Invisible String - Cregan Stark

Twenty two~ Talion

"You are the one who betrayed us," Arryk snarled. "You chose them."

Erryk took one careful step forward. "So did you," he said, voice breaking.

They circled inward without looking away from one another, inch by inch, the table at the center of the room now the only thing between them—and me just beyond it, rooted to the stone. My bare feet felt frozen in place, as though the floor itself had claimed me.

Tiri hissed, a flash of gold as she leapt from the bed and vanished beneath it.

I had no time to call for help.

Arryk moved.

He lunged toward me with a cry torn raw from his chest, sword lifting high. Instinct wrenched me free. I spun, my hand flying to the table, fingers releasing the wooden wolf and closing around my dagger just as his blade came down.

Steel screamed against steel.

The force jarred my arm to the bone. I barely held. My teeth bared into a snarl as I used all my strength not to crumble.

His sword slid down, bit—

Pain flared white-hot as the end of it cut across my left forearm. Blood spilled immediately, warm and shocking, running down my skin to my wrist and dripping to the floor.

Erryk struck him from the side with a roar, intercepting the next blow meant for my throat.

They crashed together, blades locked, shoving and striking, boots skidding on stone. I stumbled back, shock numbing everything but the pain in my arm. Blood pooled at my feet, dark and spreading.

Erryk broke from the clash and placed himself fully in front of me, back to my body, sword raised. He did not look at me. He did not need to.

Arryk came at him again, harder now, faster—grief driving every strike.

I fled backward until the wall pressed against my spine, dagger clenched so tightly my knuckles burned.

Their blades rang and rang, sparks flashing in the moonlight.

Then Erryk faltered.

Arryk struck with a brutal overhead blow that drove Erryk to his knees.

"No—" I whispered.

Arryk tore free and turned on me once more, sword lifting. Tears streamed openly now, carving paths through his sweat.

"Eliab!" I screamed, my voice breaking apart. "Eliab!"

Erryk surged forward on his knees and slammed into Arryk's legs, sending them both crashing into the table. Pots shattered. Wood splintered. They hit the floor in a tangle of limbs and steel, striking with fists and hilts, breath tearing from their throats.

They rose together, breath ragged, faces streaked with blood and tears, circling once more—twins locked in a mirror of rage and ruin.

The door flew open again.

"Princess!"

Eliab burst inside barefoot and half-dressed, sword in hand, hair in disarray. He halted just past the threshold, his gaze snapping instantly to the violence before him. Confusion flickered—then hardened into readiness, then fear. Not for himself.

For me.

One twin drove the other back with a brutal shove. A body struck the table hard enough to make the wood cry out. Something tipped—

Before I could register it, Eliab moved.

He seized the chair nearest the wall and hurled it with all the force of his weight. It struck between the twins in a splintering crash, legs snapping, wood exploding outward. One of them reeled aside with a hoarse cry, the other staggering back a step, their momentum broken at last.