“I killed him.” His voice is flat, and so is his expression, the noon sun cutting away almost every shadow from his face. “Snapped whatever tether he had on me and killed him. His body fell into the ravine, and now I keep watching the river like it’s going to pop back up, even though I know he’s miles downstream by now.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” I reach for his hand, but he tugs it away.
“I’m not. You saved us.”
“My mother saved us.” My voice cracks. “She had Sloane siphon Aimsir’s power and both their life energies into the wardstone. She’s gone.”
His eyes slide closed. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“She killed your father. Why would you be sorry?” I swipe at another tear that leaks out.
“I didn’t want her dead,” he says softly. “I could never want anyone you love dead.”
Silence falls over us, and it’s not the comfortable kind.
“Melgren wants us to come back,” I throw out there, looking for some reaction, any reaction.
“Then we come back.” He nods. “Aretia’s wards are already weakening, and these are intact. Which you’ll explain to me later, right?” His gaze flicks sideways at me but quickly leaves, like I’m painful to look at.
“I’ll explain,” I promise.
“Good.” He nods. “It’s safer for you here. This is where we should be.” He drags in a shaky breath, then laughs. “You won’t be as scared under the full wards.”
My brow furrows. “I just fought an entire wyvern army, dark wielders, and raised wards, losing my mother in the process. Please, do tell me what could possibly be scarier than that?”
“You love me,” he whispers.
“You know I do.” I grab hold of his hand, and my stomach twists when he turns toward me but lowers his eyes. “What’s out there that I should be scared of, Xaden? What did he tell you? What did you see?” What could he know that has him this shaken?
Slowly, he drags his gaze up my body, and it feels like it takes years for him to just look at me.
When he finally does, I gasp, my hand tightening on his in reflex.
No. That single word is all I can think, feel, scream internally as I stare up at the man I’m hopelessly in love with.
“Me,” he whispers, a faint, almost indistinguishable red ring emanating from his gold-flecked onyx irises. “You should be scared of me.”
We have tried every method we know of, as you requested.
There is no cure. There is only control.
—MISSIVE FROM LIEUTENANT COLONEL NOLON COLBERSY TO GENERAL LILITH SORRENGAIL
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
XADEN
Every note of Sgaeyl’s terror plays down my spine as I hang suspended mere feet above the battlefield, my muscles frozen, my power locked uselessly inside of me. Even if he let me go, I’m not sure I’d have enough strength left to wield. He wore me down for fucking fun.
I was never a match for him. None of us are.
Every nerve in my body screams from the pain of incineration, the heat from wielding too much for too long burning me alive. But worse than the pain is the defeat.
“It hurts, doesn’t it? Nearing burnout?” The Sage walks a slow circle around me, his blue robes darker at the hem from the melting snow, mere feet from the ravine I had to cross to prove I could cut it in this place. “Magic does like everything in balance. Take too much and she’ll consume you for overstepping.”
I tear at the bonds he has wrapped around me, invisible strings of power that bind me like a trussed chicken.
“You strike. I block. You throw. I dodge.” He sighs, dragging his staff in the dirt behind him.
Just like my fucking nightmares.
Except the sweat dripping down the back of my neck reminds me that this is very much my reality. That Violet is beneath Basgiath, fighting to raise the wards; that Tairn is picking off the wyverns tearing at Sgaeyl above me to keep her from my side. What is it about me that fails the females in my life?
“So, I’m going to give you one last chance to make the right choice so we can get this over with,” the Sage says, stopping in front of me and smiling up at me with those eerie red-rimmed eyes and spider-webbed veins. He retreats a handful of steps, then taps the staff on the ground.
Gravity claims me, and I fall, passing my feet and slamming into the ground on my hands and knees.
“I told you once that you’d turn for love,” he says, holding his arms out. “And so you shall.”
“You don’t know shit about me.” I stumble for my feet and fall again, landing on my knees as Sgaeyl roars in pure fury overhead.
“I know more than you think.” He lowers his staff and leans on it like a walking stick.
“Because you’re a Sage?” I spit, grounding my feet on that hillside in Tyrrendor and reaching for my power.
“A Sage?” He laughs. “I am a general.”
Fire races down my arms and shadows stream from beneath me, wrapping around the arrogant asshole’s torso. Satisfaction courses through me in a high better than churram. “Generals die the same as soldiers.” I fight with my own arms to get them to move, but they don’t obey, having gone into muscle failure long before he hefted me into the sky.
“Do they?” He laughs again, wrapped in darkness. “Come on, shadow wielder. Turn. It’s the only way to save her.”
“Fuck you.” I throw myself down the bond and feel Violet slipping, burning, intending to… My shadows slip, but the general doesn’t move.
She’s going to sacrifice herself to save me.
She intends to die.
My heart vaults into my throat, and I taste it again, the same as it was when I sat by her bedside after Resson—fear.
“You know what will happen when you fail?” the general taunts, flicking at the weak bands of shadow that curl around his throat. “I’ll step over your dead body and find her. Then I’ll wrap my hands around her delicate little neck—”
Fury surges in my veins, the blast of adrenaline enough to solidify the bands of shadow and yank them tight, but no matter how hard I tug, he won’t move.
“—and drain her.”
I slam one hand onto the ground and clench my other fist, my arm shaking with the effort it takes to hold him there as I delve to the depths of Sgaeyl’s power and let the fire consume me.
“Hold him!” she demands.
But I can’t.
He’s too strong, and I have nothing left. But I’ll be damned if Violet suffers the consequences. He won’t get his hands on her. Not today. Not ever. The slush beneath my palm melts, and I feel… There’s something beneath me.
A steady flow of unmistakable…power.
“You cannot!” Sgaeyl shrieks. “I chose you!”
But Violet chose me, too.
I reach.
My heart stammers and I gasp for air, jolting upright in bed. I check the back of my neck, but it’s dry. No dripping sweat. No aching muscles. No exhaustion.
Just Violet, sleeping beside me, her cheek resting on the pillow, her breaths deep and even thanks to the exhaustion that’s left bruises under her eyes, her arm bent as though reaching out for me even in her dreams.