231

231
Dravina POV
Tavian, Dashira, Ysolde, and Ansel closed in around me just as the enemy surged again. Instinctively, we formed a tight circle, backs pressed together, our movements synchronized as though guided by a single pulse. Fire scorched the ground around us, the acrid tang of blood clinging to the air, but we held the line. For a heartbeat, survival felt almost possible.
Then it came
Ansel’s scream.
It ripped through the chaos sharper than steel, raw enough to split the roar of combat in two.
“Compulsion!” he choked out, clutching his head before collapsing with a sickening thud.
My chest constricted. I spun to him.
His eyes wild with panic, confusion, betrayal locked on mine.
I shook my head desperately, mouthing, It’s not me!
But the contagion was already spreading.
Ysolde folded mid-strike, crumpling where she stood. Several Silverlight warriors toppled in unison, eyes glassy, limbs jerking like broken marionettes.
Then the pressure hit me.
Not just pain violation.
It was like fingers clawing into my skull, prying me open, dragging at my thoughts to replace them with something alien. I stumbled, knees threatening to give way. Warmth trickled from my nose. I remained upright, but only just.
All around me the battlefield stilled. Screams dissolved into groans, gasps, the sound of bodies hitting earth.
I tried to push back, to summon the compulsion I knew lived inside me, but I had no idea how. No control. Only desperation.
And that’s when I saw him.
Roarke.
He emerged through the smoke like a nightmare made flesh smiling. His eyes were shot through with red, his ears bleeding, his skin pallid and wrong, yet he walked as though none of it mattered. As though pain no longer touched him. As though madness had already hollowed him out.
His gaze locked on mine, power rolling off him in invisible waves that bent the air. That smile twisted, unnatural sent a chill to my bones.
I stood trembling, frozen.
This was no ally.
No savior.
This was the monster Malrik had gambled everything to protect. And now he was here for me.
He advanced slowly, deliberately, as though time itself bent to his stride. His body upright and tall, but his movements… wrong. A puppet animated by insanity. Even his voice, unmistakably his, sounded warped, corrupted.
“After so long…” His rasp was a serpent’s hiss, his eyes glowing like live coals. “I’ve finally found her. The true descendant of Evander’s Moonchild. Daughter of Orielle. Daughter of Rhydian Mancini.”
My breath snagged in my throat. My heart faltered.
Behind me, Drethos’s voice broke through, stunned and shaking. “What?”
Roarke hissed softly, tilting his head just enough to let the venom strike.
“She’s your niece, Drethos.”
His smile widened, grotesque.
“And she’s mine now.”
Drethos’s head whipped toward me. In his eyes flickered confusion, guilt, fury something close to grief. He looked at me as if my mother stood there in my place. Maybe he saw her ghost.
But I couldn’t answer.
I was too busy enduring the crushing avalanche of Roarke’s compulsion.
“Get away from her!” Drethos roared, his voice raw, knees buckling as blood streamed from his eyes. He was fighting it Roarke’s power hammering him full force yet still straining to reach me. To protect me.
This man who had stood across from me on battle lines was no enemy now.
Tears streaked my face not from fear, but helplessness.
I wanted to save them all.
I wanted to stop Roarke.
But I had no training. My power was wild, raw, unfocused and Roarke was a monster too well-versed in wielding his.
He held the advantage. Time was slipping away.
So I did the only thing I could.
I pushed back with everything I had, even if it shattered me.
“Stand down. Don’t fight it,” I begged Drethos, my voice trembling but clear.
He looked at me, blood dripping from his nose, his eyes, his very soul cracking under the strain. Yet he shook his head.
“Rhydian said the same thing… and died that night,” he rasped. “I won’t let his daughter die too.”
And in that moment, I saw it all the brother he’d lost, the guilt he carried, the loyalty that never left him. He missed Rhydian. Even now.
Drethos staggered forward, reaching for me but he didn’t see what was behind him.
I did.
Marzena.
Her eyes glinted with cold triumph, a serpent draped in fine silk. Her betrayal came swift and merciless. Her claws raked across Drethos’s back with surgical precision.
He choked on his own breath, falling first to his knees, then to the dirt.
Marzena stepped back, serene, unruffled, like a queen who’d signed her final decree. “It’s done,” she said coldly, brushing her hands as though she’d just cleared her throne of its last obstacle.
I stared down at my uncle.
Confused. Dying. Still reaching for me even as compulsion dragged him into blackness. His lips moved faintly.
“I’m sorry, Dravina.”
Then his hand went still.
Around me the world blurred. Tavian writhed on the ground, Dashira barely upright, Ansel convulsing as an Ashflow warrior raised a weapon to finish him.
But before the strike fell, Marzena lifted a hand.
“No,” she commanded, calm and dangerous.
“He’s still important,” she added coolly, eyes flicking to Ansel.
Roarke chuckled, dark amusement twisting his mouth. “Not really,” he sneered, jerking his chin toward me. “I’ve got the jackpot right here.”
Marzena tilted her head, unfazed. “Unless you’re willing to share your stash,” she purred, venom threading her voice, “I want my share of the harvest too. He and his siblings will do.”
That word harvest turned my stomach.
I scanned the battlefield, desperate for Ysolde. She lay crumpled, barely twitching. Around her, workers and warriors sprawled unconscious some shuddering, some terrifyingly still. Even Aveline, sweet gentle Aveline, was down.
They weren’t built for this. None of them were. And I was barely standing.
Tears blurred my sight. My body screamed for rest. Goddess, I wanted to give in.
But I couldn’t.
Too much hung in the balance. Too many still breathing, still fighting for us.
I wouldn’t hand them over.
I couldn’t.