Moonlight's Deception (Eclipse of Hiestora, Book 1)

Chapter 37 | The Darkest Hour

"We must hurry then." Emir went first and they followed him out of the temporary shelter of the shack. After this battle, there was no saying whether the small structure would remain standing or not.

There was a cry across the burnt and dusty plain, heralding the small army of Fyrians and Hollows as they charged through the burning trees.

Clara's heart beat so hard in her chest it should have broken a rib. Everyone she cared about readied themselves to launch their attack. Emir, Maxwell, Holly and even Flynn; how could she keep them all safe?

To the noise of the arrows knocking against bows and the hymn of steel unsheathed from scabbards, Emir brought his feet to a run. Clara sprinted at his side, pushing everything else from her mind and focusing on what she must be. She saw him raise his hand as the second wave of Fyrians left the distant tree line. A furious beat began to ring out in her ears.

There was only him, there was only his body, his breath, his life, and the pulsing magic that resonated with hers.

Emir's arm moved through the air and Clara knew his will before the magic left his body. Clara brought out a hand. Emir stopped suddenly; she halted with him in an instant. The prince hardly registered her movement and Clara wondered if he felt it the same as she did. If he too knew the deep connection they'd been fostering for months was finally ready to be shown to the world.

His magic flared. Clara brought both hands up together. Her silver magic took up his sun flames, the magic crackling around her fingertips. The scaffold of his command supported it, and their powers' twin bonding enabled Clara to build upon his Attunement, stitching hers to the edges—making it something greater than either part.

Clara swept her arms across her body and watched the silver-tinged flame carry through the air, over the heads of the first wave of enemies, igniting the distant trees and, with it, the remaining legions of the Dread who had taken their vantage there. The flame was white hot, and she shifted her hands, stirring it into a vortex.

Uncurling her fists, fingers taut, Clara thrust her hands above her head and opened to the sky. The white and orange fire mimicked her motion and soared into the air, a flaming mirror of her movement. It was a pillar, brilliant against the night sky as though it intended to swallow the moon whole. Clara lost control over it as she took a moment to admire their creation, the joined power of the sun and moon disappearing in the wind.

Clara locked eyes with the prince. Together, they were unstoppable. They were a single force of nature.

They stepped in time, picking up a run in perfect sync. The others rushed behind them, but Clara wasn't paying attention anymore. Her prince—his breath, his movements—was all she needed.

Emir dug his heels in, halting a second time, and held out his arms. The three Air Atts rushed up and made a straight line out from either arm. "Funnel them!" Emir shouted over the chaos. His arms motioned for where he wanted the tornado. They moved in unison. Clara joined as she borrowed Anneliese's magic. Each had their own approach to wielding their magic, but they all focused on creating a separate patch of funneled wind.

The Fyrians braved the wind; some weaker ones were unsuccessful as they were thrown like broken toys against trees. Some managed to light tiny flames in their hands, but only to be extinguished by the strong force of the wind.

Taking a deep breath, Clara held out her hands once more. Ten. She would claim a Fyrians weapon with a flick of her hands. Twisting her wrists, Clara sent them back upon the enemy, a rain of blades.

It was like playing an invisible instrument, her fingers plucking at the air. Emir made another call at her side, but she didn't hear.

"Anneliese!" the prince called for her, and she was broken from her trance by her name on his lips.