Page 55

Chapter 54

Selestina

I step into my room, feeling the weight of exhaustion crush my shoulders, pressing down with a force that eats at my very soul. Tonight starts the two day celebration of life and Tonalli’s perpetual darkness. Día de Muertos. It’s fitting really. Every step feels like wading through thick mud, my limbs as heavy as the betrayal that clings to me. I was na?ve to hope—to believe, even for a moment, that I could be something more than a weapon.

How foolish.

My heart clenches, a cruel twist of the knife as the truth settles. They never saw me. They only saw a pawn, another piece to be maneuvered, used, then discarded. They wanted a player they could control in their ruthless game of power. And I played right into their hands.

My knees buckle, and I drop to the floor, my fingers around the bedpost as if it might keep me from floating away. My other hand presses to the cold, hard floor, the chill leeching into my skin. Everything around me spins. I fight to hold my breath steady, in shaky gasps, as though through a straw .

I refuse to fall apart now. But it is too late.

I don't feel it until that hand settles onto my shoulder. I only become conscious of it when it tightens to make me face the intruder. It is the blinking that seems to clear my mind as I force my eyes into focus.

A woman stands before me; her features sharp yet beautiful. Her hair is a tumble of fiery red, flowing down her shoulders.

“Hello, Selestina,” she sneers, her voice dripping with mockery. “It’s so good to see you again. Though I do apologize for the...circumstances.”

The hairs on the back of my neck rise. I sense others around me now, bodies that pulse with magic. I turn, but before I can fully act, shadows swirl around me, dark tendrils wrapping around my limbs, encasing me like a prison.

“No,” I whisper, panic lacing my voice. “No. No!”

Before I can resist, the world tilts, and I’m pulled through the shadows, disoriented and helpless. My body slams onto cold, unforgiving marble, my cheek hitting the ground with a crack that reverberates through my bones.

Pain explodes along my jaw.

The tang of salt fills my nostrils, mingling with the stench of fish. I know this scent, this sensation. The Kingdom of Atlacoya.

I force myself up, my gaze sweeping across the grand chamber that unfolds before me. Rows of thrones line the walls, each kingdom represented by its ruler and counsel. At the center stands Nasarea, restrained by four guards, each shimmering with the crest of Atlacoya’s king. Betrayal mingles with confusion in her wide eyes, reflecting my own disbelief.

Marigolds decorate the floor, the walls, almost every inch of the inside of this grand room. Marigold. The flower of the dead. I see an ofrenda in the distance, with dozens of pictures of witches and mages dressed in elaborate dresses and uniforms lining the altar. I snap my gaze back to the scene unfolding in front of me.

“What is the meaning of this?” I spit, venom dripping from every word. My voice trembles, yet I cling to the edge of defiance. My gaze shifts, searching, until it lands on Alexander, his face cold. Beside him, Diego stands, along with four assassins cloaked in shadow, their identities masked. Diego looks worried. He’s trying to mask it, but I can see right through it.

I lift my chin and really take in my surroundings. Every king and their prince are here. There are even a few royal guards for each kingdom.

Then she steps forward, the woman with the crimson hair. She moves with the confidence of a queen, as if she were woven from fire and midnight itself. She blocks my view of the princes, drawing all attention to herself with a smile that is both angelic and wicked.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment,” she says, her voice honeyed yet edged with steel.

I grit my teeth, my rage bubbling just beneath the surface. “Who are you?” I demand. “Why am I here?”

She raises an eyebrow, her gaze sharp and assessing. “The infamous Shadow Reaper,” she drawls, her tone mocking. “The most feared assassin in all five kingdoms.” Her words mimic Alexander’s voice; his cold praise twisted into something cruel.

My eyes dart to the princes, the weight of their betrayal crashing over me again.

I search their faces, hoping for answers .

Tomas and Matheus are frozen in shock, disbelief written across their faces.

Nazriel’s fury is palpable. Oh shit. He probably thinks I killed his mom. I shove the thought away because fuck him.

