Page 149

A man stepped forward, face bruised and swollen beyond recognition. But Skye knew him.

“Him’s the man that tortured her,” Ren said, pointing to one of the armored figures trembling in a line.

“Very well then,” Ivain answered solemnly.

There was no rush, no wasted motion—only patience and the restraint of certainty. The Sanctifier swallowed, realizing too late what approached. A giant of a man dressed in full armor, and yet he still looked strangely frail next to Ivain.

Ivain ripped the glamoured hood off the Sanctifier with a flash of aether. The man beneath the shadows was Highborn, surprisingly average, with bland features and a cruel expression.

“Hold him,” Ivain ordered, and two Gate Watchers stepped up. He leaned close, voice low, cold as the grave. “This will hurt.”

A faint glow pulsed at his fingertips as he pressed his hand to the man’s face, fingers splaying wide.

The crowd fell silent.

The Sanctifier gasped—then choked. His skin drained of color, his veins paling beneath the surface. As if something vital was being siphoned away.

Skye’s smile was nothing short of feral. This was justice. For the Fey, aether was everything. Even their souls were made of magic. He’d never seen a mage’s anima ripped from their body. It was the most severe form of punishment.

It didn’t take long. Ivain stepped away. The Watchers restraining the Sanctifier released their grip, letting the body tumble to the ground.

“Let this be a warning,” Ivain announced to the crowd, perfectly composed despite what he now held in his hand.

A man’s soul. Ripples of his own violet aether snaked around the blue haze, keeping it grounded in their reality.

“This is my island, and if anyone, for any reason , ever lays another hand on this woman, this is what will happen.”

And with that, the cloud of aether exploded outward, prickling in the air as the individual motes sparked, dispersed, and gradually faded.

The crowd gave a collective gasp. Ivain hadn’t just killed the man. Death would’ve been a kindness compared to what he’d just done.

He’d taken his soul and scattered it to the winds. He’d destroyed the person so completely, so thoroughly that there would be no trace of the individual left to find peace in the afterlife.

Two eternities—both extinguished in an instant.

The silence was absolute. The crowd, frozen in place, didn’t so much as breathe as the last wisps of the man’s soul dissolved into nothing.

“I’ve meted out my justice,” Ivain said with a glance at Skye. “The rest are yours. Avenge your mate as you see fit.”

Skye’s expression was carefully blank as he observed Taly. She was his priority now. “Let Sarina have them,” he said, and Sarina smiled. A cruel, terrible thing beaming through the flames that sprang to life all around her.

Ana swung off her cloak. He allowed her to wrap it around Taly’s body before kneeling to lift her.

“Wait.” The word was a rasp, barely more than a whisper. Taly’s eyes cracked open, slits of pain-filled gray. “I need to do something first.”

Carefully, Skye helped her up. She stumbled. He and Aiden both reached for her, but she waved them off.

Blood stained her hair, tendrils of it falling over her face. Every step looked like an effort, a battle she fought with herself to take. But she managed, clutching the cloak around her body with bloody, broken fingers.

She bent down, hefting a sword as she shuffled forward. She lacked the strength to carry it so the tip dragged on the ground behind her, metal scraping against stone.

She had him picked out.

The man tried to run, but the crowd pushed him back into the open.

“Please,” he begged, voice small behind his shadows. “Please, have mercy.”

Odd that he would beg for something he had not offered himself. Skye would’ve laughed if Taly wasn’t shaking so violently.

“I told you, Dareth .” The thorns had shredded her vocal cords, but she continued in a pained rasp, “I told you I was going to kill you, but you didn’t fucking listen.”

Then with a yell, she mustered the last of her strength and swung the sword in a wide, clean arc. The man’s head rolled into the crowd. People screamed and lurched back. A few cheered.

The sword dropped from her hand with a clatter. Taly was panting, hunched over at the waist and close to collapsing. Skye’s whole body tensed, ready to go to her. But he didn’t. He knew she needed to do this, needed to walk out of here on her own two feet—that was the only victory she would accept.

So, he reached for the bond instead, pushing aether down that bridge connecting their minds, breathing it into her like air into a drowning man’s lungs.

And somehow, something must have reached her. She stood a little straighter. Her limp didn’t look quite so painful as she staggered back to him.

“Not that one,” she said to Sarina, pointing to a Sanctifier with a slight build. The armor looked huge on him, ill-suited. “He’s not like the others.”

Sarina ran her eyes over him, cold and disinterested. “Very well,” she said through the flames rippling around her body.

Taly limped past him, and Skye followed her through the crowd that parted for them. They looked at her in curiosity, some in fear. They looked at him like he was a wild animal ready to strike.

There was a sound like flint cracking as Sarina’s magic flared to life. Skye smiled, knowing she would take her time.

And he was right. Their screams followed them all the way back to the townhouse.