Astarte's Wrath (Kythan Guardians 0.50)

More fire envelopes the sky. Crackling waves of amber flares against the night.

“Finally,” Phoenix says, drawing my attention from the raining fire.

Nuri approaches, a woven bag threaded over one shoulder, sword in hand. “I came as soon as General Habi gave the order,” he says.

Phoenix nods, then steps toward the barge. We follow, and a sharp pang at having another Narco on this mis

sion hits my stomach. I tamp it down. Phoenix expressed his trust in Nuri, and there was no one I could depend on other than Habi. But our general is needed with his army. And we need the added strength that a second Narco’s power can deliver.

Once the barge pushes off the shore, I look at Xarion. He’s lost in thought as he watches his home grow farther away, his green irises matching the turbulent waves of the ocean.

“I wish we could bring them with us,” he says, the wind muffling the anguish in his voice. I know he’s referring to his siblings.

“No matter what, Octavian would not anger his people by destroying children. Especially a once-beloved general’s children. They will be safe, taken care of and treated well wherever they are.” His eyes meet mine, and I reinforce my words. “Octavian will be destroyed—not them; not us. Please only focus on your safety for now.”

His lips thin and he nods once, but I know his thoughts will remain with them however far we run. Through whatever dangers he faces. He’s loyal, a true king, and that’s only one of the many reasons why I love him.

I direct a strained smile at Lunia who returns it. She said her own personal goodbye to little Delphus, and I can see the pain on her downturned features at having to leave him behind and entrust his safety to another guardian.

As our barge docks, I search the sky for Candra. The Leymak hold their fixed positions outside the walls, their silvery light illuminating the dark storm churning the air. Our group heads into the depths of the city, skirting statues, monuments, and corners, using the conjoining rooftops of palaces and buildings as cover.

Guardians infiltrate the Canopic from Rhakotis, readying themselves for the Roman invasion.

Once we reach our rendezvous —the Library—we huddle near the entrance, our breaths held, hands gripping our swords, awaiting the war horn to sound; our cue. The striped awning above flaps violently in the rising wind, its snapping causing my senses to heighten and my eyes to scan the emptied boulevard, my guard up.

The sound of the battle reaching the shore drifts to my ears. Shouts. The ring of weapons striking weapons and shields. A guttural cry rents the air, and a chill works its way through my body.

The boom of hundreds of feet stomping the earth in rhythm competes with the drumming of my heart. “Hold,” I say, my voice low, steadying the anxious, fidgeting bodies around me. I pull Xarion’s hood forward to cover his face as the first of the Roman legions enter the streets.

They run, breaking formation. Their war cries pierce the tense hum in the air. We back farther into the alcove, the shadows masking us, as the guardians and soldiers clash in a loud disharmony of roars and clanks.

I’m tempted to peek around the awning and search for the dark hovering forms. But I keep my gaze on the battle, waiting. Candra’s presence is still making itself known, but she remains silent. Why hasn’t she spoken or appeared? Why isn’t she gloating and slinging threats?

Phoenix’s forearms illume red as his gaze trails the fighting. I touch his shoulder, and his head snaps around. Glancing at the pulsing Flame snaking up from his hands, he grimaces. His features contort as he reins in his power, extinguishing his Flame.

I know how difficult it is to control the urge to strike out at the Roman soldiers. It’s instilled in us; visceral as guardians to fight. I have to consciously discourage my instinct as the battle rages before us. Even Xarion clutches the hilt of his sword. Raised to be a king, he’s prepared to defend his people and country. I latch on to his arm and give him a knowing look before returning my gaze to the streets.

The Shythe cast a glowing blue-white net of Charge over our enemies. It crackles as it drops on top the soldiers, entangling them in a biting electrical snare. My brow creases. Only the Shythe are present in this scrimmage. Where are the Narcolym Guardians?

Searching the battle, I try to glimpse the Narcos. It’s possible they’re holding back another legion of soldiers at the gates or the harbor. But an annoying twinge of doubt eats a hole through my reasoning. A brush of hot air warms my cheek, and I turn toward the source.

A blazing stream of fire lashes down on the boulevard. The light of the Pharos attacks, setting the Shythe Guardians aflame. My mind numbs. All logic flees.

The horn sounds.

I stand in mute shock as the guardians burn—their screams ripping a deafening hole through the chaos.

“Move!” Phoenix shouts.

I can’t.

The cries bleed into the night as the blaze engulfs those trying to escape, and I can’t take my eyes off the carnage. The destruction. The betrayal unfolding around me.

Before I realize my actions, I’m raising my khopesh and charging toward the battle. My gaze lands on a Narco rounding the boulevard, his Flame aimed at a Shythe—at Kale. Calling forth my Charge, I emblaze my hand and unleash a bolt. It careens toward its target. The Narco blocks my blow with an ignited raised arm, deflecting it to the street.

A cry rips from my throat. I hammer my sword against his shield, driving his arm down. His glowing red eyes meet mine a moment before my blade strikes his chest, carving a deep gash.

He stumbles and drops to his knees. I lift my sword to finish him, and strong arms encircle my waist. Xarion shouts near my ear, but I can’t latch on to the meaning of his hurried words as he hauls me toward the Library.