Page 150 of To Kill a King
The tiniest smile curled the outer edges of her lips. He was right about that last part.
The mirror in his hand lit up blue. “Elessan? Svialto? You there?”
He bit his lower lip and looked at Aliya.
Oh, right. She closed her eyes, summoning the gold hair, tan skin, and oh-so-prominent cheekbones of the shape she’d favored her entire life.
Holding the mirror so they both could see, Aliya gazed upon the reflection of Princess Tsara of the sun elves.
“It’s about time. I was getting worried.” Tsara nodded at her. “Your Majesty. Glad to see you’re alive.” Her gaze turned toward Elessan. “Things are getting tense out here, and I don’t know how much longer Hedul and I can hold it together. We need word from the palace.” A commotion sounded from behind her, and the princess threw a glance back over her shoulder. “Dang it! Get out here, quick.” The mirror went dark.
Elessan shoved it back in his pocket. He turned to Aliya and held out his hand. “Are you ready?”
Ready? To face an army of elves and dwarves, not to mention a city full of scared humans, and explain they’d killed the king, and she was taking over? Her stomach turned hollow and plunged into her feet. Not likely. She swallowed.
He squeezed her hand. “You’ve got this. I have faith in you.”
Something whistled through the air and slammed into Elessan’s shoulder. The faint scent of blood tickled Aliya’s nose.
“Valek!” He slapped his hand over the wound and spun around.
Malkov stood, leaning against the wall. His fingers smoked from whatever spell he’d just used. “Stupid elf. I warned you. You can’t assassinate me.”
Aliya blinked, studying the deposed king. “El,” she asked in Elven, “do you see a ghost image overlaying him?” She didn’t see it anymore, but she was no longer incorporeal.
Elessan frowned. “Yes…”
Malkov growled and waved his fingers in complicated motions. Magic hung heavy in the air.
“If I hold him down, can you pull the last bits of light from his cloak?”
His gaze flicked to her for a brief second before returning to the king. “I can.”
At least he didn’t waste time asking why. Aliya pulled a tiny thread from the kernel of magic solidly repositioned inside her chest and flung it at Malkov. The thread broke into four strings, each of which snagged a wrist or an ankle and pinned him to the wall, spread-eagled.
Elessan tugged a light free that only he could see, scrutinizing it. “What are these?”
“I think they’re the magic he’s stolen from others. He seemed to get weaker when I freed some of them earlier.”
Malkov fixed her with a glare. “Traitor! That magic was our last hope to defeat the inferior races!” The king screamed as Elessan ran his hands up and down around his torso, freeing the last bits of filched magic. “Assassin! Assassin! Get your hands off me. Guards!”
Elessan dusted his hands on his pants. “It’s done.” Turning back to Malkov, he said, “It’s over. You’ve lost. The dwarves and elves have overrun your city. Your guards are either dead or imprisoned, and you won’t leave this room alive.” He drew his sword.
“El, wait.” Aliya stepped up beside him.
Raising an eyebrow, he held his blade out to her. “Do you want to do it? Technically, his life is yours.”
What? She glanced at her finger, to the gold ring that symbolized her vow that was still nestled securely in place. “Do I want to kill Malkov? Of course not. But… Don’t I have to, to fulfill my vow?” And save Elessan’s life.
Maybe her vow would be satisfied if Malkov died, regardless of who killed him?
She stared at Elessan and shook her head. “I don’t want to start my reign with death.”
He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “You won’t be. It begins with life; yours, the magic users’ throughout the realm, and every soldier on both sides who would’ve fallen in the war.”
The image of the veteran on the street a few days ago flashed through her mind.
Well, that was one way to look at it. But still. She bit her lower lip. Her chest ached at the weight of such a decision.