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A look of stun painted his face, as though he thought she might not actually go through with it.

“Burn in the hells,” she whispered, twisting the blade a little more in his neck. A bubble of blood erupted over his lips. Saga yanked the sword free with a grunt.

Davorin’s body wobbled for half a breath, then he fell face down.

Unmoving. Bloodied.

Dead.

Chapter43

The Storyteller

It didn’t seem real.

I could see the blood, could smell the refuse in the air. His body wasn’t shifting. No dark glamour dug into the soil. He was there, unmoving, bloody, and gone. Still, my mind did not want to accept it.

Until Saga’s gasps drew me from my own stun.

She dropped the blade and stumbled into Ari’s arms. He clung to her, kissing the side of her neck, gripping her hair.

“He’s . . . he’s gone. He’s gone.” She kept gasping the words against her husband’s chest.

“You were terrifying,” he whispered back. “Beautifully terrifying.” Ari kissed her. His hands on her face. “I need to be alone with you soon, it was such a sight.”

Saga gave a wet, broken laugh. Her shoulders slumped and she clung to him again, almost shrinking, as though the countless turns, the centuries of pain, were crashing over her.

Truth be told, I think the lot of us felt the same.

I leaned into Silas. He mutely hugged my body against his. As Tor pulled back the pyre, even Elise and Valen held hands, both on their knees across the gap. Exhausted, maybe a little lost on what to do next.

Kase and Malin were, oddly, the most joyful. They laughed against each other. Laughed and held tightly to a new dawn. A new existence.

The ring of glowing seidr used to tie Davorin on this small bit of broken earth faded as the song we sang drifted into nothingness. Shadows pulled back.

The sea fae camp was in ruin. Tents were toppled. Fae were still fleeing through the tides. Ghastly ships appeared from beneath the waves, distant and too close to the Chasm barrier we’d never be able to catch them. Not at the speed their strange vessels could travel.

The ones trapped under the blades of Rave and our other warriors looked about at the broken soil and slaughtered battle lord with a touch of horror.

I grinned, taking it all in.

The gifts of fate. Together, those twisted paths Silas and I naively created, united at long last to end the battle my father, my mother, our people, once gave their whole lives to fight.

Lifetimes in the making, victory was finally ours to claim.

Much the same as the battle in the isle, the cleanup and organizing afterward was nearly as exhausting as the actual fighting.

It took the whole of the day and well into the night to gather the dead sea fae and return their bones to the sea. Funeral pyres were lit for our fallen. Too many, in truth, but we took a breath to honor the fallen. To walk amongst them, to remember them, and sing them into the great hall of the gods.

The most joyful part of the battle was reuniting with those left behind.

Livia Ferus shoved out of the doors first, nearly tripping a few of the blood fae watchers set to guard the little royals. She was sobbing and running, and she never stopped until she flung her arms around Elise’s neck. When Valen approached, still soaked in ash and sweat, she opened her arm to squeeze his neck too.

Aleksi greeted Tor and Sol like he thought a warrior might, stalwart and steady—at first—but in three breaths the boy crumbled and cried until Tor scooped his skinny body and carried him into the palace.

Jonas and Sander were already chatting about all they’d seen when Kase and Malin took hold of their hands, leading them back to the hall.

“There are ghosts here, Maj. Swear to the gods,” Jonas said. “Oh, and I saw lots of shadows. Scared the piss outta Sander.”