Failure.
That’s all she was. Everything she’d put her hand to had failed. Even when it seemed like she would succeed, her weakness would catch up to her and turn the tables once again.
She would never succeed.
Years of effort wasted on thee. Thee does nothing that I say.
T’zuman’s creaking voice echoed in her mind like a gong, a shadowed visage of his too-young face glaring at her from the depths of the darkness.
You will never succeed, Margaret. You will always fail.
Velanna’s clipped words punched holes in her hopes. Didn’t Velanna understand that all she wanted to do was make her proud? Didn’t Velanna know how desperately she yearned for approval? If Velanna would just tell her what she really thought—what she really felt—but why would Velanna do something like that for her? Maybe if she tried harder…
Don’t lose them, Maggie. Keep the family. Keep them safe.
The flames licked around the edges of her memory, the scent of blood and charred metal from the car as it had folded around them. Charlie Mitchell. His eyes were just like hers, hovering over her, blood dripping from his nose and mouth and ears. His teeth red with it.
She’d let him down too. Because Jenny was dead.
You killed him. His blood is on your hands. My father would not have died if you had never come here.
Tzaitel would never forgive her either, and Meg didn’t blame her at all. She was entitled to her grief. She had lost her father, and it was Meg’s own fault.
Jenny’s screams wrapped around her in a cloak of agony like lead, her gentle voice raised in desperate cries for help, for relief, for mercy as the volcano burned her flesh away.
Danny was next. The volcano eating him alive.
Mickey too.
And Jim.
She couldn’t stop it. She couldn’t stop any of it.
Soft fingers trailed along her face, and she lifted her head. Her stomach dropped.
No.
Anyone but him.
Tolan Ittai gazed at her, his deep green eyes full of sorrow and disappointment. “I believed in you.”
Her heart split open.
“Velanna gave you the gift of her knowledge, her training, her years of experience because I begged her to do it.” Tolan’s face sank into the darkness, his eyes narrowing at her. “She trained you because I asked it of her, and this is how you have repaid my kindness.”
“Tolan.” Meg swallowed the need to sob as agony wound up her spin, stabbing her with every spark of electricity.
“You let me die, Margaret,” he hissed. “And now, you’ve let the rest of them die.”
“I failed.”
“Yes,” Tolan said. “You failed. I should never have trusted you.”
Meg lowered her face and let the sobs take her.
“I wish I had never found you, Margaret.”
The tentacles of the Andhera peeled away from her and forced a scream of agony out of her as she collapsed on the stone floor, gasping for breath. Tears poured down her face as she desperately tried to control her breathing, but everything hurt.
It felt like her soul had been cut in half.
The others lay around her in various states of alertness. Danny had curled into a ball with his brow pressed into the stone while he shook with sobs he wouldn’t release. Mickey lay sprawled beside him, face expressionless and eyes dim while tears slid to the stones.
Jim was on his knees, arms wrapped around his stomach while he struggled to stay conscious.
We’re going to die like this.
Meg ground her teeth together.
No.
She gripped the nearest stone and pulled herself up.
No, we won’t. We won’t. I won’t let it happen.
She fought to get her aching body into a sitting position, and the roaring in her ears faded enough for her to hear voices echoing around her.
“At last, my brothers!” That was Tiron. “We possess both Light and Shadow!”
Meg’s blurry vision cleared enough to watch him lifting the Kirana and Andhera crystals over his horns.
The room erupted in cheers.
She forced down a wave of nausea and drew a long, deep breath, the cotton jammed in her ears lessening enough to recognize Velanna’s voice speaking. Her voice warbled and wavered in Meg’s ears before it stabilized.
“—a noble from the North doing among the Outcasts?” The woman sneered. “You have no place here.”
Meg blinked until the room came into focus. Velanna knelt before Tiron, hair loose, face bleeding the dark purple blood of her race. But her chin was raised, and her eyes were sharp.
You will never succeed, Margaret. You will always fail.
Meg winced and looked down.
It wasn’t real. That didn’t happen. She never said those things. She clenched her eyes shut. But what if she thinks them?
