Page 134

Chapter

Fifty-Six

KELTER

I didn’t feel the knife go into my chest as I fought to get away, or feel it come out. It was Ever’s face that told me something was wrong, the way it twisted in agony, too much pain for her scream to materialize. I thought the Centress’ hands were already on her…until the warm liquid ran down my center.

I feel it now, though. Blood squirts out with every struggling breath. My body tingles, and my legs give out. I thought I’d make it out alive. I thought the Centress would spare me after what she did for me these past weeks. I drop to the puddle of Eli’s weird black blood on the ground, quickly mixing and swirling withmy own red blood and soaking into the moss-filled crevices. My knees crack into the stone, and I fall to his side.

I can’t believe it was my hand that took a life, especially his. When it comes to survival—when it comes to Ever—I’d do anything, but I didn’t save herorme. It wasn’t meant to end like this. It’s ironic, really. If only she knew…but I’m not supposed to care. Not about her.

I choke through every breath, each shorter than the last, each crackling with pain until all the miserable, excruciating work of taking in a breath is useless. I manage a look at the now familiar vine-covered walls of the atrium, and at her, hair thrashing in the wind, her tortured body backed up against the Centress. The affliction is gone, replaced with a slack expression and wide indigo eyes.

“This will hurt, darling,” the Centress says.

How could that be her mother? How could she have magic? How the fuck did everything turn out so wrong?

“I know,” Ever says so quietly that I miss her loudness. She makes that face, that brave face so full of terror, the one she makes a half-dozen times a day, when she seems to slip out of this world and into the only place I can’t follow. A place so terrible she won’t even tell me about it.

The Centress pulls her closer and stiffens, and Ever’s brave face gives in to the pain. She needs me, and I’m dying.

The shitty luck.

I can’t look at her a second longer, at her body shaking from the pain, at all the ways I’ve failed, how I’ve failedher.

Thunder claps, and my hearing starts to go, muffled and distant as though I’m underwater. The last of my strength gives out, and my head splashes into the warm blood and rain.

Then Eli hovers over me.

Damn.

I’m already dead—because I knowheis. Blood still flows from his slit neck, black dripping on my face. I knew there was something off about him. Every time he was near, I wanted to get as far away as fucking possible.

“You will not die, asshole,” he says in a harsh whisper.

Too late, I say, but only gurgles and spurts of blood come out.

“You need to live so I can kill your scrawny ass myself,” he says.

You’re dead. More gurgles. Too bad I didn’t get a chance to tell him the truth before we died. Maybe he would have been less of a dick.

“I can’t understand a word you’re saying,” Eli hisses and leans closer, his stupid curly hair hanging in my face, an oozing stream of blood hitting my mouth. I try to spit it back at him, but all my working lung can manage is a painful splutter. “You can’t slit my godsdamn throat and get away with it.”

You’re insane, even when you’re dead.I can only think the words I want to say. My body weakens with the blood loss. My ears ring, and the tingles fade, leaving my arms and legs without feeling.

“I said you will not die. Stop your bleeding. You need to get out of here before someone finishes you off, and I need to go help her.” His eyes are frantic, his pupils exploding.

Right. Let me stitch my chest closed real quick and come back from the dead.My lips don’t even move this time. My vision goes blurry, blackness shrinking my sight.

“Fucking Malachite. She’ll never talk to me again if you die.”

Who? Ever? Why do you care?I blink at him; it’s all I can do.

Eli grimaces, grabs his ear—that ridiculous nervous tic of his—and smashes his hands down onto the opening in my chest. And the pain—pain like the world collapsing into me, pain like I’m torn and scattered amongst the stars—it ruptures my very being. It pulls me from my bones. It bores into me. Breath anddeath and life and loss. My head detonates, then he’s gone. And so am I.

Chapter

Fifty-Seven