Page 60

The cabin they led me to at second base camp was dark and damp, the stench of rot clinging to the air like a low-hanging fog.

My wrists throbbed beneath the restraints, the cold metal biting deeper with every movement.

But Kian stayed close, and I was quietly grateful he’d all but forced Warden Sorpine to let him come.

“Now would be a great time to tell me where I am,” I hissed at Callum, gagging on the thick, metallic stench that clung to the air like decay.

Kian reeled back, bracing himself against the damp stone wall. “What is that smell?”

Callum didn’t answer. Instead, he gave a sharp nod. “Light the room and you’ll see.”

Kian lifted his hand, and with a flick of his fingers, twelve lanterns flared to life in synchronized bursts of starlight.

At the far end of the room stood two caskets, wooden and iron-bound.

My chains loosened with a faint clink, but the chill trailing down my spine only sank deeper. Where the hell were we?

And why were there caskets.

Kian’s breath caught. “What’s in them?”

“Not what,” Callum said, “but who.” Then he moved toward the caskets and lifted both lids. “Malachi Herring,” he said quietly. “And the remains of Klaus Blanche. ”

Klaus and Malachi.

Klaus lay inside, pale and still, crudely stitched together like someone had flayed him and sewn the pieces back wrong. His face was familiar, but warped, like a painting ruined by water. A jagged gash split his throat, the edges blackened and rotting.

Familiarity curdled into horror. I knew that wound. A ripper beast had once taken his form, wearing his skin like a mask. Damien had made that cut, slicing him down before the creature could reach me.

Then I saw that Malachi had a wound near her heart. Someone had stabbed her. Someone had killed her.

“Why are they here?” I asked, the words scraping past the nausea rising in my throat.

Callum tilted his head. “Don’t you want to see your brother and friend again?”

I couldn’t look at Klaus. I couldn’t. My gaze stayed locked on Malachi’s broken body.

“What was her cause of death?” I asked, already dreading the answer.

Callum’s smile curled. “A glass quell,” he said. “It struck her near the heart.”

A glass quell.

I tore that bond open and nearly screamed. “Damien... what did you do?”

Damien replied not even a second later, “I think it’s time we close our bond, Sev.”

“You killed her,” I hissed, my voice near venomous. “ How could you? ”

“Then save her,” Damien said smoothly in my mind. “You did it for Everett. I’m sure most of her is still in there.”

“I hate you. I hate you.” The third curse never reached him. Our bond snapped shut before it could .

Kian stepped in, jaw clenched. “What do you want her to do?”

That wasn’t Klaus anymore. Not really. Just a shell. A puppet. A horror wearing his skin. I was living one of Cully’s horror stories, and this time, I couldn’t close the book.

Callum yanked me forward by the wrist, dragging me toward the caskets. “I don’t have all damn day,” he said. “Severyn will resurrect one of them.”

I fought harder than I ever had. “No! Let me go! ” A sob cracked through my chest. “ No! ”

And then, Kian lunged. His hands closed around Callum’s neck like iron. “Do not touch her!”

But Callum blasted him with ice, knocking him flat. “Stay in your lane, dungeon rat. You only got in here because you begged Sorpine.”

“I’m sorry, Sevy,” Kian panted, winded. “I tried. I—I can’t do anything.”

Callum’s mouth curved into a smile, but there was nothing kind about it, only cruelty laced in calculation.

“Now, where were we?” he murmured, the words almost idle as he grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the nearest casket.

My heels scraped against the floor, every instinct urging me to dig in, to resist, but he was stronger, more determined, and utterly unaffected by the panic he was forcing into my lungs.

He pried my hand open. “Is this how it works?” he asked, tilting his head. “Just a single touch?”

I twisted against his grip, heaving hard as my shoulder slammed into his chest, but he didn’t budge. Instead, he shoved me forward, pressing me down against the smooth, unyielding edge of Malachi’s casket. My stomach hit the side, and a sharp breath tore through me.

“You don’t want to do this,” I hissed, my voice shaking beneath the weight of my fear .

He leaned in, his breath grazing my ear. “On the contrary. Malvoria has never detained a necromancer before. If your kind are out there, we need to understand what we’re dealing with. We need to know how far your power can go.”

Then my hand made contact.

Her skin was cold. I recoiled, heart pounding, but his grip forced me still. My palm lay flat against her chest, against the lifeless shell that had once carried her voice, her laugh, her loyalty.

“Stop,” I cried out, my voice cracking with something dangerously close to grief. “I want her back… but not like this.”

But it was already too late. I’d touched her. The link had been made.

“Now we wait,” Callum said, his voice a low hiss as he stepped back.

