A Reign of Steel

CHAPTER THIRTY

Luanda stood on Romulus’s ship, not far from him, watching his back as he watched the sea, hands on hips, smiling, victorious. Luanda heard the incessant screeching, and she looked up and watched the host of dragons on the horizon, leading the way, disappearing as they headed north toward the Upper Isles, on their way to destroy her sister and all her people.

Romulus laughed and laughed as he led the fleet of ships, thousands of them, blanketing the sea like a school of fish, sailing away from the Ring for the Upper Isles. Luanda looked out at the horizon, and knew that she should feel satisfaction. After all, she had finally gotten what she’d wanted. The Ring was destroyed; she was avenged. Avenged for Bronson, avenged for her exile from King’s Court. Avenged for never being treated the way she deserved to be; avenged for being skipped over for the youngest. She had avenged herself on everyone who had doubted her, on everyone who had cast her off as meaningless.

But Luanda was surprised to realize that she did not feel triumphant; she did not even feel satisfaction. Instead, as she watched the events unfolding before her, she felt hollowed out—and a deep sense of regret. Now that her plans had become a reality, she could not help but admit that there was a part of her that still loved her people, that still wanted to be loved and accepted by them. That wanted them alive, that wanted things to be the way they used to be.

She had thought all this destruction would make her so happy. But now that there was nothing left, for some reason, she felt sad. She did not know why. Perhaps it was because with her people and land destroyed, there was nothing left to remember her time on earth. Nothing left that was familiar in the world. All that remained now was Romulus and his Empire—all these awful creatures.

As Luanda looked at Romulus’s broad back rippling with muscles, a commander at the height of his powers, ready to conquer every last inch of the world, a tremendous hatred for him built up inside her. He was to blame for all of this. She hated the way he treated her. Like a piece of property. She hated how subservient she had been forced to become to him. She despised everything about him.

Romulus’s soldiers were all preoccupied on deck, and Romulus stood alone at the bow of the boat, his back to all, Luanda the only one allowed to get close to him, hardly ten feet away. She glanced around one last time to make sure no one was looking, then, secretly she tightened her grip on the hilt of the dagger she kept hidden in her belt. She squeezed so hard, she could feel her knuckles turning white. She imagined herself strangling Romulus as she squeezed.

Luanda took a step forward, towards Romulus’s exposed back, a cold gust of wind and ocean spray striking her in the face.

Then another step.

Then another.

Luanda could not rectify wrongs, could not change what she had already done, the mistakes she had already made. She could not bring her homeland back. She could not restore the Shield.

But there was still one thing she could do, time for one last remaining act of redemption before she died. She could kill a barbarian. She could murder Romulus. She would get vengeance, at least, for herself, and vengeance, at least, for all of them. If she could not have anything else in life, at least she could have that.

Luanda tightened her grip as she extracted the dagger and took another step. She was but two steps away, seconds away from killing this monster. She knew that she herself would be captured and killed shortly thereafter—but she no longer cared—as long as she succeeded.

There he stood, so smug, so arrogant. He had underestimated her—like all of them. He had seen her as property, as someone not to be feared. Luanda had been underestimated her entire life. Now she was determined to make him—and every other man in her life—pay. With one stroke of the blade, her life would find satisfaction.

Luanda took the last step, raised her dagger high, and anticipated the satisfying feeling of her blade puncturing his flesh and putting an end to this creature’s life for good. She could already see it happening, could see him dropping to his knees, collapsing face first, dead.

Luanda plunged the blade down with all her might—and yet, the strangest thing happened. The blade suddenly stopped as the tip hit his back. It was like hitting steel—it could not puncture the skin. It hovered there in midair, and no matter how hard she tried to push it down, it just would not enter his skin. It was as if he were protected by a magic shield.

Romulus turned around, slowly, calmly, a smile on his face as he shook his head and stared back at her, holding the blade in midair, harmlessly. Luanda looked at the blade, wondering what had happened.

Romulus shook his head.

“It was a good attempt,” he said. “And any other time, you would have killed me. But you see,” he said, leaning in close, his pungent breath in her face, “while this moon lasts, I am invincible. To every man, to every blade, to everything of this earth. Including you and your dagger.”

Romulus leaned back and laughed, then reached out and calmly took the blade from her hand. She was helpless to stop him. He raised it high, grimaced, then suddenly stepped forward and plunged it into her heart.

Luanda gasped as she felt the cold metal entering her heart. She felt her heart stop, felt all the life and air leaving her body, felt her body go limp, numb, felt herself collapse to the wooden deck of the ship. She looked up and saw Romulus’s laughing face before her eyes closed for the last time, realizing that nothing in the world would stop Romulus. Nothing.

Her final thoughts, before all life left her, were, strangely enough, of her father.

Father, she thought, I never meant to disappoint you. Forgive me.