P.C. Cast - Burned

“The only other person who can make, or unmake, me a Guardian is my queen, and she knows about me and my past .”

I watched Stark lunge again. With a disdainful sneer, Kalona used the spear to brush aside the blade. This time when he hit Stark, it was with his closed fist, and the force of it broke his nose and bloodied his cheekbones, knocking my Warrior to his back.

I held my breath, watching helplessly for what I knew would be Kalona’s killing blow.

But the immortal didn’t do anything except laugh while Stark struggled painfully to his feet. “Zoey isn’t a queen. She isn’t strong enough. She’s just a weak girl who let herself be shattered by the death of one human boy,” Kalona said.

“You’re wrong. Zoey isn’t weak; she cares! And about that human boy? That’s part of the reason I’m here. I need to collect the life debt you owe for killing him.”

“Fool! It’s only Zoey who can collect that debt!”

With those words, it was as if Kalona had taken his spear and sliced through the fog of guilt that had been blanketing me since I’d watched him twist Heath’s neck, allowing everything to become very clear to me.

I might not see myself as a queen—or as much of anything sometimes—but Stark believed in me. Heath believed in me. Stevie Rae believed in me. Even Aphrodite believed in me.

And, as Stevie Rae would have said, Kalona was as wrong as manboobs.

Caring about others didn’t make me weak. It was the choices that I’d made because of that caring that defined me.

I’d let love shatter me once, and as I watched Kalona play with my Warrior, my Guardian, I chose to let honor heal me.

And that, finally, made my decision.

I turned my back on the arena and moved quickly to the edge of the Goddess’s grove. Blocking out the sense of restlessness that threatened to pull me ever forward without really taking me anywhere, I made myself stand still. Spreading my arms wide I focused first on the last spirit who had spoken to me.

“Brighid! I need my strength back!”

The redhead materialized before me. She looked like a Goddess herself, all fiery and tall, full of power and confidence that I didn’t have.

“No,” I corrected myself out loud. “The power and confidence are mine. I just lost them for a while.”

“Ready to accept them back?” she said, familiar eyes meeting mine.

“I am.”

“Well, it’s about time.” She stepped forward and put her arms around me, pulling me close to her in an embrace that was as strong as it was intimate. My arms closed around her, and with that acceptance she dissolved against my skin, and I was filled with a surge of heat that was power—pure power.

“One down,” I muttered. “Get your butt in gear, girl.”

I spread my arms again. This time my feet stayed planted firmly on the earth and the desire to move, search, flee, flowed over and past me, harmless as spring rain.

“I need my joy back!”

My nine-year-old self didn’t materialize. She bounded from the grove. Giggling, she hurled herself into my arms. I caught her, and, as she yelled, “Yippee!” she soaked into my soul.

Laughing, I spread my arms again. Joy and strength allowed me to accept the last of my missing soul—compassion.

“A-ya, I need you back, too,” I called into the grove.

The Cherokee maid stepped gracefully from the tree line. “ A-de-lv , sister, I am glad to hear you call my name.

“Yeah, well, I can honestly say I’m glad to have you as part of me. I accept you, A-ya. Totally. Will you come back?”

“I’ve been here all along. All you had to do was ask.”

I met her halfway and hugged her hard, bringing her back to me, and in turn, bringing myself back.

“Now, let’s see who’s a weak little girl,” I said, hurrying back to Kalona’s arena.

I stepped to the edge and looked down. Stark was on his knees again. The sight of him squeezed my heart. My Guardian looked awful. His lips were swollen and split wide in a bunch of places. His nose had been smashed crooked and was oozing blood. His left shoulder was a shapeless, dislocated mess, leaving his arm dangling limply at his side. The beautiful sword was lying on the ground, just out of his reach. I could see that the bones of one foot and a kneecap had been shattered, but still Stark struggled along on the ground at Kalona’s feet, hopelessly trying to move closer toward his claymore.

Kalona was hefting his spear as if he was testing the balance of it and studied Stark. “A broken Guardian for a shattered girl. It seems you two fit better together now,” he said.

And that seriously pissed me off.

“You have no idea how tired I am of your crap, Kalona,” I said.

Both of their heads snapped up. I didn’t look away from Kalona, but I could feel Stark’s grin.

“Go back to the grove, Zoey,” Kalona said. “It is better for you there.”

“You know what I really hate? Guys trying to tell me what to do.”

“Yep, my queen, that’s what Heath said.” The grin was in Stark’s voice now, and I had to look at him.

I met his battered gaze, and the pride in me I saw reflected there made my eyes fill with tears. “My Warrior . . .” I whispered to him.

That one instant—my one small mistake—was enough for Kalona. I heard him say, “You should have chosen to return to the grove.” I saw Stark’s eyes widen, and as my gaze flew back to the immortal, Kalona spun around, his right arm stretched back like an ancient warrior god. He released the spear with a burst of strength and speed that I knew I couldn’t—

“No!” I screamed. “Come to me, air!” I leaped into the arena, trusting the element to cushion me, but even as I felt the current catch me, I saw it was too late.

Kalona’s spear struck Stark in the middle of his chest. It traveled through his body, the barbs in the spear shank catching his rib cage and hurling him backward with such momentum that he was impaled against the far wall of the arena with sickening force.

My feet touched the ground, and I was already running to Stark. I reached him, and his gaze met mine. He was still alive!

“Don’t die! Don’t die! I can fix this. I have to be able to fix this.”

Unbelievably, he smiled. “That’s right. My queen won’t let anything shatter her again. Collect your debt, and let’s go home.”

Stark closed his eyes and, with a smile on his broken lips, I watched his body convulse once. Bloody air bubbles foamed around the spear in his chest, and suddenly there was no movement, no sound from him at all. My Warrior was dead.

This time when I faced the being who had just killed someone I loved, I didn’t give in to horror and pain. This time I kept spirit close to me instead of hurling it away, and from it I drew the power of knowledge and let instincts, and not guilt and despair, guide me.

Kalona shook his head. “I wish this could have ended differently. Had you listened to me, accepted me, it would have,” he said.

“Glad to hear you agree with me, ’cause this is going to end differently,” I said. Before I started toward him I picked up Stark’s sword. It was heavier than I thought it was going to be, but it was still warm from Stark’s hand, and that warmth helped me find the strength to lift it.

Kalona’s smile was almost kind. “I won’t fight you. That is my gift to you.” He unfurled his great wings. “Goodbye, Zoey. I will miss you and think of you often.”

“Air, don’t let him leave.” I flung the element at him. His fully spread wings were easily caught, and a mighty gust of wind pinned them against the wall of the arena, eerily mirroring Stark’s final pose.

I walked up to him and, with no hesitation, drove the claymore through his chest.