Tolan had never spoken those words to her either. He’d never said anything like that before, but what if it’s what he’d always thought? He’d never seen her truly succeed. He’d only ever seen her fumble around and fall on her face. He said he wanted her to be Andai. He’d made her promise to never give up. But was that how he’d really felt? What if he felt like Tzaitel did? What if he had loved her the way Tzaitel had? If he were still alive, would he hate her now like Tzaitel did?
“No place here?” Tiron cackled, tossing his head with an exuberant smirk. “You dare speak to me of having no place? You—who have no people left alive?”
Velanna released a rattling breath.
“What possessed you, Celtican, to give the soul of your culture to a human?” Tiron roared with laugher and held up the shimmering Kirana crystal.
Meg’s heart twisted, and she bit her lip to smother a cry of despair. Of course he had it now. Of course he’d won. Because it was true: she would always fail.
Tolan believed in you. Jenny believed in you. Look where it got them.
“Where did you get it, Centaur?” Velanna asked quietly. “How did you come to wield the Andhera?”
Somehow she managed to maintain her dignity even at his feet.
Tiron’s face twisted into a cruel smile. “It was a gift,” he said. “From a benefactor who wished to possess the Light.” He held up the Kirana crystal again. “Isn’t that right, Njano?”
A metallic clank echoed in the chamber, and Meg blinked until her eyes could focus. And even then she wasn’t sure what she was seeing.
And I thought Centaurs riding dragons was crazy.
At the edge of the chamber, half buried in shadows, a giant figure stood. The orange-tinted light of the lava pit sparkled off the yellow armor he wore, mingled with the red horns sprouting from his helmet’s brow, and shimmered against the black armor on his arms and legs.
Who’s that?
“Njano.” Tiron addressed the armored figure. “May I introduce Kuvunja Dunia, she who broke the world.”
The armored figure trained his glowing eyed gaze on Velanna.
Velanna shifted beneath the warrior’s unflinching gaze but didn’t bow or bend. She kept her head lifted and her eyes locked on his.
“Who are you?” she asked.
The armored figure emerged fully from the shadows, the light from the pit illuminating the complex lines and angles of the armor he wore. He moved to stand next to Tiron, nearly as tall as the Centaur himself, and bowed his head sharply.
“I am Jinsoku,” he said in a voice like a cracking whip, “First Warlord of the Thallian Dynasty.” He straightened. “It is a momentous honor to meet you, Velanna Ittai. I have heard so very much about you.”
Is this guy for real? Or is he just a tin can?
Meg swallowed a groan of pain as she settled herself, holding onto her aching side. What was going on here? Who was this new warrior, this Jinsoku? What did he have to do with any of this?
Velanna’s gaze shifted back to Tiron. “I cannot claim the same, Master Warlord. I know nothing of you.”
A deep, rasping chuckle answered her. “The day comes soon when you shall.”
Velanna took another stabilizing breath and squared her shoulders. “Yet neither of you have answered my question.”
Icy silence descend between them.
“Where did you find the Andhera?” Velanna spoke through clenched teeth. “It is a relic of the Great War. It is a remnant of my people, lost to the ruins of our history. How is this possible?”
Tiron chuckled under his breath and looked to Jinsoku.
Interesting.
Tiron liked to talk. He liked the sound of his own voice. So why was he defaulting to whatever this newcomer had to say?
His armor clanking around him as he faced her, Jinsoku tilted his head. “With great enough power, Lady Ittai, anything is possible.” The armored warrior turned to Tiron and raised his head appraisingly. “You have done well, Centaur.”
“Yes, I have.” Tiron stood prouder. “Did I not tell you your faith in me would be rewarded? That I could serve your master as well as I serve myself?”
“Your words exactly.” The Warlord sneered and reached for a bag that hung from his armor’s belt, holding it open to Tiron. “Thus, Centaur, serve my master.”
Tiron paused, eying the leather bag suspiciously.
What was Jinsoku doing? Did he want Tiron to hand over the Kirana and the Andhera?
Like that’s going to happen.
The longer the silence lasted, the more uncomfortable it became. The warlord and the Centaur stared at each other, the gaping mouth of the empty leather bag between them.
