Page 130 of Shattered Jewel
Her cry reverberates through the room as she launches herself at the High Sovereign.
She’s met with a backhand swing from the Scourge, sending her sprawling. But Elara isn’t like the other women they’ve stolen and killed. She knows who they are, what they do, and she’s fucking angry.
Elara picks herself up and lunges again.
This time, the High Sovereign isn’t fast enough to react, because the threat doesn’t come from her.
Kaspian spears into the High Sovereign, his face morphing into obscene fury the second the Sovereign touched Elara. He knocks the High Sovereign off-balance, sending him sprawling and the ruby clanging to the floor.
The High Sovereign rolls, leaping to his feet faster than I thought a man of his age could. Then again, we’ve always guessed at their ages—elderly assholes.
Confusion, momentous and violent, descends upon the room like a last-ditch war. A frenzy of movement from the High Sovereign, an explosion of rage from Kaspian.
Kaspian is relentless, his every strike a symphony of raw anger and defense, but the High Sovereign meets him, blocking and landing blows equal to Kaspian’s strength and skill.
Good God.
A shriek of metal on metal tears through the room as the Scourge lunges for Kaspian. But Kaspian’s ready. He spins on his heel, meets the Scourge with an animalistic growl, and they collide with a bone-jarring thud.
Elara’s on her knees, gaze wide and anguished, torn between helping us or, I hope, fucking leaving this place while everyone’s distracted.
I will her to go, run and save herself, but she doesn’t.
She wouldn’t.
She’s just like Kaspian that way.
Movement on my left has me twisting in time to see Wilder sprint into the chamber, his attention split in five different ways as he assesses the situation. His chestnut hair is disheveled. He has a red mark on his cheek the size of a hand and a rip in his shirt, his cloak’s ties hanging loosely around his neck.
Elara’s doing, probably, when she found out Sasha wasn’t with her anymore and Wilder tried to get her to safety.
Our girl is nothing if not observant. And pissy when she’s told she can’t do something, like save her best friend from a ritual sacrifice.
Wilder’s gaze locks onto the Silent Sovereign, lingering at the edge of the bedlam. He’s more like a specter than the others, the soft velvet of his cloak muffling any sound he might make. Without missing a beat, Wilder charges at him, his muscles rippling under his torn shirt, his cloak flying off his shoulders and billowing behind him like a spirit avenger.
Wilder throws a punch aimed to crush the porcelain mask concealing the Silent Sovereign’s face, but it’s effortlessly blocked by the Sovereign’s forearm.
My gut clenches, desperate to join the fray, as I watch Wilder’s crude power continuously deflect against the icy calm of the Silent Sovereign’s calculated moves.
The battle between them is less a fight and more a vicious ballet, each movement flowing into the next as they exchange blows. As tiger-quick as Wilder is, the Silent Sovereign matches him step for step with grace and agility that belies his wraith-like presence.
Wilder knows it’s not about brute force anymore. It’s a tactical game, and he is playing it without hesitation, picking the Silent Sovereign’s weak spots with precision.
Spinning, Wilder tries to evade the Silent Sovereign while going for the High Sovereign’s back, assisting Kaspian while Kaspian engages both the Scourge and the High Sovereign. But Silent weaves between them, defending his High Sovereign.
Wilder’s surprise is evident, but he recovers fast, shifting his attack.
Yet, there’s something off. Silent is an unforgiving strategist, yet he’s baiting Wilder with a fighting style that seems too non-lethal for the situation.
In the midst of their brawl, Elara picks herself up off the ground. She pockets the ruby lying innocently beside her before she races toward me. Her mouth forms my name, but the sound is lost in the cacophony.
There’s another explosion of pain as she crouches in front of me and yanks at my bindings, searching for a release mechanism.
The room spins and my vision blurs as blood gushes from the fresh wounds. I blink hard to keep conscious, staring over Elara’s shoulder and witnessing—I think. This has to be real—Cav unchaining Sasha from the wall and ordering her to run and hide.
“Sasha, go!” Cav bellows, looking from the sobbing girl to the turmoil in front of him. Our eyes spark, twin pairs of flint scraping against the other and igniting an unspoken conversation. For a second, there’s a flicker of something there, something I can’t quite grasp.
Pity? Anguish?