Page 4 of The Last One Standing (Rogue X Ara #4)

ROGUE

I ’d only gotten one piece of new information from my last massacre: south.

When I heard that, I had to physically restrain myself from burning down the entire Capitol. Adonis’s entire kingdom should be reduced to smoldering ash and rivers of blood.

If Ara wasn’t here, why should it not be?

The wyverns convinced me otherwise, namely Guardian.

Innocents, he’d said.

It was unanimous among them, as if it were up for a fucking vote, but I hadn’t destroyed it, so I supposed it was.

Only twenty or so wyverns joined me on the mainland, but I’d dispersed them across Auryna. They took residence in every corner of the kingdom with strict orders to inflict fear but not physically harm the people. I didn’t need humankind to suffer yet, only to ingrain the promise that they would.

The rest of the wyverns stayed behind at the Hearth, because I hadn’t asked any of them to come.

The Hearth was their home, and if I didn’t need them, I didn’t want to disrupt their peaceful lives.

Those who accompanied me were the battle-hardened wyverns, those who preferred violence and chose to join me.

All of them but Guardian. He came for Ara and had no hesitation in telling me as such the moment he gained his ability to communicate.

“How the fuck can she be your friend when you’ve never even spoken to her?” I asked as we strode up the hill near Draig Hearth, heading toward the dreaded meal I demanded once a week, yet hated every time.

I have spoken to her, Guardian said. She simply has not heard me. She is a brave one, different, and she has ridden upon my back. She trusts me.

My glare cut to him. “That was dangerous.”

I would not have let her fall.

“We didn’t know that.”

Perhaps if you had not been so foolish, she would not have sought me out. Truly, you should thank me. I brought her to you.

My irises flickered, pupils slitted, while his amber eyes sparked with humor. “I’ll send you back to the Hearth.”

She would not like that. She is my friend.

My fingertips tapped on my thigh. “Not your friend.”

She is.

He provoked me, and Goddess be damned, it worked, but at least it was a distraction for the time being. “ My mate. My claimed.”

My friend.

“I’m going to kill you.”

A gruff sound shook his torso—his form of laughter. She would not like that.

“Are you going to be in my head for the rest of my life?” I glared at him, fire thrashing beneath my skin. “Or can I dream of a day I’ll be free of your pestering?”

Fear not, my King. You’ll have one night of freedom. One night a century, in fact.

My fire suffocated. “What does that mean? When?”

Do you know of the liminal moon?

“Yes, vaguely. The moonless night?”

Yes, on that night, the Goddess sleeps, and when she slumbers, so do we…somewhat. Our sentience comes from hers, so when she sleeps, we revert to beasts. No consciousness, no morality. On that night, you’ll be free of us.

“Beasts?” I gawked at him, brows furrowed. “As in…dangerous, wild beasts? When is this?”

A female wyvern replied, According to the stars, soon. This year, perhaps, or the next.

We don’t track dates the way mortals do, Guardian added.

“Great,” I muttered. “There are wyverns all over the mainland.”

We’ll feel it when it’s closer, my King, the female said, her tone confident. We’ll return to Hearth to pass the night without bloodshed.

“Without bloodshed,” I repeated, running my hand through my hair.

We needed to know before it got that close. I’d write Alden. He’d know?—

I stopped.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath to dispel the ache in my chest before continuing on. Guardian walked alongside me as we climbed the grassy hill.

There were others I could write to. Those who studied the texts and stars with a strictly academic eye typically resided in Nautia, while those who used the stars and other celestial events to practice darker magics lived in Canyon.

I’d write both. One of them was bound to know when the next liminal moon was.

Not many have gained the favor of a wyvern, another wyvern whispered, older than Guardian. Strange times.

I lifted a brow at Guardian. “Wyverns don’t like Fae?”

Mortals, he corrected. Species makes no difference. Human and Fae are equally as insufferable, though it turns out there are exceptions.

My eyes narrowed at him. “Ara is not your exception.”

Quite exceptional, he mused, then added, You both are.

Before I could argue, he continued, We’ve avoided the mainland—and its inhabitants—for the majority of our existence. Only the Drakis call us here.

“Exactly,” I said. “So, how would you know who is and isn’t exceptional?”

His head snapped in my direction, and I almost laughed.

“You latched onto the first person you came across.” I shook my head, throwing my arms to the side. “You’re overwhelmingly lucky it was Ara.”

