“And what exactly are you offering?” Maya shouted, gesturing with her haken at the vast bulk of the monstrous plaguespawn. “That?”
“That is the power to overturn the order of the world,” Gyre said. But there was a moment of hesitation in his voice; she was certain of it.
“Please, Gyre. Stop this.”
“Take your friend and walk away.” Gyre glared at her, but something shifted in his mismatched eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Maya gritted her teeth. “You won’t.”
She charged, and Gyre stood to receive her. Silver blade met blazing haken, and to Maya’s shock Gyre’s weapon stood up to the test, halting her blow inches from his face. He slipped away, disengaged, shockingly fast, and she had to parry as she fell back. Sparks flew and crackled whenever the weapons met, falling in showers around them. Maya gave ground, tried a riposte, but Gyre seemed to know where her sword was going before she did. He sidestepped, and his blade licked out, touching her shoulder. She waited for the panoply flare, the wave of cold, but it didn’t come—instead there was a crackle of discharging energy, and the point of the silver sword bit through her coat with a spike of pain. Maya jumped back, putting a hand to the wound, and it came away covered in fresh blood.
Gyre waited, sword ready. He inclined his head. “Like I said. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Maya felt her heart lurch and sought for calm.
Arcana. He’d found something, scavenging in the dark places under Deepfire. That eye, that sword. Apparently it could break a panoply and deflect deiat. Ghoul arcana. It must be. But it has to have limits.
She glanced again at the titanic plaguespawn, and her resolve hardened. I can’t let anyone bring that into the world. Not even my brother.
Maya shifted her grip on her haken and attacked.
This time she moved cautiously, drawing on every lesson in swordsmanship Jaedia had ever drilled into her. Her mentor had insisted that she practice, blade against blade. Maya heard her voice, that lilting, musical accent, as haken and sword clashed again.
“Most centarchs rely too much on their panoply. It’s a useful tool, but it can be a crutch. You need to be good enough to fight without one …”
She’d done that once already, hazarding her bare skin against Tanax’s twisting deiat power. Whatever arcana Gyre had found, he had only a sword.
Sparks exploded outward as they came together, clashed, and broke apart. Gyre was fast, and his accuracy was uncanny. Sometimes it was all Maya could do to match him. But she was better, trickier. Jaedia’s lessons ran through her, the haken feeling like an extension of her arm, flexing and striking and drawing back with a fluidity that Gyre couldn’t match. He nicked her again, on the leg, came close to landing a strike on her side. But she twisted out of the way and slammed home a counterattack he barely parried. She pressed him, not letting up. His blade wove a cage of silver and sparks around him, but he started to give ground, step-by-step.
There was another difference between them. The power of deiat roared through Maya, driving her onward, filling her with the limitless fire of the sun. Whatever force animated Gyre’s arcana came from within. And that meant it would run out.
Maya gave a savage grin. Ghoul weapons are no match for the might of the Chosen.
The green glow in Gyre’s false eye flickered, dimmed. His movements faltered, just for a moment, and Maya pounced. She thrust, a simple attack, and he avoided it as she expected, slipping to one side. At the last moment, her haken twisted, catching his blade in a bind, and with an expert flip of her wrist she tore it from his grasp. The silver sword landed with a clang and skittered across the stones, and Gyre fell to his knees, her haken leveled at his throat. The green in his eye dimmed again, and he gasped for breath.
“I don’t want to hurt you either,” Maya said quietly. “You’re my big brother. You always protected me.”
“Not always,” Gyre said. Sweat dripped from his forehead. “Not when it mattered.”
“Why, Gyre? Why go this far? This is monstrous; you have to know that.”
“The Order took everything from me,” Gyre said. “They took my eye. They took my family.” He looked up at her, real eye thick with tears. “They took my little sister, and they turned her into you.”
For a long moment, Maya didn’t know what to say. Then, finally, it came to her, the words that would fix everything, that would bring her brother home again.
She opened her mouth to speak, and searing pain lanced through her.
Chapter 26
“They took my little sister,” Gyre said, “and they turned her into you.”
He looked up at Maya. His little sister, gap-toothed and grinning, begging for apple pudding. A powerful young woman standing in front of him, sheathed in dried blood, her brilliant red hair hanging limp with sweat, breathing hard. And, between them, a bar of white fire, like a broken shard of the sun.
His words had hurt her, he could see it in her face. She’d never been any good at hiding her feelings. He’d meant them to hurt, his hand still stinging where she’d disarmed him. He was on his knees in front of her, in spite of all he’d sacrificed, everyone he’d left broken and damaged in his wake, in spite of everything. Words didn’t matter, because she was strong and he was weak. But it was all he had, and he dredged for what he thought would hurt her most.
I’m sorry. He wanted to say it, but his lips wouldn’t move. He could have apologized to his sister. But not to a centarch. His body felt heavy, slow, as the energy bottle at his side gave up the last dregs of its power.
Maya looked down at him, gave a sudden smile, and then stiffened. The point of Gyre’s silver sword, crimson with blood and crackling with energy, emerged from her stomach. Maya blinked, eyes going very wide, and her haken slipped from her fingers, blade vanishing as it hit the stones. She followed it a moment later, collapsing first to her knees, then toppling sideways, red hair splayed out around her. The hilt of the silver sword stood out from her back. Behind her, Kit straightened up and smiled.
Gyre wanted to scream, but he didn’t have the strength.
“Sorry I took so long,” Kit said. “Had to pick my moment.” She looked down at Maya. “This is her, isn’t it? Your sister.”
Gyre tried to move and nearly fell over, catching himself on his hands and knees. The energy bottle. Blocking so much deiat had drained it, drained him. He fumbled in his pack with one hand, searching for his last spare.
“You’re looking for this, I imagine.” Kit held up the bottle in one hand. In the other, she had the remote trigger for the bomb he’d put in Naumoriel’s war-construct. “I’m sorry about this, Gyre, I really am.”
“W …” Gyre’s mind felt blank. He tried to raise his head and instead found himself meeting Maya’s gaze, empty and staring. “What … are you …”
“I really do like you, Gyre.” Kit set the energy bottle down carefully, well outside his reach. “I promise I’ll come and collect you on my way out. But Naumoriel was very clear that the Leviathan can only have one master, and it has to be me.” She bent over and kissed his cheek. “Just rest here for a minute. I’ll go blow up the old ghoul and collect my prize, and then we’ll be on our way, yeah?” She leaned a little closer and whispered in his ear. “And if you thought fighting our way out of the Spike made me horny … well.” Kit straightened up, smiling brightly. “See you soon!”