All the Stars and Teeth(86)

“I am Amora Montara,” I tell them as the coals begin to sear the back of my hand. “I hail from Arida. I am the kingdom of Visidia’s princess, the future High Animancer. And whether you choose to stand in my way or not, I will restore this island to the kingdom.”

I don’t think of the dead girl on the ground or the way the blond boy cried out when I struck the final blow. I don’t think at all. I’m in full control as I open my palm and let the man’s hair and a handful of teeth fall into the flickering embers.

The man beneath Bastian tosses his head back and yowls in pain. He doubles over and grabs at his face, clawing at his mouth in an effort to rip out his scorching teeth. The coals still burn, but since the fire isn’t raging, they sear slowly rather than burn all at once.

“This is soul magic,” I say as the man beneath Bastian shakes and sputters violently. His mouth bleeds from how desperately he claws at it. It’s more than enough blood for me to end his life, but he’s too distracted by the teeth that slowly burn his gums to still be a threat.

Now, there’s only one opponent left—the girl whose hair I hold. She watches the man screaming before her with round, fearful eyes.

“This is a very, very small taste of the things I can do,” I warn her. “I can melt your bones, destroy your fingers—one by one—rot your teeth, your eyes, your tongue. I am a monster, and if you stand in my way, I will destroy you.” I mean every word that passes through my lips, and this girl knows it.

“I’m only going to ask you this once,” I say. “Where is Kaven?”

She opens her mouth to speak, but never has the chance to give an answer. There’s a rustle in the trees, and the quiet snapping of twigs beneath boots.

Bastian’s grip tightens on his sword. His shoulders stiffen as the figure emerges, and breath flees my lungs. Somewhere off to the side, both Vataea and Ferrick inhale a sharp, surprised breath.

It’s clear to all of us who this man is, because he looks just like an older version of his brother. But where Bastian carries the kiss of the sun on his skin, Kaven has been raised and fed by moonlight.

He’s exactly what I expected, and yet somehow entirely different. While he looks similar to Bastian in the face, he’s taller, and lithe where Bastian is broad. He doesn’t look like an adventurer, or have the same coiled muscles that give Bastian his strength in a sword fight. His chin is lifted high and proud; if I didn’t know better, I’d say he almost looks like a noble. Everything about him feels intimidating.

Strands of gray travel from his roots and dust his inky black hair, and his cheekbones are striking on his gaunt face, sharp enough to cut glass. But it’s not until his eyes find mine that I buckle, the intimidation settling into my bones from the coolness of his gaze. I can practically see the calculation behind his steel-gray eyes, and I understand at once that Kaven doesn’t rely on blades to win his battles. His mind is his weapon.

He combs long, bony fingers through his hair, and on his wrist are dozens of thick leather bracelets, smeared with maroon stains. I remember Bastian’s story—this is where he keeps the blood of those he’s cursed, like a trophy. It’s where he holds not only his power, but also Bastian’s curse.

The chance to break Bastian’s connection with Keel Haul and restore his magic is right there within reach. Taunting us.

My fingertips numb as a rush of coolness floods through me.

“Four intruders,” Kaven says, voice surprisingly calm, “and you couldn’t take care of them?”

Kaven’s frigid presence is enough for the man beneath Bastian to stop screaming, and for the dark-haired girl to drop to her knees in a bow despite the imminent danger. In her distraction, Bastian takes his chance to shove the pommel of his sword into the back of her head. The girl chokes on a gasp as she stumbles forward onto her face, eyes rolling back as she passes out.

Bastian wastes no time. He ducks around me, chest heaving as he arcs his blade and brings it to the skin of Kaven’s throat. Rage is in his jaw. His shoulders. His breaths. Bastian reaches to Kaven’s belt and disarms the dagger sheathed there, tossing it to the dirt.

If he’s bothered at all by the blade at his throat, Kaven doesn’t show it. His smile is slow and mocking. “Welcome home, brother. I never suspected you’d show your face here again, especially with the princess in tow.” Kaven’s voice is predatory, but Bastian doesn’t waver.

“Brother?” Ferrick echoes quietly, anger in his eyes. “You never told me Kaven was his—”

“I just found out,” I whisper to him. “And now’s not the time. It wasn’t my secret to share.”

Bastian nicks Kaven’s throat in warning. None of us move to strike, giving Bastian this moment with his brother to see what might happen.

“Zudoh hasn’t been my home for a long time. You made sure of that.” There’s a quiver in Bastian’s voice. “Look what you’ve done to our island. To our people. This needs to stop; break my curse and step down, or I’ll end you here.”

Kaven lifts his chin higher, and Bastian’s blade cuts deeper. Every movement he makes feels precise and calculated, as though his mind is constantly working three steps ahead of his words. “You want your magic back? After all these years, you wouldn’t even know what to do with it. It would eat you alive.”