Page 40 of Every Spiral of Fate (This Woven Kingdom #4)
Thirty-Nine
NOW, AS ALIZEH STEPPED UP to the mountain face, Cyrus clenched his jaw against the cold, holding fast to the slim hope that the miseries of his life might finally be nearing their finish.
It did not matter to him that he, too, would end with the end of it, for he’d committed from the first to this sacrifice—and the stakes were higher than he could ever express.
What the devil wanted was dark indeed.
Iblees had whispered his sick favor into Cyrus’s heart, and the ask had been so revolting it had stricken him simply to receive it.
Cyrus had felt then, with rising horror, that nearly anything might be preferable to acquiescence; and as his father suggested, he’d done his utmost to negotiate a different avenue.
In the end, Cyrus had thrown himself at the mercy of a deal so poorly pitched against him that Iblees couldn’t resist the gamble. Should Cyrus be successful, he might secure an unprecedented, astonishing win.
Should he lose—
Should he lose, he would lose everything .
Were Cyrus to renege on any aspect of the agreement, the devil would not only take the wins of the many services rendered, he would get everything he wanted, conceding nothing: Iblees would annihilate the people of Tulan and claim his vile favor, too.
The hell of the last year—the torture, the tasks, the dissolution of his soul—would all amount to nothing.
It was no great feat to lay down his life in sacrifice, not when the alternative was death, regardless.
This was why the devil continued to hound him, attempting always to break him.
Cyrus was bound by all manner of cruelties.
He was not allowed to speak of his bargain, for example; should anyone so much as guess at the terms of the wager, he would forfeit.
Neither was he allowed to die in order to escape the bargain; should he take his own life or else allow someone else to kill him before completing the tasks, he would be forcibly revived, then forfeit.
Iblees hoped to succeed in any scenario, but forcing a forfeit would win him a far greater hand.
Which meant there was no latitude for error, not an inch.
Cyrus took a bracing breath, inhaling the frigid air.
Despite the thickening gloom that consumed his life, he was surprised to discover he was still capable of hope.
If nothing else, he had been changed by Alizeh, remade by proximity to her.
She’d inspired him to believe once more in the enduring magic of the human heart.
She was living proof to him that darkness did not always prevail.
It was an honor to bear witness to her humble rise to power, where every step she took was a historic event on the path to justice.
If the purpose of his life could be distilled to this: that he was to die so that she might live, he might depart this world contented.
She squeezed his gloved hand before letting go, and he felt bereft even as he experienced her joy upon glimpsing the fireflies perched on the rock face.
The odd little insects threw themselves in the air as she approached, flashing and dancing before her, circling her head—and he thought he heard her laugh, or perhaps cry, when she finally placed her bare hands against the snowy mountain, and flowers began to bloom under her fingers.
The transformation was astonishing.
There was no delay, no complication; frost melted from under her hands as if it had not been a thousand years of rusted impatience, but eager and present anticipation.
Like the currents that ensured the fresh water of a river, the heart of this extraordinary magic had never stopped beating; never faded nor faltered.
Cyrus watched in awe as the snow gave way to moss, tufts of grass, blossoms and tangled vines.
A towering arched door began to forge from apparent nothing, wild earth and blooms stretching to sketch out the shape before darkening, dying, then petrifying into something like wood.
Alizeh seemed to know to keep her hands where they were, never drawing away until a solid door settled firmly into place.
When she finally stepped back, the panel opened with a soft exhale, hinges cleanly releasing to reveal a glimpse of murky depths lit by dim, hazy light.
Cyrus felt his chest constrict.
Alizeh looked back at him first, her eyes bright with emotion.
He didn’t know what she saw in him then, whether she could feel his heart racing for her, or whether she understood the sublime insignificance he felt in her presence, but she held his gaze the longest, breaking into a brilliant smile even as a single tear tracked down her cheek.
Only then, as he stood there, winded from the force of her attention, did she turn to look at the bundled others, who’d all been rendered still despite the violent gusts that continued to batter their bodies.
Speech remained impossible over the howling winds, and Cyrus waited—as they all did—for their queen to cross the massive threshold.
When she did, a shaft of light laid itself at her feet, illuminating the uncertain path ahead.