Son of Khyber_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [96]
But there was someone who did.
She thought of her dreams, of the gown in the crystal room, the great dragonskull, the dark reflection she’d seen in Far Passage. She felt the pain of the Khyber shard in her neck, and she embraced it, pulled it to her.
Time slowed to a crawl. Then the thoughts flowed through her mind.
What have we here? It was a strange sensation, feeling another force think with her mind. It seemed as if they were her own thoughts, but they were filled with cruel joy. Daine, Daine. I always knew I’d have you some day. And a pair of angels as well.
The balance had changed. The voice within Thorn took charge of the struggle, twisting the dragonmark wraith’s power against it, cooling and crushing it with its own rage. And the instant its resolve broke, the force within Thorn pulled against it. Thorn felt a terrible sense of disorientation, and the shard in her neck burned.
The ghostly dragonmark was gone. Yet the force in her head remained. Now it struggled with her, seeking to push her into the stone.
You’ve had your time, Nyrielle. Now it’s my turn.
It was a horrible sensation, as if all of her thoughts and memories were being compressed into a ball and crushed.
Don’t fight, girl. You can’t possibly match me.
For a moment, she couldn’t even remember who she was. But there were things she could never forget, and she drew those out.
The face of her father when he returned from the wars.
The last time she’d seen her mother.
Lharen’s soft words in a darkened room.
And as she drew on these memories, she felt power growing within her. She forged her emotions into a vise, and she wrapped it around the alien presence in her mind. Slowly—too slowly—she forced it back into the prison of the shard.
And then it was over.
Daine’s corpse lay on the floor, the dragonmark gone from his flesh. The tiger-headed fiend she’d known as Drego was also stretched out across the ground, slowly stirring. Thorn placed one knee on Drego’s chest, and Steel against his throat.
His eyes opened. His features blurred, and now it was the handsome Thrane who lay beneath her.
“That won’t accomplish anything,” he told her, gesturing toward Steel with his eyes. “I can’t die. If you kill me, I’ll just be reborn.”
“Drulkalatar said the same thing,” she replied, running her free hand along the soft skin of his cheek.
He paled.
“Who are you?” Thorn asked. “What is this all about?”
He chuckled softly. “So you still don’t remember. You still think you’re Thorn.”
“I am Thorn.”
“You’re Sarmondelaryx. The Angel of Flame. The Devourer of Souls. Condemned by the Conclave of Argonnessen—and yet, they need you, if the Prophecy is to fall as they wish it.”
“And what does that make you?” she said.
“One of the true children of Khyber, born in the first age of this world. Not the mightiest of my kind, certainly. But cleverer than many with more power. I served the ancient Lords of Dust in the war against your kind—the war over the Prophecy, the struggle to shape the future. Then I met you. Or, I suppose, I met her.”
“And I suppose you fell in love?”
“I don’t expect you to understand. You’re just a child now. But you could be her again. Embrace the dragon within you. Embrace your power. Let us be together again and mock dragon and tiger alike.”
What he was saying was horrifying, and yet she knew it was true. The dreams, her senses, the way the fire wouldn’t touch her …
All gifts of Sarmondelaryx.
“No,” she said. “I am who I am.”
“For now.” Drego grinned, the same playful grin she’d seen so many times. “But every time you draw on her power, she grows stronger. It’s only a matter of time.”
“So I won’t use her powers.”
“You’re being used,” Drego told her. “How did you happen to be in the right place to fight Drulkalatar, and why were you able to transform in that battle? You’re a puppet, and you don’t even know who’s pulling the strings. Release Sarmondelaryx. At least she