“If she doesn’t wake, we try again. And again.

Until you break open and show us everything.

Maybe the blood needs to be fresh.” He didn’t have to say the next part out loud, but he did anyway, as his gaze slid to Kian. “We have options.”

This wasn’t supposed to work. Damien had survived. I had no more chances to save anyone. And still… a small, withered part of me believed she might wake up.

Not out of hope. Not even out of courage.

But because some fractured sliver of my soul hadn’t yet allowed me to grieve Malachi.

Because I was afraid that if I started mourning her, if I really let myself feel it, I would sink deeper than I had when Klaus died.

There would be no pulling myself from that kind of sorrow.

A soft gasp slipped from the coffin before Malachi bolted upright. “I swear, if this is the afterlife, it’s underwhelming,” she rasped.

Oh Gods. Oh no.

Kian dropped to his knees with a thud. “Sev…” His voice cracked. “Are you a god? ”

“No, you idiot,” Callum muttered. “She’s a necromancer. And it looks like Malvoria just found their greatest weapon.”

“I will never be your weapon,” I said, voice sharp. “I’ll cut off my own hands before that happens.”

Then Malachi screamed so loud it cracked the air. She clawed at her throat, eyes wide, wild. “Sev? Severyn! What in all the realms is happening?”

Callum groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shut up, blondie.”

She screamed again, louder this time. “What have you done? I was enjoying death!”

I stared helplessly. “Mal.”

“You were dead,” Callum said flatly. “Severyn brought you back.”

Malachi’s voice fractured. “Damien—he… he—” She broke. The girl who never broke shattered.

Kian stepped beside me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “I’m sorry you had to do that,” he whispered.

There was no name for the weight in my chest. It gnawed through me like rust. Death clung to my skin, not just grief, but the reversal of it.

The door burst open. “What the hell is all the screaming about?” Ellison demanded.

Callum didn’t miss a beat. “Aren’t you going to comfort your sister? She’s in tears.”

Ellison froze. “What? Severyn’s not my sister. My stepfather would never—” But his voice faltered. Just for a moment. He was thinking about it.

Callum’s grin sharpened. “They spent eighteen nights together. Serpent parties. True mates. Mentor and mentee. Fallon and Hadrian.” He tilted his head. “A classic tale of betrayal. Adulterous, tragic, and so very poetic. ”

Ellison reached for his daggers, but it was the wrong move. Callum lunged, seized him by the collar, and slammed him into the nearest column.

Kian stepped between us, forcing me backward with more force than care. I stumbled, my spine bumping against the edge of the casket behind me. As I caught my balance, my hand slipped and brushed against something hard and cold. I had touched Klaus.

My gaze darted to Kian. His jaw had gone rigid, he’d seen it. Without speaking, he shook his head.

I folded my arms, heart hammering. I had touched Klaus. I thought my quell was gone. But it had brought Malachi back.

“Stand down!” Callum barked, slamming his fist into Ellison’s ribs. “That’s a week in solitary. No outreach. No quell. No sunlight.”

Ellison staggered, coughing. Blood flecked his lips. “She’s not my sister,” he rasped. “My stepfather loves my mother.”

Callum’s grin turned razor-sharp. “Not for eighteen nights, he didn’t.”

Before the tension could spike again, Kian stepped forward, voice low and firm. “If you had a heart, you’d let Severyn rest. She’s exhausted. She needs clean clothes.”

Malachi raised a hand weakly. “Is anyone going to comfort me? I was at peace. And now I’m back, and you’re all just… arguing?”

Callum’s smile vanished. “You’re Malvoria’s property now, darling. We’ll tell you when to speak. That includes sleeping, too.”

Kian moved closer to me, his hand wrapping gently around my elbow. “We’re leaving.”

“Severyn stays with me,” Callum snapped.

The door slammed open .

Lorna stepped into the room, broad-shouldered with chin-length blonde hair and eyes as sharp as ever. She was Charles’s bonded rider, his most loyal ally. “No,” she said clearly. “Severyn stays with me.”

Callum’s scowl darkened. “Rok said I’m to watch her.”

“Lead Guard Blanche outranks him,” she said. “Rok’s orders don’t matter to me.”

“Lorna!” I gasped, relief breaking free in my chest. “Where have you been?”

She didn’t answer. Just motioned for Malachi and me to follow. “It’s a long walk to my camp. Come.”

Malachi trailed behind, dazed and mumbling something about farming and wind. My stomach churned. Gods, what had I done?

“I’m coming,” Kian said, then faltered. “...ma’am.”

Lorna glanced over her shoulder, one brow lifted. “Don’t call me ma’am. You age me.”