The Emerald-Opal Heir -13

The Healer

One of the first lectures Gwen ever gave Clara and Johnny was about getting out of tight situations. The pair of them had snuck into a nearby village and completely ransacked a stand of a vendor who had insulted Johnny wearing a flower in hair. They’d ended up at knifepoint and Gwen had to rescue them, which she was not pleased about. 

There are some fights you can’t win, Gwen had chastised. You have to pick which ones you fight. 

I’ll pick all of them, Clara had responded with a grin. 

Gwen’s frown had become one of Clara’s least favorite things. I’m serious, Clara. There are some times that you will either turn away or you will end up dead. 

This was one of the times that Clara knew she needed to run. 

With Emmeline unconscious and injured and Beckett heaving for breath as he struggled to contain his powers, Clara knew she had to get out. 

The only problem was she couldn’t drag Emmeline, much less carry her - especially if Beckett was going to give chase. He’d already put up a fight when that emerald light had knocked out Emmeline. She wasn’t sure why he’d left her untouched, however, and the thought of being spared for some reason unnerved. 

Her hand dropped to her belt where several knives lay in wait. With Emmeline slumped on the floor, Clara could use both of her hands if-

“I don’t want to fight,” Beckett mumbled, his voice low. His normally pale cheeks were flushed pink with color and he held up his hands as a peace offering. 

Clara scoffed. He was taller than she remembered, which seemed absurd because only a few weeks had passed. Besides his height, she could tell there was a difference in the way he held himself. That arrogance that had reminded her of Johnny was gone, leaving behind a boy that seemed almost like an empty shell. 

Jealousy wrapped her heart in an iron fist as she wondered if it was courtesy of his “little friend”. 

“Where’s your perfect princess?” Clara spat instead, aware that she was being petty. “Is she waiting for you in your chambers, warming your bed?” A low blow, but Clara was too distracted to come up with anything better. 

Beckett’s blushed deepened as he stumbled for an answer. “A-Alys?” He stopped for a moment, his eyes widening. “We’re not like that, Clara, and you know that. But why did you bring her up? Did you hurt her?” His expression and the hairs on the back of Clara’s neck stood up straight. The air crackled with the sheer amount of his power. 

She rubbed a finger along the length of her dagger hilt, too afraid to respond. So the girl’s name was Alys. Not that it meant anything - especially with Clara treading so close to dangerous waters. 

Beckett’s eyes dropped to her dagger. Clara’s grip tightened on her weapon as Beckett’s fingers flexed and a butter knife slipped from his pocket. 

Clara resisted the urge to laugh. A butter knife? 

“Did Baelle not trust you with a real sword?” Clara couldn’t help but prod. Her heart burned with shame as he blushed and pressed his lips into a thin line. 

“Did Gwen ever teach you manners?” he shot back. Clara winced, and Beckett’s mouth twitched like he regretted saying it. She didn’t give him the satisfaction of responding, and Beckett pursed his lips without adding to the conversation.
Was this what they’d been reduced to? Clara might have once considered Beckett one of her best friends in the whole world, and now she would have been fine if he was dead. 

Clara stared straight at him, vaguely aware of Emmeline still unconscious at her feet and her friends probably getting further and further away with every passing minute. She needed to get out of here and soon, but Beckett wasn’t going to let her get away easily. 

“Balle doesn’t trust me in the first place,” Beckett admitted at last, dropping his gaze. “I’m under constant surveillance and my days are filled to the brim with random stuff-” 

“Like hanging out with other bratty nobles?” Clara couldn’t help but ask. 

Beckett heaved a sigh, like he was more disappointed than anything about Clara bringing Alys up. “I told you, Clara. We’re not like that. I’m trying to make palace life less miserable-” 

Clara snorted. “You made this choice, Beckett. You chose Baelle over the rest of us. So if you’re looking for someone to blame, then take a peek in a mirror.” 

You have no right to complain, she almost said. Had Beckett ever watched someone he cared for die, knowing that he had the ability to save them and then it failed when he needed it most? Did he wake up every day wondering if he could have saved them? Was his heart fractured and bleeding? 

Beckett’s expression dropped now, any sense of kindness long gone from his features. 

“I was hoping you would be a bit more receptive,” he muttered under his breath. “I need your help, Clara. You and all the others. I want to get out of here. I need to. It’s terrible and-” 

“And not at all like you were expecting?” Clara finished. Beckett nodded, the corners of his lips curling up in a smile, as if glad to finally be understood. So naive, Clara realized. He hasn’t lived because he hasn’t lost. “Next time you should consider that before you decide to run off and join the woman that wants you dead.” 

“But my kingdoms-”

Clara fixed her gaze on him, willing her voice to be steady when she spoke. “You had a choice, Beckett: your friends or a world that will never honor you.” 

“It’s my duty - my legacy left by my parents-” 

“Your parents are dead!” Clara spat, not even thinking before the words slipped from her mouth. Guilt immediately dropped like stones in her stomach. 

Beckett’s magic flared and Clara knew she’d made a huge mistake. 

The butter knife in his hand shattered. Clara stumbled backwards as emerald and silver magic exploded from Beckett, swirling around him like a cloud. 

“Beck-” she started, nearly tripping over Emmeline. 

The prince only took a step closer. He was even more intimidating when he was weaponless, his expression empty. 

