Page 45

Chapter

Forty-Five

H e sits with his back against the wall, his position eerily similar to the woman who sat there the last time I entered this house.

The one whose life I just ended.

But none of that matters now, not when there’s an arrow sticking out of Remy’s chest. My face pales at the sight of blood soaking the front of his uniform, the same one he was wearing when I saw him yesterday. His body jerks with a wet cough that leaves his lips stained red.

“Punctured a lung.” He grimaces as he gestures to the arrow resting right above his heart. “Fucking archers. They can’t aim for shit.”

I step forward on instinct, my hands outstretched. “Remy, I?—”

Faster than I’d expect given his injury, he reaches for the sword lying at his side and points it toward me. “You come any closer and I’ll cut that lying tongue from your mouth, rat .”

I stop in my tracks, my lips parting on a gasp. Hearing such ugly words from someone so gentle, so kind… It’s unbearable. Backing away from him, I push myself into the opposite wall.

“You need to at least pull the arrow out,” I mutter. I know I shouldn’t linger, but I’m unable to force my feet toward the door. “Otherwise, it won’t be able to heal properly.”

He rolls his eyes, his shoulders shifting uncomfortably. “I survived having my throat slit, Ivy. This is nothing.”

My gaze falls to the pale scar on his neck, the one I’ve asked him about many times. “I don’t suppose you’re finally going to tell me how you got that?”

The ghost of a smile pulls at his lips. “Maybe another time.”

Heat prickles behind my eyes. Everything about the reaction is perfectly Remy. How can he truly be lost to me when there’s so much of him left behind? Sounds of the battle rise from beneath the floorboards, but for a single moment, we exist here together in a silent reprieve. Two soldiers resting in opposite corners, readying ourselves to return to the fight.

The moment of peace fades as his gaze falls to the collar and something hot flashes behind his eyes. “That doesn’t belong to you.”

“I never asked for it,” I remind him, hating how meek my voice sounds. “I’d gladly give it away if I could remove it.”

“Doubtful.” He shakes his head. “Your kind are all the same. Every word out of your mouth is a lie.”

“My kind?” My brows raise. “You mean high fae?”

He chokes on a laugh, wincing from the movement. “High fae, half fae, mortals. This whole planet is a cesspit. And soon, he will wipe us all away.”

A door slams shut down the hall and footsteps pound against the floorboards. Our time is running short, but I need answers.

“Who is he , Remy?” I press him. “Who do the Forsaken serve?”

His eyes turn glassy as his stare shifts to the window. “The almanova ,” he whispers. “The Soul of the Star .”

Soul of the Star.

That’s what Darrow said almanova translated to in the old language. But how does that make sense? Surely the name is merely meant to be poetic, right? It can’t refer to an actual soul trapped within the sword.

The train of thought is cut short as a symphony of screams ring out beneath us. Time stands still as a single male voice rises above the rest as its owner cries out in agony. I know that voice…

Thorne.

A second later, I’m sprinting from the room. Remy’s wet laugh follows me through the halls as I leap over rotted pieces in the floorboard and race down the stairs. I reach the bottom and turn the corner into the living room, halting at the sight before me.

Like some sort of unholy tableau, bodies are scattered throughout the room in various displays of death. Mouths gaping and eyes wide, their faces are frozen with the terror of their final moments. A crack forms in my chest at the sight of Alice Darby’s lifeless eyes gazing at the ceiling.

In the center of the room, Thorne stands over a fallen Grell Darby, pointing a blade at his throat.

“Please,” the mortal begs. “You don’t have to?—”

His words end in a bloody cough as Thorne drives the weapon through Darby’s neck.

That’s right , a horrible voice whispers. Kill him for what he’s done to you. End his miserable life.

No. I stumble back as my gaze drops to the sword in Thorne’s hands. It’s not the scythe he usually uses, but I recognize it all the same. The once white bone handle has faded into a stale gray, contrasted by the glimmering rubies that sparkle along the pommel. The matching gems hanging from my collar burn at the sight of it.

The almanova.

Thorne lifts his head. Not a single ounce of recognition shines in his glacial eyes when they connect with mine. There’s no stopping the pitiful cry that falls from my lips at the hatred simmering in his gaze.

No. This can’t be real. He’s not one of them. He’s not gone.

You know you want to do it , that cruel voice whispers.

Thorne rolls his neck, and I spot a few drops of blood trailing from his nose and ears. He takes one step toward me before coming to a halt, his eye twitching from the strain.

He’s fighting it!