Kaelion watches with his customary scowl, as if he always expected this of me, as if my treachery were inevitable.

But it’s Rhyker who cuts the deepest. He stands impassive, his arms crossed, his face an unreadable mask of indifference. To him, it seems, I am nothing. Not even worth his disappointment.

The sting of tears returns, but I fight them, locking them away. I won’t break here, not for them, not for anyone.

The woman’s voice slices through the silence, drawing me back to her. “You’ve been nothing but an asset to the Citadel...a decent one at that.” She says with so much fondness, I almost believe her but then, her gaze fills with a dark satisfaction. “A shadow, wielded by those who know how to command it. And now, you’ve outlived your usefulness.”

I clench my fists, feeling my nails dig into my palms, steadying me.

Anger seethes within me, my blood pulsing with a fury that is both hot and cold, a fire that blazes in the darkness.

Nasarea thrashes in her restraints, her arms flailing wildly, every fiber of her being rebelling against the bonds that hold her. Streams of ice and water erupt from her hands, each wave a testament to her fury, her desperation.

Alexander stands to the side, his posture rigid. His lips curl into what almost resembles a smirk, but I know better. The glint in his narrowed eyes, the subtle arch of his brow, these are expressions I’ve seen countless times, masks he wears so effortlessly. But beneath the facade, I catch it. The barely there twitch at the corner of his eye, the smallest crack in his composure.

He’s holding it together, playing the part of the master magician, the man who controls every thread in his web. But I can see it now, he’s nervous. For once, he doesn’t have the answers. He doesn’t know what’s unfolding in front of him, and the uncertainty is eating away at him. He’s close to breaking, and for a fleeting moment, it’s satisfying to see.

I tear my gaze away from him, the thought of Alexander not knowing what’s going on is enough to scare me.

The red woman towers over me, only barely shorter than the princes.

Her voice slithers through the silence, mocking. “You see, we knew you were something… special from the moment we took you from the cave.” Her smile widens, dark satisfaction oozing from her words. “We simply didn’t know the full extent of your potential.”

“You were just a young girl then,” she continues, her tone dripping with feigned nostalgia. “With that long black hair floating just above the stone altar, held in stasis for hundreds of years. Guarded by the oldest coven alive. But… for what reason?” She tilts her head, feigning curiosity, though her eyes gleam with knowledge she’s kept hidden, twisted into something only she understands.

My heart pounds; each beat a drum of confusion and denial. I don’t understand. This can’t be real. Her words are riddles, shards of a past I can’t piece together. My body reacts before my mind does, my nose wrinkling, my brow furrowing. “What are you talking about?” I demand.

A slow, knowing smile stretches across her lips, an expression too pleasant, too false. She clasps her hands in front of her and begins to circle me, her steps leisurely, predatory. I turn with her, refusing to show my back, refusing to let her pin me under her gaze. Her amusement only grows, her smile twisting with dark delight.

“You see…” She begins, savoring each word. “I passed by your location many times, feeling the pulse of magic radiating through the forest… and yet, I could never see you. Never find you.” Her gaze sharpens, perhaps admiration, perhaps jealousy, flares in her eyes. “The cave was hidden, veiled from sight, concealed within the jungles of Vizacoya.”

My eyes widen in shock. Vizacoya, the village nestled within the heart of the Dark Forest, a place shrouded in old magic, older than the gods. It’s said to harbor creatures of the night, magic as old as the realm itself. Even I, the Shadow Reaper, have never dared to tread there. The mere thought of it sends chills down my spine.

She watches me, her expression smug, sensing the understanding dawning within me. “Yes, my dear,” she continues, the satisfaction in her tone unmistakable. “You were there. Suspended in sleep for gods know how long, protected by the very shadows and magics that you now wield.”

My stomach churns as her words sink in, it feels like she’s peeling away a layer I’ve long buried.

She tilts her head; her gaze assessing. “And you have no idea, do you?” Her voice is a whisper, mocking me again. “You, the so called Shadow Reaper, the assassin feared across all five kingdoms. You know nothing of who you truly are, of the legacy hidden in your blood.”

