Page 73 of A Crown of Darkness
And they were powerful. He’d never seen witchkind this powerful. Apart from Wren.
If he survived this – if any of them survived this – things would have to change. But that was for another day. It would have to be.
A more realistic part of his mind told him that the chances of surviving were perilously small anyway. But he fixed his mind on Wren, on finding her again, on bringing her back to herself, whole and unharmed. Anything else was a bonus.
He was no longer expecting anything more. Once he’d dreamed of a future with her. Now…now he just wanted her to live. To still be his Wren and not some kind of avatar of a dark goddess.
He pushed those thoughts aside as well. He didn’t have time for them, not now.
‘Roland first,’ he said firmly. One step at a time. That was the only way to get over insurmountable odds. Roland de Silvius had taught him that.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ Olivier confessed. ‘When I was a boy I would just…’ He rubbed his hands together and stretched them out. Light flared under his skin and he stared at it as it rippled and moved like reflections of water. ‘Like…like that, I suppose.’
Robin was grinning, almost gleeful. He had that ageless look again, as if something else was peering out from behind his eyes. ‘It’s because the Aurum is here. In him. Help him, Prince Finnian.’
Olivier knelt down by Roland’s feverish body and carefully peeled back the tunic where they had bandaged the shadow kin wounds. Dark lines spread out from the worst of them, across his sweat-streaked skin, and the Grandmaster shifted uncomfortably, muttering something they didn’t understand.
Olivier sighed, and raised his eyes to the sky as if in prayer. Then he pressed his hands to Roland’s skin. For a moment nothing happened but then, inch by slow and torturous inch, the lines of poison started to retract.
‘He needs your strength, chosen knight,’ Robin told Finn. Lark shuffled forward, peering at Olivier as if to get a better view. ‘You need to give him back the magic the Aurum took. Now.’
Well, he was already in this up to his neck…
Finn moved carefully, reaching out to lay his hands on Olivier’s head as the Grandmaster and one of the maidens had when taking their vows so long ago. But this time he wasn’t taking anything away. He focused on Olivier, on his kindness, his diligence, his devotion. If anyone deserved such magical power, it was someone like him.
Blessed, he thought absently. Olivier was blessed. And loved. So very loved.
He thought of Anselm and half-smiled.
The rush of light took all of them by surprise. Olivier cried out in shock and joy, his back arching as he threw back his head. Light burst from his pores, golden and brilliant. For a moment he shook as if struck by lightning but then he drew in a deep breath and bent his will to the stricken man lying before him.
Because duty had always come first. And always would.
The Aurum sang in Finn’s veins, filling his mind with its triumph. It chose this. Chose Olivier as a servant. Chose Finn as its embodiment. Chose Roland as Grandmaster. Chose to be here for this fight.
It was, Finn realised, in its own focused way, just as insane as the Nox seemed to be. Uncontrollable. Wild. Dangerous.
Olivier gave a sob and Finn snatched his hands back, cutting off the flood of power.
‘What are you—? Olivier?’ It was Anselm’s voice, desperate with shock and fear. ‘What did you do to him?’
He ran towards them, sword out, though whether he meant to turn it on Finn was anyone’s guess.
And if he did, Finn knew, the Aurum would defend him. Even against his beloved friend. It would turn Anselm to ashes if he so much as…
No, Finn told it. The force within him pulled back sullenly, but was still ready to attack.
Just as dangerous. Just as mad. Great light and shadows of old…they were all playing with a fire that couldn’t really be controlled. He realised that now. Perhaps he had always recognised it.
This was what he had wanted for so long. To be a Paladin. To serve the Aurum. To have its light fill him and serve its will.
And now…now he knew the real danger. He had been blind. A fool.
‘Olivier, what did you do?’ Anselm gasped as he reached them and pulled Olivier to his feet, studying his face, concern making his feelings evident. ‘Are you all right? Tell me you’re all right?’ Olivier looked like he’d taken a blow to the head. He swayed where he stood, trying to speak but failing. Slowly, he smiled, as youthful a smile as Finn had ever seen on his face, filled with relief and joy.
Then Roland moved, blinking as if waking up from a nightmare.
‘Knights,’ he said in that low, gravelly rumble. ‘Report.’