A bolt of relief shoots through me, sending life back into my limbs. He’s fighting against the sword’s hold. I search my memory, trying to recall Darrow’s words from weeks ago. He said a God or an Heir would be able to withstand the sword’s influence for a short time, but it would take all their strength. Based on the rigid way Thorne is holding himself, I’d say that strength is waning.

“Thorne.” His eyes flare at the sound of my voice. “You don’t want to do this.”

His spine twists as a shudder racks through him.

She makes you weak, Killian Blackthorne. She’d never understand the things you’ve been forced to do. The choices you’ve had to make.

I bare my teeth, hating every whispered lie that bastard utters. In the past twenty-four hours, my body has been pushed to its breaking point. I’ve taken hit after hit with no time to recover. But the years of brutal training Remy put me through have taught me to push aside the pain, the heartbreak, the terror. All of it. I clear it from my mind, leaving only blind determination behind as I take a step closer to Thorne.

To the almanova .

His eyes widen at my movement, a hint of fear flashing behind their cold disgust.

“Nothing that thing whispers is true,” I promise him. “You and I make each other stronger.”

Lines appear around his mouth as he pulls his lips back, forcing a single word through gritted teeth. “Run.”

“No.” I shake my head as I lift a trembling hand between us, holding it out to him. “This is not the moment I stop reaching for you.”

She lies! When she learns the truth, she’ll turn away from you. She could never accept you for who you truly are.

Despite the almanova’s ugly lies, hope expands in my chest as Thorne lifts his hand toward mine, but it’s quickly dashed as his shadows wrap around my legs. They pull me down, forcing my body to hit the floor so hard that a few of the rotted pieces of wood crack under the impact. The wispy snakes take advantage of the moment, slithering over my limbs and binding my arms behind my back. I cry out as one of them pulls on my braid, twisting my head to the side at a painful angle.

End her now! Punish her!

Thorne’s arms shake from the strain as he lifts the blade, his eyes glued to mine. His jaw is clenched, his beautiful face twisted into a grimace. My heart stutters inside my chest as its beating becomes erratic. The unfairness of it all presses in on me. Why would the Fates bring him into my life only to cut our thread short in this moment? We were supposed to have more time.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, keeping my eyes on his as tears fall freely down my cheeks. A sad smile pulls at my lips as his words from a few nights ago drift back to me. “I’m not frightened of the violence inside you, Thorne. I know who you are.”

End her! Do it!

Determination shines in his eyes as he swings the blade. My gaze is locked on his as the sword drives through the air, straight toward my throat. I jerk from the impact, the force of it causing my head to bounce against the floor.

Screams fill my ears as something hot and vicious unleashes within me. A scalding heat rips through my veins as it both destroys and remakes me. My body convulses uncontrollably. It’s as if every part of me is being swallowed whole.

Deep within my mind, a cage door swings open.

Not the one that houses my painful memories. No. The beast within this prison is far more deadly. A monster both ancient and inevitable. And now, thanks to the sword, it’s been set free.

Finally.

When the fire beneath my skin cools, I’m left weak and exhausted. The world is nothing but a blurry haze as I crack my eyes open, my gaze settling on a single object lying before me.

A broken collar.

It lies on the dusty floor, its opulence completely at odds with the grimy environment. The silver metal of the clasp has been sliced in two. Those rubies that once sat against my skin now flicker with the moonlight that peeks through the open door.

I’m free.

The shock of the realization makes my head spin. After years of praying for freedom, finally, it’s here. My muscles protest as I trace my fingers over my bare neck, gingerly brushing the place where the collar sat. It can’t be real, yet somehow it is.

Everything around me is silent. Like all battles do eventually, this one has reached it’s inevitable end. Worry creeps into my mind as my friends’ faces flash before my eyes. Are they alright? Did they survive? Della, Griffen, Fia, Darrow, and Thorne.

Thorne .

The name is a horn blaring through my mind, spurring me into action. My body is stiff as I roll onto my side and push myself to my knees. Scanning the destroyed living room, I find him lying a few feet away. His chest moves steadily up and down, but there’s a puddle of blood dripping from his nose and ears. Fighting against the whispers for that long must have drained him completely.

My gaze drifts to the sword, lying a few feet away from him. Darrow always said there would be a cost for using the almanova , but Thorne paid that price for me. Instead of bending to the sword’s will and taking my life, he used it to remove my collar.

He freed me.

An unfamiliar emotion blooms inside my chest, more powerful than anything I’ve ever felt. Somewhere in the back of my mind, my subconscious knows what that emotion is. It’s what spurs me forward, giving me the strength to crawl toward the God who nearly gave his life for mine.

