Crown of Iron (Book 1 of the Crown Trilogy)

Twenty-Two

A hand slides up my spine and fingers tangle into the hair at the nape of my neck, pressing my face into a leather-covered chest. My nails sink into the giving material, and I inhale pine and cinnamon, the image of Kyron's firmly set lips and haunting irises etched inside my eyelids. A blast of fire heats my back, and the blood-curdling wails of animal and man fill the forest. I focus on the spice and flame: I'm safe, I'm safe.

When hot fingers cradle my cheeks and lift my head, all has fallen silent and smoke lingers in the air. The moon beams down on Kyron, alighting the blood splattered across his cheekbones and clumping his hair together. Thick layers of crimson-tinted mud cake one arm of his jacket and a gaping cut just above his eyebrow. We lock eyes and a comfortable hum vibrates between us. It's the same energy which lured me straight into his arms—his gift.

"What are you doing here?" Kyron asks, his jaw ticking.

I pull away from him, a little unsteady on my feet. My throat feels like it's lined with sand and my voice is gritty as I answer, "I came to warn Greer of the ambush, but it was too late, and I couldn't leave them."

He shakes his head and blows out a puff of air. If Greer didn't want me here, he most definitely isn't happy to see me. I'm a liability until I've completed my training, and no one wants to be responsible for my mistakes. I get it, but I'm here and there is nothing left for me to do but fight.

Kyron bends to retrieve my forgotten sword from the ground. He examines the delicate metalwork, his fingers nimbly turning it in a full circle. "Tonight, this sword will take someone's life. Are you ready for that?" he asks, holding my weapon out to me.

The iron burns my palm, still hot from his fire. "Do I have a choice?"

"No."

The finality of the answer says it all—my life will never be the same. Whether it be in body or spirit, the girl in search of her father will die upon the battlefield before the sun rises. It's a fate I'm willing to accept for my kingdom, for the soldiers fighting, and for the innocent people who can't defend themselves.

Kyron and I race toward the surge of power and grunts of war, my mind recalling all the training I've received for moments like this. The drills, instruction, and all the critical thinking in the five kingdoms couldn't ready me for his moment. Ulric once said only battle could fully prepare me; I now understand what he meant.

We step out of the trees and into the meadow. I only have a moment to take in the carnage—bodies ablaze, mangled by wind, contained by plants, gashed open from blades—before I'm consumed by the power. It vibrates around me in euphoric swirls, my blood hums with it and answers its call. I rush into the chaos.

A flash of light sends me stumbling back. I block my eyes with my arm, blinking several times to push past the searing pain in my head. A petite Stigian warrior with two blonde braids on either side of her head comes into view. She slashes her sword with skilled movements and a smirk on her thin lips. I hold her gaze and bring my blade between us.

With sweet laughter, she says, "Oh pretty Cyffred, you would have been better off as my power source. I would have treated you well while I slowly drained you."

I lunge forward, aiming for her ribs. She blocks my advance, and we fall into a rapid exchange. It's not until I swipe at her leg, leaving a gaping gash, that she uses her power again, blinding me with her light. I recklessly swing, stepping away until my back crashes against a tree trunk. Rays like the sun jet from her palm, and I frantically brandish my sword. Left. Right. Left. Right. Right. My movements are clumsy at best, but my blade meets resistances.

A high-pitched squeal pierces my ears, and the burst of light subsides. My opponent lies in the grass, her limbs bent haphazardly except for the hand holding her sliced in the middle. Her black eyes staring at the night sky and a trail of blood seeping from the corner of her mouth while her body twitches with the last signs of life.