Queen's Shadow || Kingdom at the End of the World - Book II

[34] Rising Stars

The moment the man fell from the sky, the world stood still for Ira Hale.

Ira raised her eyes. The split moment of inattention would cost her life, had she still worn the fragile cloak of mortality. She could not have ignored the call of her blood all the same. There was no question in her mind as to who this man was. The answer was in his eyes, in the way he looked at Ira as if he saw someone else in her stead.

Ira knew that she resembled her mother. As her memory of the woman faded, she came to seek the ghost of Yevelina Hale in her own reflection. The grief and helpless anger in the man's expression were terribly familiar.

The hiss of a blade broke Ira's short reverie. She raised her sword to block. The Zero soldier strained his muscles pass the breaking point, matching her strength. She saw the man's wrist snap under the onslaught yet he did not fall back. His face lacked even a hint of awareness. It was as if the man himself was absent even as he stood before her – a hollow tree missing its core.

Dimitri had once shared a story of his early days in the Amith Capil. He had spoken of a young girl who had lost her soul to a demon, his account so disturbing that every word remained etched in Ira's memory. The absence of self that remained a shadow in Dimitri's heart matched only too well with Zero marching to Lord Barton's mad orders.

The Zero Ira faced lost an arm under Ira's blade. He faltered at last, but instead of retreating opted to launch forward bodily. His mouth opened wide, seeking to fasten his teeth into exposed flesh as other forms of offense became unavailable to him. Ira knew she would be a second too late to avoid injury.

She was certainly a step too slow to avoid the splatter of blood and brain matter as a familiar dagger trust through the back of the Zero's skull.

The Zero collapsed. Ira stared at the twitching soldier, then raised her eyes to the fair-headed stranger wielding her mother's blades.

"Valeri?" she rasped. She had left the weapons to Valeri so he could keep himself safe. The fact that they were in someone else's hands could signify a fortunate encounter as easily as a grievous disaster.

"He is here," the man said. Perhaps noting Ira's frown, he added, "Outside the city. He is safe."

"You're not dead," Ira said.

"Not at present," Iavor Beaufort agreed.

Ira was unsatisfied, but could not afford to press for answers in their present situation. Wordlessly, she tossed the sword she carried the man's way.

Iavor reciprocated quickly. Ira caught the daggers midair, finding comfort in the familiar weight of them in her hands. Iavor handled the sword in much the same manner. The tall, heavy blade fit at Iavor's side as if it were a part of the man, confirming Ira's suspicions about its origins. Lord Cheryl Fane was not a swordsman. The misguided vampire definitely did not suit a sword of such might. That he had kept Iavor's blade safe for so many years spoke of either loyalty or delusion – perhaps both, given Lord Fane's character.

"Aim for the head," Iavor said.

"Spare as many as possible," Ira shot back.

Iavor's smile sent a flicker of warmth in his dead eyes. Whether he agreed or not was uncertain.

The battle changed around them. Iavor Beaufort fought like a natural force, his presence easily overwhelming, his orbit unescapable. Ira found herself falling in step with the man without conscious thought. Her more combustive fighting style broke through surges as Iavor offered support and dealt the ending blows, their cooperation as easy as that of soldiers who had worked together for years. Ira recognized that she had been guided into this precise strategy – she had done much the same for Dimitri and Victor in the early days of their team, when they were still trying to fit the jagged edges of their personalities into something cohesive. The fact that Iavor had accomplished the same in such a short time and without her active assistance spoke of experience and tremendous skill.