Eirabella
I sprintthrough the empty streets, my steps pounding against the ground, the shadows of destruction looming over me. The air is still thick with the acrid scent of burnt wood and stone, lingering from the recent battle, and I can still taste the smoke on my tongue. The makeshift bridge the rebels had tried to build over the North Tower entrance lies in ruins ahead, the one I had shattered with my own magic. Debris is scattered everywhere, and rebel bodies lie broken in the dirt, their lifeless forms abandoned as if they’re nothing but trash themselves.
I halt, chest heaving, staring at them. There’s no burial, no attempt to even cover them. They’ve just been left here by their own forces, discarded, as if they never mattered. “Heartless death-mongers,” I mutter under my breath, anger tightening my fists. They’ll be collected tomorrow by the King’s Guards and burned on Traitor’s Mound, but that’s no way to be sent to the underworld. I have no pity for them, only a renewed understandingof their callousness of the rebel forces. What’s the point of fighting the king, if you’re not better?
I push forward, scanning the dark streets for any signs of the enemy barracks. They’ll pay. All of them. Every single rebel who had a hand in Doran’s death will face me, and I’ll make sure they regret ever setting foot in this city. The city itself is eerily silent, not a soul in sight, as if the whole place is holding its breath, waiting for the next strike. But there’s nothing. Just the shadows and my own burning rage propelling me forward.
My footsteps are the only sound in the eerily silent capital. In the quiet, thoughts of the last time I’d sprinted through these very alleyways come flooding back. Back then I’d been trying to run away from the castle. Now I feel like I can’t go back until I’ve completed my mission. Don’t deserve to be there, don’t deserve to sleep in the place where Doran had befriended me, had taught me, and then, had died in my arms, without avenging him.
I’m near the city walls when I finally hear movement beyond the gates, a faint shuffling, and quiet curses that send a rush of adrenaline through me. They’re trying to get away, slipping back through the darkness. Not a chance. I’m about to sprint toward them, hands raised, my replenished magic tingling, when a strong hand suddenly grabs the back of my dress and pulls me back. I twist violently, trying to break free. Fear floods every single inch of my exhausted body.
“Am I going to have to start tying you down again?”
Rylan.
Fuck.
When I’d woken to see him gone and had made the decision to go find the rebels, I should’ve known he wouldn’t let meget too far.
“Let me go,” I snarl, yanking against his grip, but he holds me steady, firm.
“We both know that’s not going to happen,” he says, moving his hand from my back down to my wrists.
“They’re getting away!” I scream, the frustration clawing at me, and I try to shake him off again.
“I know,” he replies, his voice infuriatingly calm, “and you have to let them.”
“Let them?Let them?” His words stoke my anger. He’s got to be fucking kidding. “They killed Doran! They need to pay for what they did!”
He doesn’t flinch, just stands there, holding my arms as I writhe and twist against him. “And you’re going to take down that whole company all by yourself? Don’t you think that if I thought one person could take them all down I would already have done it?”
I hate the cold logic in his voice, and I hate that he’s stopping me from the vengeance that I can taste like iron on my tongue. “If I can kill even one of them, maybe—”
“Maybe what? It’ll bring him back? Give you peace?” He’s challenging me, pushing me, and it only makes me angrier. “This isn’t you, Eirabella. Remember how you felt when I killed that whole band of bandits? Remember when you asked if I had to kill them all?”
“Yes,” I hiss. “And do you remember when you told me.”
“I told you that sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to. This isn’t one of those things. And you’re not me. And nobody wants you to be. Least of all Doran.”
“Well, Doran isn’t here! They killed him!” my voice breaks at the words.
“And killing them won’t bring him back,” he says, voice still steady, too steady, “You have to let them go. I have people following them. And you need to let them do their job. Yougoing after the rebels could not only hurt yourself but our people as well.”
I scream in frustration and throw a punch at his chest, my fist connecting with the hard muscle beneath. It barely affects him, but I don’t care. I punch again, again, my breaths coming fast, and he just stands there, taking it, letting me hit him over and over, his jaw tight, but he doesn’t stop me.
“You don’t get it! You can’t possibly understand what it feels like to be helpless! You’re a fucking prince, for fuck’s sake!” I slam my fists against his chest, each hit punctuated by another insult. “Cold, unfeeling, too busy ‘doing your job’ to understand anything about real loss!” I don’t even really believe the things I’m saying, but it’s more the way I’m screaming at him than the actual words that’s helping.
He takes every blow, his expression unchanging, just letting me wear myself out. “Keep going. What else?” he says softly, almost a challenge. “Tell me you hate me. Like you did that night by the fire. Let it all out, Eirabella.” He takes my hand and slaps it against his chest. “Remember how I took you from your home? Don’t you still hate me for that?”
“I do hate you!” I scream, my fists pounding against him, tears stinging my eyes. “I hate that you stopped me! I hate that you’re just standing there, letting them get away, while Doran’s lying dead in the castle chapel!”
He still doesn’t respond, just looks at me with that calm, unyielding gaze. It only infuriates me more. “What else? Remember how I used to yell at you in those first days of training? Remember how I told you you were only good at failing?”
The memory wrings another scream from me, and I bunch my hands together, banging them against him. He doesn’t stop me.
“Fight back!” I shout, my voice breaking. “Damn it, Rylan,fight me!”
But he doesn’t. He just stands there, absorbing every ounce of my rage, my grief, my desperation. He’s the immovable cliff, and I’m the storm crashing against him.