I’ve almost made it to him when footsteps pull my attention toward the door. My mouth opens wide as I gape at the man on the other side of the threshold.

“Hello, pet .”

Baylor looks terrible. His skin is sallow and thin, as if it’s been stretched too tight over his bones. Bandages cover his ruined eye, a bit of blood seeping through the gauze. His only remaining eye has shifted crimson, the bloodshot veins making it appear as if his irises are leaking. The color is a bad sign, telling me he’s dangerously close to revealing the monster he keeps tucked away. The other that hides beneath his skin.

My hands move to my sheaths, only to find them empty. My blades have all disappeared throughout the battle, leaving me without a weapon as I sit at the feet of my greatest enemy.

His gaze falls to where the sword lies between us. “What do we have here?”

I push myself across the floor, but he’s faster. His fingers wrap around the hilt, and he snatches it up. A low growl rises in my throat when he points the tip directly at Thorne.

Baylor tsks, cutting me a glare. “One wrong move and I’ll drive this through his chest. Sit back down, Iverson.”

With no choice but to do as he says, I drop to my knees once more as I brace myself for Baylor to turn Forsaken.

“Mmm,” he murmurs. “How nice to have you back where you belong.”

At first, I think he’s speaking to me until I realize his attention is on the almanova .

“Did you know this has been in my family for a very long time?” he asks, his gaze reverent as he runs a finger down the length of the blade. I shiver when I notice that his claws are fully extended. “My grandfather used to keep it on display, allowing his guests to covet what could only ever belong to him. He alone was unaffected by its influence.”

His words send a wave of apprehension through me. Something about what he’s saying is familiar. Important.

“You see,” he continues, “before the Fates raised my grandfather from obscurity, he was an enchanter . And this was one of his creations.”

My eyes flare as my mind makes the dangerous connection. No. He can’t be…

“You see, Iverson, only those born from my grandfather’s bloodline are able to withstand the whispers.”

When I’d asked Darrow if anyone would be able to use the sword without consequence, he’d said only the Goddess of Illusion.

Or one of her descendants.

I shake my head, trying to deny it. When I’d asked Maebyn if she knew Baylor before all of this, she’d said she hadn’t seen him since he was a boy.

“That’s right, pet.” A cruel smile reveals razor-sharp teeth. “ I am the Heir of Illusion.”

At once, his skin shifts to a sickly translucent gray as horns grow from his head, curving into dangerous points. The fingers wrapped around the sword elongate into talons so sharp that one slice could disembowel someone. His spine hunches and his shoulders curl inward as horrible, membranous wings rip from his back and expand across the length of the room.

This is the version of him that has haunted my nightmares. His vetere form. The one they call the Beast of the Battle.

A choked laugh pulls my focus away from the monstrous king. Thorne’s gaze is locked on Baylor as he uses what little strength is left in his body to push himself to his knees. He sways, and for a moment, I think he’s going to fall back down, but he catches himself on his hands.

Hatred burns in Baylor’s gaze as he edges closer to Thorne.

“You can’t kill him!” I cry, desperate to stop him. Terror builds through me as I watch Thorne struggle to keep his eyes open. He’s far too drained to even attempt to summon his shadows or fire. The sword took everything from him.

“Watch me.” Baylor positions the tip of the blade at Thorne’s throat.

“The almanova in the hands of a God becomes a God Slayer,” I repeat Darrow’s words, praying Baylor actually listens to me. “Even if you are an Heir,” And that’s a big if , I think privately. “He is still a God, meaning only another God can kill him.”

“I’ve always wondered about that,” he murmurs, tilting his head as he gazes at Thorne with disgust. “Who’s to say an Heir couldn’t do the same? To my knowledge, the theory has never been tested but now seems like the perfect time to try.”

“You’re no Heir,” Thorne spits, his eyes locked on the monster before him. “I’d sense it if you were.”

Baylor chuckles darkly. “You would think so, wouldn’t you, boy? Usually, you’d be able to sense anyone with divine blood, but the Fates do love to dole out their little punishments.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, trying to keep him talking in the hope I can distract him long enough to stop him from hurting Thorne.

“I angered them .” His upper lip curls. “And now those three vindictive bitches are teaching me a lesson by trying to deny me my birthright.” He pounds his free hand against his chest indignantly. “My fate!”

“Because you locked your own mother in a cage?”

His crimson eyes flash to me. “I see you’ve been sneaking into places you shouldn’t, pet. We’ll have to talk about that after we’ve put your collar back on.”

“You won’t touch her,” Thorne growls, his whole body vibrating with a mixture of rage and exhaustion.

