Cassian’s free arm shook as he pulled the knife he’d killed Bellius with from his belt. Brought it toward her.
“You kill me,” Nesta gasped, “and you don’t get the Trove. You’ll never find it.”
“There are others in your court as delusional as you are. They’ll get it for me one way or another, with the right incentive. Granted, I’ll need your blood to unlock the wards on the Trove. I saw that, too, you know. When you so foolishly held the Harp in the Prison. But I suppose killing you will provide plenty of the blood required.” Briallyn nodded to Cassian. “Get her up.”
Nesta didn’t fight as he hauled her to her feet. Held the knife against her throat. Pleading shone in his eyes. Pleading and fear and—and love.
Love she did not deserve, had never once deserved, but there it was. Just as it had been there from the instant they’d met.
What was the value of the world, compared to him? To this?
“This is growing tiring,” Briallyn said.
Nesta let her mate see the love shining in her face.
The sky filled with soft, gentle light.
“Kill,” Briallyn ordered Cassian.
Nesta had loved Cassian since she’d first laid eyes on him. Had loved him even when she did not want to, even when she had been swallowed by despair and fear and hatred. Had loved him and destroyed herself because she didn’t believe she deserved him, because he was all that was good, and brave, and kind, and she loved him, she loved him, she loved him—
Cassian’s arm shook, and Nesta braced herself for the blow, showing him her forgiveness, her unending, unbreakable love for him—
But Cassian roared.
And then the knife twisted in his hand, angling not toward her, but toward his own heart.
Of his own free will.
Against the Crown’s hold, against a gasping Briallyn, he chose to drive the knife into his own heart. Kill, she had said. But had not specified who.
And as the sun broke over the horizon, as Cassian’s knife plunged for his chest, Nesta erupted with the force of the Cauldron.
There was nothing in Nesta’s head but screaming. Nothing in her heart but love and hatred and fury as she let go of everything inside her and the entire world exploded.
The baying of her magic was a beast with no name. Avalanches cascaded down the cliffs in seas of glittering white. Trees bent and ruptured in the wake of the power that shattered from her. Distant seas drew back from their shores, then raced in waves toward them again. Glasses shook and shattered in Velaris, books tumbled off the shelves in Helion’s thousand libraries, and the remnants of a rundown cottage in the human lands crumbled into a pile of rubble.
But all Nesta saw was Briallyn. All she saw was the slack-jawed crone as Nesta leaped upon her, throwing her frail body to the rocky ground. All she knew was screaming as she clutched Briallyn’s face, the Crown glowing blindingly white, and roared her fury to the mountains, to the stars, to the dark places between them.
Gnarled hands turned young. A lined face became beautiful and lovely. White hair darkened to raven black.
But Nesta bellowed and bellowed, letting her magic rage, unleashing every ember. Erasing the queen beneath her from existence.
The young hands turned to ash. The pretty face dissolved into nothing. The dark hair withered into dust.
Until all that was left of the queen was the Crown on the ground.
CHAPTER
75
Cassian lay facedown on the earth.
Nesta rushed toward him, praying, sobbing, her magic still echoing through the world.
She turned him over, searching for the knife, the wound, but—
The knife lay beneath him. Unbloodied.
He groaned, cracking his eyes open. “I figured,” he rasped, “I should lie low while you did that.”
Nesta gaped at him. Then burst into tears.
Cassian sat up, soothing sounds on his tongue, and took her face in his hands. “You Unmade her.”
Nesta glanced to the Crown on the earth—the black stain where Briallyn had been. “She had it coming.”
He chuckled, leaning his brow against hers. Nesta closed her eyes, breathing in his scent. “You are my mate, Cassian,” she said against his lips, and kissed him softly.
“And you’re mine,” he said, kissing her in turn.
And then his hands slid into her hair. And the kiss …
It did not matter, the world around them, or the Crown at her feet, as he kissed her. A mate’s kiss. One that set their souls twining, glowing.
She pulled back, letting him see the joy in her eyes, her smile. His awe, his own joy, made her throat tighten.