“You have no intention of doing the right thing,” he shot back. “You hate her. You blame her for something that she had no part of, and now, you are taking it out on her when she is not only our ally, but also our only way of winning this war.”
“Dean, she wasn’t acting logically,” Darmian said softly.
He turned his eyes on his closest friend. “I sent you here to look after my interests. How does this serve anyone’s interests?” His eyes kept moving to Orden at the table and Avoca standing against the tent. “And you two? You just let her walk out?”
Orden said nothing. Avoca just glared at him.
“The decision has been made,” Gwynora said, snapping his attention back to her at the head of the table.
His magic crackled in his palms at her idiocy. He could feel the electricity burning through him, ready to unleash as his anger mounted. He’d learned to harness it. Learned to unleash it. He was still learning to restrain it.
“Cyrene is the strongest magical user in all of Emporia. She has done everything to fight this battle, and she makes one mistake, and you all turn your backs on her?” His gaze shifted around the room, going from Gwynora to Orden to Avoca. “She is your friend. She would die for you. Gladly fight battles for you to save you any suffering. And you cast her aside. You have all made a huge mistake.”
He shook his head at the entire lot of them. His anger a torrent in his veins. His magic trying to burst out of him. Desperate to release.
He spat one more word at them in the silence, “Faithless.”
No one spoke. Fear shone on the faces of the politicians. His sister and friend finally seemed to see him for who he was. Fenix seemed as if he didn’t care about this outburst, but Gwynora and Orden looked guilty. Avoca was still a hollow shell.
“I’m leaving,” he announced, turning away from them.
“Where are you going?” Brigette spoke up.
“To serve the true queen.”
Then, he strode to Halcyon and took to the skies in search of Cyrene.
8
The Red Dress
They continued to travel north over the forest. The skies gave Cyrene time to think. To think about her failure. And how she could learn more in hopes of succeeding. It was late the next night when she finally came to a conclusion.
“Before we go farther, I want to link with you and access the spiritual plane. I think that I need to talk to Serafina one last time.”
Do you feel well enough to cross that divide after the last time? I approve of adventure, but I would not want to purposely put you in danger.
“Yes, I can cross,” Cyrene said with certainty. “It was Vera who was the weak link. Together, we are strong. Malysa will not be able to break between us.”
Together, we are strong.
Cyrene grinned at Sarielle’s arrogance.
Then, let us begin.
Cyrene settled into the grass and closed her eyes, reaching within herself for that sense of right. She felt Sarielle’s presence, the bond, and her answering link. For a moment, Sarielle’s wild energy suffused her. The part of their personalities that were so very the same.
Then, she released from her dragon and stepped out of her body into spirit. She felt secure here. Much more secure than when connected with Vera. That had been a disaster that she should have foreseen. She would not let Malysa into her sacred bond with Sarielle again.
When she felt calm settle over her, she pressed against the liquid divide that separated her from the spiritual plane. She stepped out into nothingness and conjured the inside of her parents’ home. The hard wood under her feet. The enormous spiral staircase that led to the bedrooms up above. The hallway where Elea had first given her the Doma book.
She sighed softly at the sight. She hadn’t thought to come back here in so long. She wondered who lived there now. If anyone did. With her parents dead and Elea gone, who claimed ownership of the premises? She shook her head and cast the thought aside. It was not a problem that she could fix at the moment. And she had long ago learned her lesson to focus on the task at hand as best she could.
“Serafina,” Cyrene called into the silence and empty halls.
A moment later, her figure appeared, wrapped resplendent in a red gown. “Hello, Cyrene. It is good to see you. Though the circumstances are dire.”
“Yes. Malysa has escaped her imprisonment. She is among us. Set on destroying us.”
Serafina nodded and began a small circuit of Cyrene’s home. “I know. I am so sorry, Cyrene. I did not know that you would have to face her in the end. I tried to keep anyone from having to face her once I realized what she was.”
“Others do not understand the real threat with her. They are too focused on the immediate and not looking to the future. I don’t know how to convince them of the path that I am on.”
“You don’t,” Serafina said simply. She faced Cyrene again. “This is your family home?”
Cyrene bobbed a nod. “It’s where I grew up.”
“It’s beautiful. I can sense much happiness here.”
“I had a wonderful childhood,” Cyrene admitted. “But why do you say that I shouldn’t convince them?”
“Because you cannot. Words are pointless now. Only actions can sway those muddled by Malysa’s influence.” Serafina sighed. “Her forte is the darkness, the place within us that despairs and is greedy and angry. She amplified those emotions in the ones who had come to her, like me, like Viktor. Now that she is out, I suspect she can draw out hate like a poison.”
“How do I defeat someone who can infect the minds of my whole army?”
“The two most powerful things in the world—hope and love.” Serafina touched her shoulder. “You bring the energy of this home with you and cast out the darkness.”
Cyrene had no idea how to do that. How to take an energy with her. She knew how to slice into minds. Kael, of all people, had taught her that much. But it was a violation. What she was saying was the opposite of that taint. It was clearing the shadows and showing them there was a chance of winning. She just didn’t know what she could show them that would actually do that. But she had to find a way.
Serafina must have agreed with whatever she saw on Cyrene’s face because she smiled. “I think you’re ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“For the last part of my story.”
Serafina waved her hand, and Cyrene’s family home disappeared. A second later, they were back within the large chamber that held the Doma court, where her own Hymn of Remembrance had been conducted. But this time, instead of it being full of the court, it was utterly empty, save for the lone figure in red standing before what had once been her place of honor—the chair of the Domina.
“This was after the fall of magic,” Serafina said, staring at her past self. “I’d worked with Viktor to help it happen, thinking we were moving toward equality. But Malysa’s hold on him was too strong. The blood magic had corrupted him too fully. I’d helped him, he had killed all of my people and gone after my daughter, and I was all but a prisoner in this tomb.”
Cyrene frowned as she reconstructed the image before her. No longer the Domina. A willing Consort. But now, a beaten prisoner.