“And you’re wrong, Iverson,” Baylor says to me, completely ignoring Thorne’s threat. “ I didn’t imprison my mother. That was my father’s doing.”

Triston? Maebyn’s husband?

I shake my head. “Why would he do that?”

“Jealousy eats away at us all,” he answers. “Even the Gods and their mates aren’t immune to it.”

“You killed him,” I murmur, pulling on the knowledge from my history lessons. “When you marched on the palace and took the throne, you killed Triston. Your own father.”

He shrugs, but the gesture isn’t as convincing as he wants it to appear. “I saw an opportunity, and I took it. Besides, he’d gone mad. Someone had to stop him.”

“You could have freed your mother at any time,” I insist.

“And then what would I do?” he snaps as his rage builds. “Return her crown and expect her to welcome me with open arms?” He barks out a hollow laugh. “That bitch never wanted me. She sent me away the day I was born and never let me return.”

“So instead, you plotted to kill her?”

“I chose to forge my own path!” he shouts. “The Fates can try to deny me my destiny all they want, but once Maebyn is dead, her power will shift to me. I will ascend into the God of Illusion, whether they like it or not.”

“Clearly madness runs in your family,” I sneer.

“Sometimes we have to make hard choices,” he says, his voice low. “You’ll understand that soon enough.”

I open my mouth to ask what he means, but the question dies on my tongue as Baylor pulls the sword back, arching his body as he prepares to strike.

Time slows down, each second stretching into a thousand. There’s no debate. No hesitation. My body moves faster than it ever has before as I slide in front of Thorne just in time for the sword to drive straight through my chest.

My eyes go wide, my mouth opening on a silent gasp.

“No!” Thorne’s voice echoes through the room, shaking the very foundation of the house.

Everything darkens as his arms come around me, holding my back to his chest to keep me from tipping forward.

“Why would you do that?” Baylor whispers, true despair entering his voice as his frantic gaze bores into me. “It wasn’t supposed to be you.”

“ Run ,” Thorne growls behind me. “ Now .”

Fear clouds Baylor’s face before it’s replaced with determination. His gaze flits back to mine, and I know exactly what he’s going to do a moment before it happens. With his hand still gripping the hilt of the sword, he rips it free from my chest before fleeing for the door.

This time, there’s nothing silent about my reaction.

Screams tear from my throat as red-hot agony flares through me. My entire existence has been one painful encounter after another, but this… this is different. Not a single ounce of it is dull. The pain crashes over me again and again in razor-sharp waves that leave me weak and breathless. It’s endless. A greedy monster, spreading outward from the wound and infecting every part of my body.

I try to breathe, but the air gets clogged in my throat as the taste of blood fills my mouth.

Air. I need air.

My body convulses as that old, original fear rears its ugly head once more. Of course, fate would bring me back to this feeling again, the misery of being denied life’s essential substance.

Strong arms lower me to the ground. I think I hear someone talking, but the roaring in my ears is too loud. A wet, racking cough claws its way up my throat, clearing away some of the blood that was choking me. Gasping, I pull air into my lungs, gorging myself on the precious oxygen.

“You’re okay,” Thorne assures me, his voice louder now. “You’ll be okay.”

The rest of the room disappears as my world narrows down to a single vignette with his face at the center. New voices chime in from the shadows, but their words mean nothing to me as I keep my gaze on Thorne.

“What happened?” Griffen demands.

“Baylor.”

“Will she make it?” Fia asks quietly, kneeling on my other side.

“She has to,” Thorne insists. “I won’t lose her. Not now.”

The fire in my chest is endless, blazing furiously even as the rest of my limbs go cold. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that’s a bad sign. The blade must have nicked my heart , I realize distantly through the haze. High fae are resilient, but the heart is where all life stems from. Once it’s damaged…

“Angel,” he whispers. “Please open your eyes. Please don’t leave me.”

I do as he asks, finding his beautiful face immediately, only now it’s twisted with horror as he stares down at me. Not an ounce of blue is left in his irises as they are overtaken by dark shadows. I open my mouth to tell him it will be alright, but there’s too much blood. My body jerks in his arms. It feels as though the veil itself is tugging at my soul, trying to pull it free from my body. Can it sense how close I am to death?

Tears land on my cheeks, and it takes me a few moments to realize they aren’t mine.

“Stay with me, Angel,” he begs, his tender fingers wiping the wetness from my face.

I try again to let him know I’m not going anywhere, but the words refuse to form.

Through it all, I keep my eyes locked on his.

Even when my heart stops beating.