My fists clench, nails digging into my palms until I feel the trickle of blood.

“Who… are you?” My voice shakes, but I hold her gaze, refusing to let her see the cracks forming within me.

She chuckles, a dark, chilling sound that echoes off the walls, sending shivers down my spine. “Oh, you’ll know soon enough,” she says, her tone dripping with promise, with the weight of secrets only she holds. “But for now, all you need to know is this: I am the one who will unlock your true self, Selestina. I am the one who will show you what you were always meant to become.”

Her words strike me like a blow, a sinister promise that I don’t want to understand. But as she circles me, her gaze gleaming with a twisted pride, I know one thing for certain, whatever truth lies buried within me, she holds the key. And she intends to wield it.

A sharp snap rings out, slicing through the tense silence, and two Tepetl guards emerge from the shadows under the arched entrance. They drag a figure forward, her body limp, her face pale and still. My stomach drops as they come closer, and I can see her clearly.

They stop before the Red Woman, who stretches out her hand, her fingers tipped with long, blood red nails. She lifts the woman’s chin, tilting her head to reveal her face to me, and my entire body tenses, a violent surge of rage and fear flooding every vein. My breath catches.

No.

Not her. Please, no.

“Mara,” I whisper, my voice raw, breaking. Then loud desperation clawing at my throat. “What is going on? Leave her alone!” My voice trembles, splintered by fear. But the Red Woman just raises a single finger, a silent reprimand, and tuts at me as if I were nothing more than a disobedient child. The small, smug motion fuels the anger boiling within me, but I’m helpless to act, to do anything as she gives a twist of her wrist, and Mara’s body jerks awake with a sharp gasp.

Mara’s eyes flutter open, and for a brief, aching moment, her gaze finds mine, filled with terror and sorrow. “No!” she cries, her voice breaking through the air, reaching out to me, a desperate plea in every word. “Selestina, run!”

My heart wrenches. I try to move, to fight the invisible grip that holds me in place, but before I can even gather the strength to resist, the Red Woman snaps her fingers again. A sudden, overwhelming force wraps around me, lifting me off the ground. My limbs go slack, my muscles frozen, leaving me trapped, helpless, suspended like a puppet on invisible strings. I struggle against it, but no part of my body obeys, my strength useless against this invisible cage. I can’t move, can’t even scream. The only thing I can control is my eyes, and I turn them to Mara, pleading silently, begging her to escape, to run, anything.

But then, with a slow, creeping dread, I watch as Mara’s eyes fade to black. Her shoulders relax, her posture shifts, and I can feel the life drain from her gaze. She stands taller, as though her body is no longer her own. She raises her hands, mirroring the Red Woman with chilling accuracy, moving as though she were merely a reflection, a puppet bound to her strings.

The Red Woman smirks, a twisted satisfaction lighting up her eyes, and in an agonizing, horrific instant, Mara mirrors her expression, her lips pulling into the same sinister smirk.

My stomach lurches, bile rising in my throat. The Red Woman isn’t just controlling Mara—she is Mara now, her every movement, every expression twisted to mimic the monster that holds us both.

The Red Woman laughs, a cruel, grating sound that cuts through me, and Mara’s laugh echoes hers. “I’m sure you’re beginning to see it now, aren’t you, Selestina?” Her voice drips with condescension, with a dark pleasure as she gestures to Mara, standing obediently beside her. “You’re not human, my dear. That much should be clear to you by now.” I roll my eyes. No duh, Sherlock, I’ve already figured this one out.

She watches my reaction with that smug, knowing smile. “But there’s one problem.” She turns Mara toward me, making her move with eerie precision, like a puppet jerked by its strings. “Your power wouldn’t reveal itself to us. No matter how hard Alexander tried to beat it out of you, to scrape it from your bones, it stayed buried, locked away.”

