Page 66

FIFTY-THREE

S avita was a wild thing that couldn’t be tamed. She was a god destined to live forever—and Kel was nothing but a mere speck of dust that fluttered across her centuries. Kel should have freed her months—maybe even years—ago, when inklings of guilt had first crept beneath her skin.

Kel had loved Sav with every fractured piece of her heart, and had tried to want nothing in return.

And yet, still, it hurt .

Slowly, Kel managed to sit up. Coup held her to him, muttering words she couldn’t make out in a low, soothing voice.

Cristo lowered his rifle from the sky. His arms shook, barely containing his rage. “Well done, Kelyn. You’ve just sentenced yourself to death.”

Kel held back a whimper; she knew she didn’t have long left, but hearing it aloud hit her like a wave. “You’d rather I help you kill phoenixes?”

His eyes welled, something warring in their stormy depths. “You’d rather I kill my daughter ?”

Kel tried to shake her head. Coup clung to her tighter, as she said, “No. But if you believe that the story of Landon Ryker is true, then what of the other myths we hear as children? What about the story that tells us a star will fall if a phoenix dies, and the sun will explode if they’re extinct?

Where are we to draw a line between fact and myth? ”

Cristo’s eyes turned black, and his nostrils flared. Though his sancter rifle was lowered, Kel noticed his grip stiffen. The rage inside him shook his entire body, desperately trying to claw to the surface.

Weeks ago, Kel knew she’d seen a kind man buried beneath the desperation. But she wasn’t foolish enough to think that man would reappear.

Slowly, Cristo pointed the sancter at Kel.

She could see down the barrel, to the glint of metal waiting inside, like Death looking at her with one eye.

Coup released Kel and took a step toward Cristo. “Get away from her,” he snarled.

Kel tried to shove Coup away, to keep the sancter trained on her —but her strength was gone. The weakness in her limbs contradicted the fire in her veins; her body was a blazing cage.

A single, glistening tear trailed down Cristo’s cheek. “You can’t imagine the pain coming for her, Mr. Coupers. This is a much gentler death. Trust me.”

“Coup—move,” Kel managed, though Coup didn’t seem to hear her.

She tried to shove him, push him out of the way. But Coup refused to budge. He said to Cristo, “You’ll have to shoot me first.”

Cristo’s fingers, clamped around the rifle, shook. “I don’t have time for this. I need to get back to my Estra.”

The muscles in his face tightened and moved again, and Kel thought he might unhinge his jaw and swallow them whole.

Instead, his hand around the sancter steadied, and he aimed the weapon at Coup.

Shivers wracked Kel’s body. She wanted to shout, No! Coup, you fool—move!

But she couldn’t form the words. Not loud enough for him to hear. She could only shake and stare at Cristo, silently begging him to lower his rifle.

“You won’t believe me, but this is kinder. It is,” Cristo added under his breath, like a prayer.

Kel tried as hard as she could to keep her eyes open—but she couldn’t. She couldn’t watch Coup die.

She heard Cristo cock his rifle.

“Coup,” she breathed, as a scream tore open the sky.

The sound—so familiar and yet so alien—filled Kel with electricity. Summoning every ounce of strength she had, she glanced up.

And then there was Savita, nothing but flame and fury as she barreled straight toward Kel.