compounds and compacts. Is this still a win if Mrath cannot even sit on the throne she claims? She does not even try, as those around them cry and clash weapons.
What comes next falls away from me. Darkness presses at theedges of my vision, heavy and unrelenting, and before I can warn Vann, the world tips and slips away.
Chapter 40
ARLET
It takes very little time for us to prepare and make it to the throne room, but once we are there, I see Mrath surrounded by a group of her sistren, and Thorne at her feet. He looks filthy, and one eye is swollen shut entirely.
If he sees our entrance, I do not know.
“What is this?” Vann asks, nodding to the thoroughly armed women.
“Housekeeping,” Mrath responds. She waits for us to sit, and then begins. “Perfect. We might deal with two stones at once.”
Something about her tone sets my skin crawling.
“We were just about to sentence my dear Thorne to his final fate.”
I straighten, and my muscles twinge, crying out from being too sore.
“Forgive me, Mrath,” Liana starts. “Do you intend to kill him?”
Mrath smirks. “Eventually.”
“So is this a sentencing?” Liana continues.
“Unless Thorne can come up with some excuse to save himself, it might be,” she begins.
Thorne had done much for me. Sure, he had done wrong by Mrath, but he is largely the reason I am still alive.