Page 23

23

KILLING YOU SOFTLY

Ryther

"R yther!" I hear, from somewhere far, far away. "Ryther, stop!"

The voice is familiar and full of panic. I make myself focus, trying to get situated.

I was in Darina's chamber, both of us still dressed. I'd just dragged her to my chest and let her silently cry as she drifted off, the exhaustion of it all getting to her. I was falling asleep myself.

Then what? Think. Focus. Open your eyes.

It's an effort. I don't see anything. But annoying the voice is getting more and more pressing. I try to let that pull me away from sleep.

And then I stare in horror. My hands are around her throat, but that's not what's terrifying. It's hardly the first time I've choked her, and so far, she's liked it. But there are shadows surrounding us, my power pushing away everyone who attempts to get close as red energy gathers between my palms.

I'm killing her.

My hands, my power, but also the devastating Undoing I never even tried to wield are all focused on destroying my mate, my queen, my Darina.

I grunt with the force it takes me to let go, and stare in shock at my own two hands, still filled with power.

Her eyes are brilliant white, no pupils, and she's also called to her own magic, pushing gold strands of power right to my chest.

She's killing me, too.

And I let her.

"Darina!" Loch now screams. "Let him go. Darina, come back to us. It's not you!"

That much is clear.

They waited until our first unguarded moment, when we were both asleep and too tired to push back. Then they struck, eager to destroy each other, and us along with them.

"Ryther, do something! Can you imagine what it'd do to her, to wake up and realize she's destroyed you? Stop her!" her brother demands.

And damn if he doesn't have a point.

"Darina," I whisper, not quite trusting myself.

My hands are trembling when I bring them to her cheek, and slowly lower my mouth to her forehead, while she still pulses raw power right at my core, trying to unmake me.

I catch the sudden sharp intake of breath.

"What the hell?" she yells. "What was that? What was I doing?"

"We, not you," I manage to say, closing my eyes.

I can't believe I underestimated the All and Undoing. Of course they weren't content to simply make us occasionally pissed at each other. They were far too eager to take the deal I offered. They knew they could assert their wills.

Loch sighs deeply. "Oh, you guys are going to be the death of me. Truly, it would have been a kindness to stab me two days ago. I cannot ."

"What happened?" she whispers.

Loch has found the queen's liquor stash, and downs two glasses before thinking to serve us, too.

"I was about head to bed, when I heard some shouting in a language I don't understand over here. That shouldn't be possible; the Hollow is spelled with heartspeech." For Darina's benefit, he explains, "All should understand each other through their hearts, no matter what language they use here. I got nosy enough to come see what's up and found you in the process of attempting to obliterate each other, and likely, the rest of the world with you."

He's on his third glass now. "I've never felt such power."

"Oh, fuck."

She can say that again.

"What do we do now?"

"No sleepovers, for one. I also think iron shackles would be appropriate at this point."

I nod. "There should be a pair in the dungeons. I'll call for some."

"Two pairs," Loch amends. "And constant supervision. You both need to be on a short leash. Congratulation. You're now twelve years old and no longer allowed in the same bedroom without the door open."

I hate that he's right.

He sounds so utterly exhausted, and no wonder. All of us have had a trying few days.

"I'm so sorry," I say, running my finger on the marks on her throat. "What I did to us?—"

"Don't." She shakes your head. "What you did saved my life. I am nothing other than grateful. This—whatever it is—we'll handle it. With iron shackles, if that's what it takes. But I think…" She frowns. "I think what we need is some knowledge here. This is beyond the normal realm of pissed. Why are they so angry at each other? Maybe we can…I don't know. Convince them to stop."

"You want to be a couch psychiatrist for two pissed off million-year-old gods who created this side of the universe?" Loch laughs, and drinks some more, forgoing the crystal glass to directly swig from the decanter.

"That's sadly not the worst idea I've heard," I retort after a moment. "The anger…it's personal. We should, at the very least, know what it's about."

Cheating, betrayal, that much is clear, but if it were that simple only one of them would be furious, right? The sheer amount of ire I've felt must have a source.

"Fine. Do some research. It's not like we have a corona—" He smiles humorlessly. "Wait. I can't say it. Because we do have a coronation to handle, witnessed by dozens of lords who would rather murder the lot of us than take a knee."

"With all of us watching out for Darina, now that Junis is gone, the only real threat to her is me," I retort, straightening up. "Whatever the issue is, we need to get to the bottom of it, and soon."

"Excellent." Loch bites down on his lip. "I'll wake everyone. The archives are likely the place to start."

* * *

T he archives, unlike the queen's chamber, are in quite a state when we reach them. Dust and spiderwebs and even what looks like a bird’s nest over one of the cases.

It is more of a library than a simple archives, vast, each of the thousands of shelves filled with many ancient tomes, even some long since lost to time.

I'm unsurprised to find more modern books, too; there's likely a spell to obtain a copy of every book as soon as it gets published on Ilvaris.

Her spells should die with the high queen. But as she's still alive and well, hiding out in some corner to avoid being murdered by her children, it carried on collecting for her.

It takes a while to get around, between the darkness and the dust. Caenan lights several candelabras we hold to reach the shelves.

Memories swirl in my mind. I studied here, from age seven to the queen's war, when I took Darina to the ironside. There were fewer books a thousand years ago, but I remember how it was all organized. Fiction to the east, practical to the west, historical north, and myth in the south.

"Follow me."

I find what we're after with ease, though there are far too many books; far too many worlds and gods and stories.

Loch is strangely adept in domestic spells—though when one considers he lived alone in the untamed land, it's perhaps not that strange. With one wave, he clears up a large oak table and the entire section covering prehistorical myths.

"That's handy! You wouldn't believe how much time I spend vacuuming dust," Rachel says. "Why not do the whole library though?"

"Because," he retorts, slumping into the closest chair.

He's not quite slouching, but it's as close to it as he's ever gotten.

"I am tired ."

Aren't we all.

But this is literally a matter of life or death. So we get reading.