My gaze snaps to Alexander, desperate for any flicker of remorse, of regret, something that might make sense of this nightmare. But he stands there, unmoved, as if this moment means nothing, his face as blank and emotionless as stone. I turn away, the betrayal tightening around my chest, squeezing until it’s almost impossible to breathe. I knew he was a piece of shit, I just didn’t realize how much of my life was orchestrated. How little control I really had.

“That’s when we realized,” the Red Woman continues, her voice a low, mocking lull, “that you had a block. Someone powerful placed it there, making sure we couldn’t touch a single drop of the power you hold. All the beatings, all the torment… it couldn’t break through.” Her gaze shifts to Mara, and a sickening realization churns in my gut.

“No.” The word slips out, hoarse and broken. This can’t be true. I can’t allow it to be true. But the look in the Red Woman’s eyes tells me everything I need to know.

Mara is the key, the reason for this curse that haunts me, the invisible walls that have held me back.

The Red Woman’s smirk deepens, satisfaction radiating from her as she revels in my horror. “Yes, Selestina. She’s the one who locked your power away. She sacrificed everything to protect you, to keep you hidden from us.” Her voice lowers, each word dripping with venomous delight. “And now… now she will be the one to unlock it.”

The truth crashes over me, unforgiving. I look at Mara, bound in the Red Woman’s grip, her body a hollow shell of its former self, her soul trapped, tormented by forces beyond her control.

This woman who cared for me, who healed me, who gave everything to protect me… is now a prisoner, a pawn in this twisted game, just like me. And there’s nothing I can do, no way to break free from the spell that holds me, to save her from this nightmare. I try to thrash against the magic paralyzing me, but I can’t even breathe heavier. My body is completely at the mercy of the psychotic woman standing in front of me, and I’m not talking about Mara.

The Red Woman leans closer, her eyes gleaming with a cruel satisfaction. “We will break you, Selestina,” she whispers, her voice a dark promise. “And when we do, the power you’ve hidden from the world will break free.”

The Red Woman lifts her hands, fingers stretched out, pointed straight at me, a dark gleam in her eyes that speaks of power and twisted delight. Mara’s hands mirror hers, rising in perfect unison, their movements disturbingly synchronized.

As her hands reach their peak, a low, rhythmic chant slips from her lips. The words ripple through the air, vibrating with a dark magic.

Her voice twists the language of the old gods, a chant that feels as if it were pulled from the depths of the earth itself, something primal and raw:

“Cem īhuīcān Tlalli, Xīpa Totec motlālia, mictlān tlanēxtli tlahueliloc yōli!”

The sensation builds, each pulse of magic winding tighter, like a vice pressing against the marrow of my bones, squeezing until it feels as if my very skeleton is about to shatter.

And then it begins. Agony, searing and all-consuming, rips through me from the inside out. My bones feel as though they’re splintering, fracturing under the weight of an invisible fire that claws its way up from my toes, scorching my skin as it rises. The pain is unbearable, a fiery torrent that swirls with shadows and white-hot light, seething under my skin like molten lava.

My mouth opens in a silent scream as shadows pour from my lips, inky tendrils twisting into the air, mingling with flashes of blinding white magic that surge from my eyes, my hands. It spills out, an unstoppable force, as if my very essence is being torn apart and cast into the room for all to see. The shadows and light twist together, dancing, writhing, consuming, a chaotic storm of dark and light magic that pulses from within me.

The Red Woman’s chant intensifies, her voice rising, each word hammering against my skull, echoing through my very soul. It feels as though I’m being split open, unraveling at the seams, my magic tearing free in an eruption of blinding agony. I am nothing but pain, a vessel of light and darkness spilling into the world.

But then, through the agony, something shifts. Something lighter, barely perceptible, cuts through the torrent of suffering.

Remnants of emotions, foreign yet achingly familiar, brush against my own, like threads weaving themselves into the fabric of my mind. Betrayal. Hatred. Obsession. Fear. Each emotion resonates within me, a silent scream echoing through the storm .

I force myself to look up, vision blurred, heart pounding. Through the haze of pain, I see them—the princes.

