Epilogue: Lochlan

The plan was doomed from the start.

Lure the Iskalt soldiers from the castle into a fight. Sounded simple. The miscalculation? It took them two days to leave the safety of their high walls, two days for Lochlan to taunt his uncle.

Now Callum wanted him dead.

"Retreat!" he yelled. "Everyone, fall back!" He kicked his horse around and thundered into the valley beyond the Iskalt palace. "Retreat!"

The Iskalt citizens who'd joined his side followed the command as they used their magic to combat that of the people behind them.

The sun rose on the horizon, and with each passing moment, Lochlan's magic faded like the stars in the sky.

Pain ripped up his leg as an arrow struck him, and he screamed. His horse reared back before picking up speed. Another arrow sailed toward him, and he yanked on the reins. The horse threw him from his back and kept running.

Lochlan stumbled to his feet and stared down at the arrow shaft lodged in his thigh. Grabbing it with two hands, he broke it, leaving the head still in his leg. There would be time to remove it later.

Dizziness overcame him for just a moment as horses galloped past him followed by foot soldiers. He joined the steady stream of Iskalt warriors fighting against his uncle. They had to make it over the next hill before Callum's men caught up with them.

This was where the plan was doomed.

As the dawn came, Iskalt magic lessened, but they had a force of Eldur soldiers Callum knew nothing about.

If they made it to them.

Lochlan hadn't counted on the size of Callum's force tripling his. He didn't think it would take this long to goad his uncle into a real battle. Callum was rash, not one to abide a siege.

But battles over open ground—those he reveled in.

And now he'd have one.

Lochlan held his sword tightly as he ran, even as the strength in his hands lessened. He could see their destination on the other side of the valley, a hill of snow and ice, behind which the Eldurian forces hid.

Pain enveloped him with every step he took, but he couldn't stop now, not when so many people were counting on him.

The only thing that kept him moving was picturing Brea in his mind. A messenger from Finn told him they had Myles and Brea’s friend, Neeve. She'd done it. She'd saved her friends. But what was happening to her now?

The only way to save her was to win this fight, this crown, and take his kingdom back. Only then could Iskalt and Eldur march on Fargelsi. Only then could they stop the pain and strife throwing their world into human-like chaos.

And it started here, with this pain he overcame every time his boot hit the snow.

Every time he wobbled and didn't fall.

Every time he saw his people risk their lives for their kingdom.

Being king wasn't about power or luxury. He only wanted to do what was right.

His strength waned as he crested the final hill among the thundering horses and Iskaltians running for their lives.

But with the dawn came a new strength. As his power and that of his people faded away, the Eldurians’ power grew.

And they were ready.

By the time Callum's men pounded over the hill to find fresh troops full of fire magic awaiting them, it was too late.

A new day had dawned in Iskalt.

And with it came a man who was finally worthy of wearing the crown.