Finally, the warlord shifted back slightly. “What is this, Centaur? You would breech our agreement?” He sounded mildly annoyed. “What a dreadful shock.”
Tiron gazed at the dark crystal he held in one hand and the shining, shimmering crystal he held in his other hand. Then, his eyes shifted over the warlord’s armored shoulder.
Meg caught her breath.
Four Centaurs with glinting scimitars crept forward to the dais, all focused on the Warlord Jinsoku. Tiron was double-crossing him. No surprise. That’s what Centaurs did.
Jinsoku lowered the bag slowly. “Perhaps, Lord Tiron, you would think to use this great power for your own gain. Understandable, since one like you has no inherent power.”
An angry rumble shook the stone floors as the army of Centaurs began to snarl in once voice.
“It is only fair I warn you, Great Centaur,” Jinsoku continued, “that if you choose to betray the trust that was so generously bestowed on you, I shall have no recourse but to utterly destroy every last one of you.”
Tiron’s grin spread across his face broadly as he barked with laughter. “Such a great threat! You have no power here, Njano.” Tiron held up both crystals. “The Kirana and the Andhera have chosen me, and you and your distant master are nothing. You can not even touch the crystals, can you?” He nodded at the leather pouch Jinsoku still held.
Jinsoku clenched his armored fingers around the leather bag until they squeaked.
“What a pity!” Tiron mocked. “What happens, Njano? What happens if you touch them? What happens if they touch you?” The whole chamber began to laugh and jeer. “You say I have no power, but you are wrong. I have the only power that matters, and you will fall to me.”
A low-pitched chuckle burst from beneath the warlord’s helmet.
Tiron waved his hand. “Be gone, warlord. Return to your master and tell him he can expect my visit to his door one day.”
The warlord’s chuckling became a full-throated laugh, ringing with cruelty sharp and cold. “I should venture onto the field of battle more often! Centuries have passed since I have been thusly entertained.” He fastened the pouch on his belt. “You? Attack my master? What fun that would be.”
Tiron snarled and nodded sharply at the warriors behind Jinsoku.
They lunged together, and their bright scimitars stabbed—the air.
In a yellow blur, Jinsoku just—vanished. And just as quickly he reappeared behind the Centaur soldiers, holding in his armored hand a double-bladed scythe, dark with blood. As he stood, staring in silence at Tiron, the four Centaurs tumbled to the floor, their heads rolling across the stones.
Meg gawked. She hadn’t seen him move. She hadn’t even seen where his weapon came from. How had he moved that quickly?
Okay. Not just a tin can.
Tiron’s jaw hung open, eyes bulging. “You—how did you—?”
Jinsoku stepped over the fallen bodies and held out the leather pouch again.
“I truly haven’t time for this, Lord Centaur.” Jinsoku shook his head. “Do you realize what trouble goes into conquering worlds? No, you wouldn’t, would you? Simple-minded fool as you are.”
The snarling from the mezzanine reached a new pitch.
Jinsoku spun the tall bladed weapon, and it blurred much like he had before it disappeared into the air. Like it had ceased to exist.
“The logistics of bringing an entire dimension to its knees would boggle your already deficient senses, you four-legged waste.” Jinsoku’s sneer echoed in the room, even above the snarling of the watching Centaurs. “Terran will fall soon. My plans are proceeding as expected. What is done cannot be undone. And you have made an agreement, thus you will keep it.”
He thrust the pouch forward.
“Or?” Tiron challenged. He waved a hand to the corner of the room, and fifty armored Centaurs snapped into formation, all wielding swords and clubs and spears and growling rabidly.
Jinsoku laughed again. “Lord Centaur, have you seen nothing? Have you heard nothing? Who do you think I am?”
“I know not who you are, Njano.” Tiron shrugged clutching both crystals in his meaty fists. “But I know what you are. A pawn—in a much larger game. If you want these crystals, your master must come here and take them from me himself, for I shall not hand them over to you.”
A spark in the smoke, shimmering and yellow. The warlord’s armor began to glow, pure power radiating off him like heat from a bonfire. Stronger and brighter than the heat of the volcano. Like millions of electric fingers tickling across Meg’s skin.