Each one of them is on their knees, expressions fractured, torn, raw. I see the betrayal, the anger, the hunger, each emotion a reflection of their bond to me, twisted and fierce. And somehow, I know. Deep within, a thread snaps into place, pulling taut, binding me to them with an unbreakable force.

These are my fated mates, as bound to me as I am to them, their emotions an inescapable tether that burns through the haze of my suffering.

I stare at them, a strange blend of devastation and betrayal mingling within me. My heart strains against the pain, as I realize the depth of this connection, this bond we cannot deny, forged by fate herself.

Rey Chalchiuhtotolin steps forward, his face twisted with disgust, a sneer curling his lips as he looks down at me. His eyes are cold, a storm of disdain and hatred swirling within them. “We know what you are,” he snarls, each word dripping with venom. “You’re the one sent to destroy Tonalli. The one from the prophecy. Passed down from every generation. You, a filthy Necromancer, a Tonaloca thought to be destroyed in La Guerra de Dioses, destined to ruin everything we’ve built.”

The room tilts as his hand reaches out, fingers curling, water magic pulsing around his skin like liquid steel. Before I can react, his hand thrusts forward, plunging into my chest. Pain unlike anything I’ve ever known explodes within me, tearing a scream from my lips, raw and primal. His magic floods my chest, coiling around my heart with a grip so fierce it feels as though my life is being crushed under his touch.

My face contorts, agony twisting every feature as his fingers clench tighter, squeezing, choking the life from me. His sneer deepens, his satisfaction sickeningly clear as he murmurs, “There’s only one way to destroy a Necromancer.”

And then, with a brutal, merciless pull, he wrenches my heart free from my chest.

I’m falling, spiraling into darkness, my vision narrowing as the last threads of life slip from my grasp. Sounds blur, fading into the background, and I cling to the last shreds of consciousness, my senses a fractured, splintering mosaic of pain and horror.

Somewhere in the depths of my fading awareness, I hear Nasarea’s scream. A feral, guttural sound that pierces the silence. A sound so raw, so agonizing, it feels like the very fabric of reality is tearing. Her screams twist into gasps, breaths jagged and shallow as her voice shatters into sobs, each one more broken than the last, her agony a mirror of my own. If I had enough strength, I would smile. Because I know, deep down, Nasarea didn’t betray me. She kept her witches promise. She had to give her father something.

It’s okay, Nasarea.

Tomas and Matheus surge forward, their faces contorted in panic, their hands reaching for me, desperation written in every line of their bodies. Rhyker stands frozen, horror etched into his features, unable to move as he watches me slip away. Kaelion is on his knees, confusion masking his face, and realization hitting too late as he reaches for me. And Nazriel—Nazriel is fighting, punching through guards who struggle to restrain him, his face a picture of rage and desperation as he claws his way toward me.

But it’s too late .

My body collapses, my vision fading, darkness creeping in from every edge, swallowing me whole. My thoughts scatter, slipping into the void, and I feel myself drifting, dissolving into nothingness.

It feels different from last time. I know in my soul that this is real. There is no waking up from this.

I distantly hear the bell ding twelve times. Each ding slowing everything around me. It’s Día de Muertos, I vaguely realize. A fitting way to go, I suppose.

Just as the last fragments of consciousness slip from my grasp, two massive forms burst into the room. A lion with wings spread wide, its fur shimmering with iridescent light.

An Alebrije. My soul bond. I know it the moment I lock eyes with her.

And beside it, a hulking beast of black fur, a creature that looks like a wolf, but larger, darker, more terrifying. Its eyes feral with a desperation to reach me. They barrel toward me, powerful yet wild.

I feel them reaching for me, and in that final, fleeting moment, as darkness pulls me under, I know they are here for me.

My protectors, my guides, spirits born of an ancient power, come to carry me from this place to the next, to keep me safe in the afterlife.

And then, there is nothing.

Just the cold embrace of oblivion, and the echo of their roar lingering in the void.