SHE WAS trapped once more but under the mercy of an enemy. For a few blissful days, Clara relished in the wonderful taste of freedom that even until now wasn't still enough.
Clara wanted more, and she would fight for another taste of it that not even the master, who walked to her with a triumphant gait, could do anything about it.
The wall of fire surrounding her wasn't like Emir's sun flame. It threatened to char her skin down to her bones, whereas the prince's was like summer heat. She craved it; couldn't get enough.
The Fyrians and Hollows united in their cry of victory and seeing the princess trapped assured the success of their plans. But a lot of things could happen, a lot of possibilities. Clara might think of a way to escape. Holly, Maxwell, Emir, and Flynn might also relinquish the enemies' hold on them.
In her periphery, Clara pinpointed the spot where the four were as she couldn't completely speak to them with her eyes without the master knows.
Flynn was cunning and Emir was quick-witted. Holly and Maxwell were trained for situations like this and she trusted them to find a way out of the situation while she distracted the master by talking.
"Brave of you to finally show your face. What have you been doing all this time when your minions had been fighting? Hiding?" Angry protests followed her words. In the corner of her eye, Clara saw Emir's incessant struggle as he thrashed from his captor's grip. His mouth moved to tell her something but the voices all around them drowned him out.
The master stroked his beard and tapped the pommel of his sword with his fingers. "Speak whatever you want, Princess, but victory is mine. I have you where I want you."
Clara spit at him. "I will stop you," she swore through gritting her teeth.
"Will you?" the master grinned. "I will certainly love to see that."
"I will." Clara's lips were beginning to crack and dry. "I promise."
"That would be impressive, as this place will soon become your tomb once you've done your purpose."
Clara looked around, her eyes focusing on the grim and desolate forest that would soon become her graveyard. Anneliese's graveyard. Clara had no idea what would happen to her soul if the body of the Eirinian princess was to die. It wasn't like she was going to let it happen.
"You should be pleased." The master unsheathed his sword. Instead of silver steel, the blade pulsed red as if dipped in blood.
The blood in her body rushed in her veins. It flowed faster and faster the more she looked at the blood-red blade, pumping her heart in a frenzy.
"Put that away," she muttered under her breath. And it wasn't only her. Fyrians, Hollows, and all her friends alike seemed to have trouble breathing.
"You're going to help bring in a new world order," the master continued. "Didn't you say you wanted freedom? A choice?"
"You can't buy freedom with war! You can't sacrifice everyone's peace for your own," she screamed.
"Kill everyone who opposes you; what other peace is there?" The master set down the Blood Sword by her and motioned one of his Hollows forward.
The Hollow carried a small chest made of varnished wood with a maze-like lock that zigzagged over the lid. He traced a pattern with his grown nails. Light seeped out of the chest and a click sounded.
Clara struggled futilely to break through the towering fire. Air would make it worse. The fire would burn her Earthal magic. And she used too much of her Moon Magic to be able to cast a bigger spell. A Fyrian's fire was no ordinary fire. If she could just get the sword.
She stilled as she saw the master produce a shining crown made of pure crystal with golden beads and pearls. Something flickered within those jewels. Clara supposed it was the trick of the eye or maybe a result of the fire around her. But she swore she saw something akin to flame within them. Not red or orange but gold.
"What is that?"
"Beautiful, isn't it?" The master held it up in appreciation. "The crown of the Guardian Deity. It's traded hands quite a few times and was the hardest thing for me to track down. One of the first Terralis kings had it for a while before he gifted it to his mistress. At least, that is what the rumors say. Others claim he gave it to his queen. No one confirmed how the king got it in the first place. There's another set of speculations about the king's connection to the Creator. But the crown, passed from hand to hand, became lost. No one thought to look in the obvious places for it! A few dozen records back and I only had a few treasure halls to sift through."
"You're mad."
"Oh, princess." He returned to her side, the flames licking the hem of his robe. "The line between genius and madness is so very thin. Really, it all exists in the same gray area." The master boldly placed the crown upon his head. "I fear, my dear, that you must die without ever seeing the new world order. But know that your death will build a society that favors the Dread's reign for eons to come." He swept his robe and then turned his back to her. "There are no more reasons to put this up any longer. Prepare the vessels. The ritual must start."
Two Fyrians dragged Emir to the center of the circle of enemies. The prince strained against their hold and he hit the nose of one of them with his head. The one to his left grunted, a rivulet of blood pouring from his nostril. He punched Emir in the gut. The prince doubled over and then he was dragged to one of the vertical stones jutting from the ground. They tied him up with a cord forged in steel.
Another Fyrian approached her. She reached a hand through the wall of fire and as soon as the Fyrian's arm passed through to reach her, the fire dissipated in plumes of smoke. Cool air greeted her skin. It was a fleeting relief for she was forcefully dragged to the center and was tied to the other protruding stone next to Emir.
From a near distance, Clara could hear the shouts of Maxwell and Holly although they were somewhere out of their sight, hidden behind the circle of enemies.
"Unhand them!" Maxwell shouted. "You are committing an Imperial Crime against the two Eirinian royalties!"
The Hollows hissed, but a few Fyrians shifted on their spot, exchanging wary glances. Clara saw the signs of her enemies' wavering resolve. Perhaps, they could turn the tides in their favor.
"Silence!" Clara felt the ground shake as the master bellowed. "Take them away. I will not let anyone interfere with the ritual."
"No! Princess Anneliese!" Holly screamed as the Fyrians took Clara's ward—her friend—away. She could hear them struggling and it sounded like one of them managed to throw a punch. They could not use their magic and could only throw physical attacks. Clara assumed they were bound to suppress their magical abilities.
Holly's voice faded along with their footsteps as the Fyrians took them somewhere. Possibly to an underground dungeon not far from here, similar to the one Clara and Emir were held.
"What ritual are you speaking of?" Emir said with enough venom laced in his words. "The eclipse does not occur in a month."
"But you have no wish to cooperate, do you? You escaped, fought my men, and made it clear that we don't share the same vision. Hence, we must hasten the plan." He retrieved a curved dagger from the Hollow's palm. "We figured you'd be a pain, so we decided we wouldn't wait for a month to pass for the eclipse." The master turned, showing his clean white teeth that could just as much pierce the skin like a blade. "Tonight, when the moon is at its peak in the sky, we'll force the sun to come out of its hiding which can only be made possible with the crown containing the Guardian Deity's power and the blood of the Celestial Holders."
"And where is this Dread you so look up to as if he's the God himself?" said Clara. "His people put him on a pedestal of glory, but all he does is hide his presence, refuse to show himself, and do dirty deeds. Why won't he perform the ritual himself, then?"
"Anneliese," Emir hissed in warning.
The master's back was on them. Her words rendered him stiff and silent. His momentary stillness set his men on edge, but not Clara. Fear left her body—this body. Only courage remained.
Then, laughter. The master's shoulder shook at the barely suppressed laughter that was coming from within his chest. His dark chuckle changed into full-blown laughter that coated the night.
Without forewarning, his body gyrated. The master swung his arm with the curved blade and aimed for Clara. It tore through her chest, the length spanning from shoulder to shoulder.