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“No, you offer yourself a chance to save your own life,” I said, standing over him, Excalibur still raised. “How do I know you’ll do as you say?”

“I swear it,” he said, and the look in his eyes was truly pathetic. “By the sword you carry. By anything you choose.”

I looked into his eyes, wondering if he was simply lying again. It was hard to tell. He certainly wished to live.

“Fine,” I said. “Get up and go. Take every creature you brought with you. And never show your face to me again, Brother. I have no wish to repeat this with you.”

“Agreed.” Relief filled his voice. “I will not overstep your domain again. My father will simply have to send someone else next time he wishes to... communicate with you.”

That should have been what warned me. The idea that my brother would so easily dismiss his father’s favor and do anything to invoke his displeasure.

But I was so eager to see this battle end.

I turned to Draven. He had been watching us the entire time in silence. Though he had long escaped the coils Daegen had wrapped around him, now I saw his dark face had become paler than usual and he had one arm wrapped around the tree for support.

“Come, let’s get out of here,” I began to say just as Draven’s eyes widened.

That look was the only warning I had.

I whirled, and there he was. My brother had risen from the dirt with shadows clinging to him like loyal servants. Shadowy knives emerged from his palms as he darted straight towards me.

Without a conscious thought, Excalibur surged forward, propelled by a force beyond my own.

The gleaming blade cleaved through the moonlight night, piercing Daegen’s chest in a lethal strike.

My brother’s shadows evaporated like smoke. I watched the brilliant sapphire of his eyes dim and fade as the spark of life left him.

Silence fell, heavy and oppressive, as I stood over his fallen form.

The taste of victory was bitter in my mouth as I turned away, Excalibur still in hand, towards the wounded figure of my mate where he stood against the gnarled shape of the burned tree.

Draven’s eyes were warm and watchful, but he seemed hesitant to speak.

That was all right. I knew what I needed to say.

“I’ve been going about this all wrong,” I said, hardly recognizing the sound of my own voice. It sounded hollow and far away. But I pushed on. “We don’t need a healer.”

I took a step towards him, strangely hesitant.

I had just killed my own brother. I had committed what some might call the greatest crime before the Three. Even now, in some small villages in Pendrath, one who killed a parent or sibling even by accident would be banished and shunned.

But then, Draven knew a little about murderous family members himself.

Still, I found it impossible to meet his eyes. What would I find there if I dared to look?

Then I had no choice.

“Healing can come later,” Draven said as I stepped closer. “Look at me, Morgan.” He gently tilted my chin up so I was forced to meet his steadfast green gaze. “You will find no judgment here. Not ever. Nothing you do will ever be wrong in my eyes. Everything about you and who you are is right to me.”

I shook my head, hearing and not hearing. “But it’s not right. Not really. It never can be. All of this... It needs to end. But first.”

I took another step towards him. Could I not show there truly was some good yet in me?

I could do this thing. I had done it before. When we had not even been bonded yet.

Yet even then, there had been something linking us. Some thread of fate.

As Draven leaned against the tree, wounded and weary, I touched a hand lightly to his chest, opening myself to the familiar sense of our bond.