Thread of Frost

Ch. 52: Homecoming

"I'm going to kill him," Anna said, and her voice was low.

"I know." Ryne's throat bobbed. "But that's what Eris wants. He's not the target." He nodded towards the cliffs. "Go."

A blast of flame filled the air. Seraena was circling overhead, her eyes locked on her cousin. Vulcan grinned; his skin was blistering slightly, but he looked otherwise unharmed. The benefits of fire-proof skin, Anna thought.

"I'll deal with Eris," Ryne said. "Go."

Anna hesitated. Ryne drew his sword.

"Go," Ryne said.

Anna turned. She shoved through the throng, gritting her teeth. There was nobody covering her now. She'd have to do this next part alone. She lifted the sword, and it blazed above her like a triumphant star.

A blonde woman stood near the cliffs. Her hair was pinned up with pearls, and she was wearing a silver gown with flimsy straps. The blade grew slick in her hands. Camille, Anna thought, although she knew that it wasn't. Still, some part of her revolted as she drew closer. She thought of Camille tying pink ribbons in her hair. Camille smiling over a book. Camille patiently explaining to Teagan which spoon to use for her soup.

Sweat trickled down her neck.

"Annalise Cidarius," Lucia said. "Finally."

Anna slowed. She looked less like Camille now, Anna realized with some relief; there was something unnatural about her eyes. Something almost inhuman.

"Oh, good," Anna said. "You got my invite." She stuck the sword in the frozen ground. "Welcome to the party."

Her chest felt like it was on fire. Anna leaned against the sword, pasting a lazy smile on her face. Lucia folded her hands. "Is this how you greet all your guests?"

Anna shrugged. "Only a privileged few."

"I can see my brother in you," Lucia said. "Nyxos was arrogant, too. He always believed himself to be the best."

"Ah," Anna said. "And there's the difference."

"And what is that?"

Anna's smile was grim. "I am the best."

She wrenched the sword from the earth. She thrust forward. Lucia twisted. The goddess sent out a golden whip, and Anna jumped. Blood sang in her ears. This, Anna thought; this was something she knew how to do. Attack and parry. Swing and feint. She fell into the rhythm of it, her steel sparking against golden magic.

A fire burned in her chest.

The battle raged on. Anna was dimly aware of a dragon tumbling from the sky, of a female cry of pain. How many minutes had passed? Twenty? Forty? Impossible to say. Her lungs felt like they were being squeezed between bookends. Lucia sent out a golden whip, and the tail brushed her ankle. Sloppy, Anna thought dizzily.

Something sharp grazed her arm.

She spun. Eris was standing a few metres away, wearing a shit-eating grin. Anna looked down; a knife glittered in the snow. A dull sting began in her arm. Silver droplets pooled along the shallow cut, bright as summer pearls. She stumbled back, fetching up against the edge of the cliff; a grey sea frothed below.

"Enough." Lucia waved a hand. "I grow bored of this."

Golden thread wrapped around Anna's ankles. She kicked out wildly, thrashing at them with her sword, and Lucia smiled.

"Be still," she said.

Anna's body froze.

Lucia drew closer. Behind her, Anna could see bodies strewn across the snow, splayed out like broken puppets. Grayson was going toe-to-toe with Eris, and he hissed out a breath as a blade grazed his shoulder. Red droplets bloomed like poppies.

"It's over, Annalise," Lucia said. "Give me the sword."

She watched as a sunhound ripped into a girl's chest. That was Isolde's former servant, Anna realized with a pang. Emily. The girl's eyes glazed over before her body hit the ground. A terrible pressure began in Anna's chest. Give her the sword, a little voice whispered. Do what she says.

Lucia drew closer. "Give it to me."

Anna's hand jerked. She tried to force her arm back down — to pin it to her side — but it was like trying to bend steel with her bare hands. The sword flashed in the afternoon light, a beam of cold sunshine.

"Now," Lucia said.

Anna's body trembled. She could see Ryne carving a path to her; he was bleeding from a gash on his forehead, and his dark hair was matted with blood. A lump rose in her throat. I'm sorry, Anna thought. I'm sorry I'm not strong enough.

"Annalise." Lucia's voice was velvet. "The sword."

The goddess stretched out a hand. Anna closed her eyes. She could feel the golden strands cocooning her, writhing over her body like snakes. She wasn't strong enough to fight the compulsion for long; there was no way that she'd be able to swing the sword without Lucia grabbing it first. Which left only one option.

Her throat felt tight.

Rourke, Anna thought. I'm coming home.

Anna braced herself. Then she flung her magic outward, a supernova blast; it was hardly anything — certainly not enough to hurt a goddess — but it was a distraction. Lucia's concentration broke. And Anna stepped backwards off the cliff.

"Anna."

Ryne's roar echoed off the cliffs. Anna squeezed her eyes shut. For a moment, she was airborne, her body tumbling towards the churning grey sea. Then something caught her arm. Her shoulder screamed in pain.

"You have got to be kidding me," Ryne snarled.

He was lying on his stomach, one hand clamped around her wrist. Anna looked down; it was a sheer drop to the black rocks below. But she still had God-Slayer, she realized with some relief. Lucia hadn't taken it from her.

Anna thrust the sword upward. "Take it."

Ryne recoiled. "Are you insane?"

"Delafort." Her heart hammered. "Take the sword."

His fingers were white. "Of all the stupid, idiotic things to do—"

"I couldn't fight her," Anna said, and her throat felt tight. "I wasn't strong enough. But you are." His fingers were clammy. There was no way he'd be able to pull her up, Anna realized. And they were running out of time. "Let me go."

Ryne's face shuttered. "No."

"Delafort—"

"Grayson!" He half-turned. "Grayson."

"Ryne," Anna said. "Please."

Her shoulder burned. Ryne's green eyes were painfully bright. Anna could see her own reflection in them, a ghostly outline of a dark-haired girl, and it made sense, somehow, that this should be it. She had hated and loved Ryne Delafort in equal parts, but it had always been about him. The story ended with him.

"I'm sorry," Anna whispered. "Forgive me."

She pushed the sword into his hand.

Her magic slashed out like a blade. Ryne cried out, and his grip on her wrist slackened. And then Anna was falling, tumbling towards the black rocks below.