The hair on her arms, her neck stood on end. The air grew thick and heavy. Ominous.
Bad. Very bad. Very very bad feeling.
“So be it, Centaur.” Jinsoku lifted his head again. “But I fear you will be disappointed.” He chuckled again. “My master cannot be troubled with one so weak and powerless as you.”
The warlord bowed at the waist.
And blinked out of existence.
Meg gasped and shifted, scanning the chamber for him. Where had he gone? Had he left?
Tiron whirled too, seeking everywhere for any sign of the warlord.
Had he fled?
A rumbling groan ripped through the floor of the chamber, and a shockwave of power erupted from the corner where the armored Centaurs had been waiting for Tiron’s call.
Meg stumbled sideways and cracked her head on the floor. Blinking the blood out of her eyes, she lifted her head and stared.
Centaurs were flying.
Whole bodies in the air. Charred and dented armors. Hollow, empty eyes as their lifeless frames pounded on the gray stone chamber like hailstones at Tiron’s hooves.
Where the fifty had stood, a crater had been torn into the rock itself. That’s where the warlord stood, scythe weapons still glowing with amber light, hot and fierce and unrelenting as the sun in a desert sky. The warlord straightened in the crater, dark blood dripping from his bright armor, as roars of rage echoed from the mezzanine.
Tiron gaped at him, still clutching the crystals.
Jinsoku’s armor clanked and rattled as he stepped out of the crater he’d made, stepped over the fifty Centaur bodies he’d ripped apart, and paused before Tiron’s daius. He held out the pouch again.
This guy—Meg blinked. This guy is in a whole different class. She glanced at Velanna, who gaped in just as much shock.
Even if they could bring Tiron down, how were they supposed to fight someone like this Warlord Jinsoku? If that many Centaurs couldn’t even hurt him, what could they do to him?
“Now, Lord Centaur.” The warlord’s tone rang with condescension and disgust. “Shall you honor your word? Or shall I kill more of your soldiers?” He shrugged. “It makes no difference to me.”
Tiron wouldn’t turn them over. No matter how much power Jinsoku displayed, Tiron wouldn’t lose face in front of the entire assembly of Outcasts. What would the warlord do then? Bring the volcano down around them? He seemed to possess the power to do so.
Distract them. Meg clenched a fist full of rocks. Get them focused on something else. If they fight—if Tiron tries to use the Andhera and the Kirana against Jinsoku’s power—we’ll all die.
“You can’t wield the Kirana,” Meg shouted, her voice shaking. “Neither of you can!”
In spite of the trembling snarls filling the air, her voice carried more than she expected it to. Both Tiron and Jinsoku turned slowly to glare at her.
The sole focus on their fierce gazes, Meg’s stomach began to crawl up the back of her throat.
“It only answers to Velanna.” Meg lifted her chin. “So if you try to use it, you’ll fail too.”
The warlord’s hidden gaze burned, his armor clanking as he shifted his weight.
Meg huffed a breath.
Definitely a bad idea.
But, she was good at bad ideas.
Slowly, she got her feet underneath her aching body and pushed herself up until she was standing. Unsteady but upright. She threw her shoulders back, the sulfur-scented gusts of heat blasting out of the volcano lifting her hair around her face and waving her braid against her back.
Tiron sneered. “What are you doing?”
Meg met his gaze.
“You have no weapon.” He pointed to the pile of energy sabers on the floor. “You have no Light.” He held up the Kirana crystal. “You have nothing.”
Meg lifted her chin and allowed a smirk to curl the side of her lips. “Even so, you won’t kill me on my knees.”
Tiron answered with a laugh. He threw his head back and laughed almost hysterically before he backed away from her and shouted at the nearest Centaur.
Danny yelped as a Centaur seized him by the hair.
“No!” Mickey cried, reaching for him only to be knocked down from behind.
Meg wobbled on her feet as the Centaur dragged Danny to the rim of the lava pool. Tiron wasn’t laughing anymore as he turned and regarded her with a vicious grin.
“I will not kill you at all, Kusuka.” He pointed to Danny. “But I will kill your kin. And you will watch.”