Exceptional recognizes exceptional. He ruffled his wings under a stray beam of sunlight and plopped down in the tall grass with a huff. Lest you forget, w e chose you, too. Doubt has no place in your head or heart. Banish it before you spew more nonsense in front of others.

“You are quite…” My voice faded when I spotted her atop the hill’s crest, and knots wrenched in my gut.

The ghost of Elora sat in her metal chair, wearing nothing more than her gown. The fabric whipped in the icy wind, but she didn’t seem to notice. She stared into nothingness, despite the sparkling ocean behind her, her expression blank.

Brave and kind, Guardian tutted before he, too, slipped from my mind.

Elora looked so much like an older version of Ara, the sight of her fading away ripped my heart from my chest each time we met. I couldn’t help but wonder if her deterioration was a reflection of what was happening to Ara, if she’d lost her spirit, too.

No.

No, Ara hadn’t, and she wouldn’t.

My fist clenched and unclenched as I closed the remaining distance, grabbing the wool blanket the maids left for us. She didn’t react as I draped it over her shoulders and lit the fire pit, wood stacked and ready.

A large spread of food had been prepared, all desserts as I’d requested, and a steaming pot of coffee with two mugs. I poured her a cup, and she took it without a glance in my direction.

She hadn’t looked away from the apple pie in the center of the table, drowned in sugar and butter.

“Would you like me to cut you a slice?” I asked, failing to stifle the hope in my voice.

She hardly ate, evident by her frail body wasting away, but she usually did during our meetings; I wouldn’t let her leave until she did, but I was fighting a losing battle. Her veins had started to show beneath her pale skin, pulled tight by her bones.

She met my gaze, her bright blue eyes dulled to cloudy. “No.”

I sighed and placed one of every other dish onto her plate before setting it in front of her and filling my own.

She stared at it for a long beat, then leaned forward and lifted her fork, but her fingers tightened around the metal until her hand shook, her chest rising and falling quickly, her breaths audible.

Fuck. My pulse ticked up, my brows drawing together.

Was I pushing too hard? Was this doing more harm than good?

I opened my mouth to ask if she was all right, but snapped it shut when she jerked to her feet—the fastest I’d seen her move in months. A lone tear tracked down her cheek.

She grabbed the apple pie, stomped to the cliff edge, and hurled it into the sea below with a scream that turned into a gut-wrenching wail. She stifled a sob at the splash of the pie hitting water, then inhaled deeply, wiped her hands on her gown, and turned back to me like nothing happened.

When she sat in the chair, her ghost returned, but not entirely. A shaken rage had slid beneath her eyes, a war raging within her.

“Elora?” I asked, barely louder than a whisper.

“Do not serve sugar next time. No dessert. No fruit. No…apples.” Her face fell to her plate, and with a grimace, she shoveled food into her mouth. “No sweetness at all.”

The rest of our meal went on in near silence on her part. I asked her a few questions; none were answered. I told her the bits and pieces of information I’d acquired; she didn’t acknowledge them. When I told her I’d killed the final man in that alleyway, however, she uttered a quiet, “Good.”

When she’d cleaned her plate, she stood and left without so much as a goodbye.

I remained in my seat, surveying the abundance of food: pies, tarts still coated in sugar, bowls of fruit, trays of cookies. As Elora disappeared down the hill, five maids took her place, smiling ear to ear, and I rose to my feet with a deep breath.

They dipped their chins in greeting, standing with their hands clasped behind their backs.

“Enjoy.” I strolled toward Guardian who slept a few hundred yards away, the tall grasses swaying with his breath.

“Thank you, your Majesty,” they all replied, followed by the faint sounds of giggling and plates being passed around.

After my first meal with Elora, I couldn’t stand the idea of so much going to waste, so I offered the remainder to the maid who came to clean it up. For the first few weeks, they had taken turns, but when I realized why they were doing that, I ordered larger meals, enough to indulge them all.

Before I reached Guardian, Iaso stepped into view, and I tensed, cursing under my breath. I avoided her as much as I could. She only wrenched the knife in my gut, by no fault of her own. Elora was the only person I saw regularly, and she was painful enough.

I hadn’t set foot inside Draig Hearth since that night. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t return without Ara.

But between my sanity falling to pieces at my feet, Ara gone, Alden dead, and Elora hollowing into a shell of a person, Iaso had started to fray.

Dark shadows settled beneath her eyes, her dark skin lost its luster, and worry settled in every feature of her face.

Ewan followed her around like a guard, but it seemed even he couldn’t protect her from the distress I caused her.