A bolt of magic shot towards Clara and she ducked. It hit the wall with a loud smack that sent cracks rippling outwards. She started running down the corridor, hoping she could lure Beckett away from Emmeline. 

He followed after her with slow, heavy steps. She rounded a corner and suddenly his footsteps stopped. 

Clara froze, her heart pounding a warning in her chest. 

Was he going back for Emmeline? She peeked around the corner, only to get tackled to the ground. Beckett threw all of his weight at her and it knocked Clara off balance. 

His legs straddled her chest, pinning arms to her side. His fingers wrapped around her throat, sparking with silver bursts of light. Clara struggled to breathe against his tight grip, her lungs burning for air. 

Her Blessing stirred, but something about Beckett’s magic countered it. 

Just as her vision started to dim, Clara drew her legs up behind Beckett. She slammed her knees into his back, sending him toppling overhead. 

Sucking in desperate breaths, she sprung to her feet and took off towards Emmeline. 

This time, Beckett gave more of a chase. Clara could tell he’d been training as he once again tossed himself into her side. The two tumbled to the ground. She forced herself to stay light on her feet as she kicked him in the side and kept moving. 

Beckett wrapped a hand around her ankle and she crashed to the ground. She managed to maneuver her weight enough that she landed on top of him, knocking the wind from his stomach. 

Where was Forrest? Where were the others? 

Clara scrambled off of Beckett, leaving him panting for air. She could see Emmeline lying just ahead, but it didn’t look like she was breathing… 

Clara lunged forward, stumbling over unsteady feet. She was mere feet away now when- 

Someone slammed her against the wall. Magic lashed at her wrists, binding them together and searing into her skin. Emerald light crept up her skin, holding her tightly like the embrace of a long lost lover but filled with sharp hatred. The light squeezed her stomach, sucking the air from her lungs and sending jabs of pain up her ribs. 

Clara struggled as Beckett approached, his hands loose at his sides. 

She searched his eyes for any sign of the prince she’d once known but found nothing familiar. Her heart stuttered at his stony features. 

He stood so close that Clara swore she could hear his heart beating too. She writhed against the bonds that held her, wanting to get out of this stupid situation. She couldn’t bear being this close to him-

His hand raised to her face, clutching her dagger. She hadn’t realized she’d dropped it. 

“Say hello to my parents for me,” he snarled, the blade hovering over her throat. Her wrists burned as she tried to slip away from the magic. 

One second Beckett was there, and the next he was crumpled on the floor. 

Forrest stood in Beckett’s spot, breathing heavily. One of his eyes was swelling and suit as coated in blood. He’d lost a sword somewhere along the line but all Clara could feel was relief. 

The magical ropes crackled as they disappeared and Clara threw her arms around Forrest, wincing at the pain in her wrists. It felt like fire was burning in her very bones- 

“Emmeline’s unconscious,” Clara said quickly, pulling herself away from Forrest. “Are you well enough to carry her?” 

Forrest thought for a moment, grimacing as he pressed a hand to a cut on his stomach. “I’m fine. Took a few unnecessary hits but I won’t bleed out any time soon.” He didn’t look so sure, but Clara figured she could use her Blessing on him. “What about your arms?”

She glanced down, expecting them to be a little irritated. Instead, she found angry burns that snaked up her arms similar to the spirals that lined Beckett’s. The skin screamed its protest with her every movement, but if Forrest could be strong, so could Clara. “I’ll live - they don’t hurt that bad.” 

A lie, but she also had a low pain tolerance. 

Forrest frowned, but he said nothing as he stooped over to pick up Emmeline's limp form. Maybe it was lucky the Reader had lost so much weight recently… 

“Go…” murmured a voice from the floor. 

Clara sent a final look towards Beckett, who was sprawled out on the floor with one of Forrest’s knives buried in his shoulder. It looked like Forrest had missed his heart. 

The thought burned in Clara’s mind.
“Go,” Beckett repeated, more frustrated this time. “This is the last time, Clara. I’m doing this for you.” With a scream that made Clara’s stomach boil, he ripped the knife from his shoulder and plunged it into his leg once, and then a second time. His muffled groans had Clara turning away to mask the tears in her eyes. 

“Let’s go,” she whispered to Forrest, whose eyes were slightly glazed. 

“Hurry,” Beckett agreed, his chest rising and falling with shallow, pained breaths. “My magic … rising…” His voice trailed off as he dropped into unconsciousness. A green glow began to form around his body and fear froze Clara’s blood. 

“We have to go,” she insisted. “Now.” 

Forrest didn’t argue. He heaved Emmeline over his shoulder and ran as fast as he could. Clara followed close behind, reaching out her Blessing to try to heal all three of them. 

It was lucky they were so close to the courtyard to begin with. Clara took the lead as Forrest stumbled behind her. She threw open the double doors that led out of the castle, tripping down the steps. Forrest’s breaths came in rasps and Clara knew he would need severe medical attention. 

Her side burned with the effort of running and her arms felt like they were going to fall off. Something rumbled deep within the castle and Clara tackled Forrest to the ground. She dropped into a ball, wrapping her hands around her head just as part of the palace exploded.

Author's Note

This should be the end of the action scenes (there might be one more). I struggled a bit with the conversation between Clara and Beckett (for reasons you'll find out soon), so let me know if their argument seemed reasonable and their reactions were realistic. Happy Reading!