Page 71 of The Last One Standing (Rogue X Ara #4)

ARA

“ A resurrection?” Rogue asked, sounding as dumbfounded as I felt. “As in, from the dead?”

Calypso dragged a cushioned chair to the table, sat, and flipped her book open. “Should Iaso fetch you a dictionary?”

“Goddess above, could you at least try not to be an insufferable wench?” Godrick sighed, taking a book from Iaso. He pulled out a pair of reading glasses and sat beneath a lantern.

Calypso turned her page, taking a sip of wine as she shook with a chuckle, but her smile faltered when Ewan said, “She doesn’t know how to be anything else.”

Iaso thrust a book at Ewan’s midsection.

He took it with one hand and cupped her jaw with the other, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “Easy.”

I averted my eyes, suddenly feeling like an intruder.

“Nicer,” she whispered.

“Never.” A pause, then he asked, “The ancient star maps?”

My head swiveled back to them as I strolled around the table to peek over Ewan’s shoulder. A constellation embossed in gold stretched across the front cover, initials K.B. carved into the worn leather, a tie string wrapped around the center.

“The sailors’ guides.” Her hands stilled, a book in each one. “Before they were eradicated, the sea Fae created a weapon. Two weapons, to be exact.”

Calypso’s face snapped up. “What about the sea Fae?”

“Do you remember when they used to whisper of them? The one created from her blood, and the other cursed by his?”

“The syren’s blood, yes.” Her face fell slightly as understanding seemed to dawn on her. “Oh.”

“Oh, what?” Lee asked, eyes darting between the two of them. “Oh, what? ”

Iaso shoved a book into his hands, then handed Rogue and me ours, a duology bound in matching leather. “Before there were storm bringers, there were veil walkers, or the stories of them, anyhow. I never came across one.”

She looked to Calypso, who shrugged and shook her head.

“What are veil walkers?” I asked, turning to the first page of my designated reading. The title read, The Incomplete and Marginally Correct History of Canyon and Its Occupancy, Volume #1. I held the book up in question, gawking at Iaso.

“It’s the most comprehensive history we have on it,” she said, brushing me off with a shrug. “In legend, veil walker magic sounds very much like yours, but…less, for lack of a better word. The stories never talk of storms or energy.”

“But they could go through the veil like she can?” Rogue peeked at his book, then lifted my hand to read the title of mine.

“Do you…actually need a dictionary, boy?” Calypso asked with almost concern.

Rogue shuffled through the pages of his book as Calypso’s wine started to bubble. I bit back a smile when the metal goblet glowed a faint orange, smoke rising where it burned a circle into the wooden table, and her wine boiled—as did the liquid in her pitcher.

“Perhaps now the sea wench will drink water,” Ewan said, quirking a brow. “How revolutionary.”

Godrick stifled a grin, clearing his throat and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, but Lee laughed loudly. Calypso scowled at him as he strolled to where Godrick sat and stretched out on the small couch beside him, feet hanging over the side.

“What do veil walkers have to do with a weapon a syren made?” Godrick asked, lifting his book. “And what exactly am I looking for in this?” He squinted at the spine and his brows furrowed, the book sinking back to his lap. “ When the Seas Bled? ”

“Nothing…exactly.” Iaso grimaced. “We’re grasping at straws, but we have to start somewhere. I tried to cover all the bases”—she motioned to the books—“but Alden would’ve been a much better help.”

“A particularly deranged veil walker claimed to have created a resurrection ritual that required the liminal moon and a syren’s blade,” Calypso said.

“Emphasis on deranged. Veil walkers were notorious for falling into insanity.” She met my gaze.

“Repeatedly crossing the veil and speaking with the dead will do that to a person.”

Iaso continued, “ When the Seas Bled is a detailed recounting of the war that ended the last of the sea Fae.” Her fingers tapped on the remaining book on the table.

“And since the sea Fae supposedly forged the weapons, I’m hoping we’ll find more information about their smithies and armories—like a location, perhaps. ”

My arms fell to my sides. “Don’t tell me one of the two blades is Sacrifice.”

“I don’t know,” Iaso sighed, “but it makes too much sense, doesn’t it?”

A gnawing sensation clawed at my gut, and Rogue’s hand found mine again, palms hot. Even Calypso’s expression grew grim, her eyes downcast.

Calypso cleared her throat. “Tell us exactly what the Goddess said, word for word.”

“I don’t remember her exact wording, but…

” I released a sigh, staring up at sprawling vines, speckled with purple blooms. “On the longest night, she will sleep, and the veil will thin…when the stars fall? No, while the sky is empty. The veil will thin when the sky is empty, and we must meet him on the battlefield with severance, because he will come with sacrifice.”

Calypso’s eyes slid to her sisters, and the look they shared cast a heavy tension over the room.

“I haven’t read the ritual in centuries, so I don’t remember all of it.

If I’d known it would come back around to up heave our entire existence…

” Iaso staggered back to sit by Ewan, reaching for his arm, and he guided her to his lap.

“The veil thins beneath the liminal moon, so this is happening in eleven days—but to my knowledge, it’s never been linked to an actual weapon named Sacrifice.

I was under the impression that a sacrifice was required, as in loss of life. ”

A tight thread tugged at my heart, the small flame there yearning for more kindling, and I stepped closer to Rogue.

“The Goddess mentions both Sacrifice and Severance,” he said, his thigh brushing mine as he leaned forward and planted his hands on the table, fingers splayed.

“We’ve been hunting one of them—but now, there are two?

We need to find two long lost weapons. Do they both have the power to kill anything, and if not, what power does the other possess? ”

“Death and cutting ties,” Drakyth answered breathlessly as he strode into the library.

He lifted the few pieces of parchment in his hand and read from one of them.

“What that means or exactly how they manage that has long since been forgotten in the centuries since they were created, intentionally or not. The blades do hold power, but we don’t know what kind or how much.

The only consistent element found in every story across the centuries is that no one survives a wound inflicted by Sacrifice. ”

“Does that mean…” I turned to Iaso. “Could it hurt you?”

“We don’t know,” Calypso snapped.

“Let’s hope,” Iaso muttered, and Calypso gaped at her. “If it can kill us, it can kill him.”

“I feel like no one is acknowledging that he is coming with Sacrifice,” I uttered, my throat tight. “What if he already has it?”

I’m going to throw up.

Rogue let out a slow breath and sank into the oversized chair, legs spread. Opening his book to the first page, he said, “If he does, we’ll take it. If he doesn’t, we’ll find them both.”

I glanced at him, unsure who he said the words for: us or himself.

Forcing a shallow smile on my face, I swatted his leg and motioned for him to scoot over.

With a low chuckle, he granted me enough space to squeeze in beside him, the tightness oddly comforting to the swelling tension beneath my skin.

We shouldn’t be able to sit like this.

The thought came out of nowhere, sudden and painful. His wings should be much too large and in the way for him to sit in this chair alone, much less both of us.

I shifted, rolling my shoulders when knots formed in my upper back, a phantom ache, but nothing dulled the sadness that washed over me at the reminder.

He slid an arm around my shoulders, his thumb tracing circles on my arm as I rested my head on him, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear.

Thump.

Thump. Thump.

I sucked in a deep breath and scanned the many faces in the room, brows furrowed over eyes racing across pages.

We were all here, safe, and alive—for now.

My eyes scrunched when hazy sunlight beamed through the open tent flap.

A hand tapped my cheek.

Birdsong melded with the sound of bustling footsteps. Someone shouted off in the distance, and I sat up in the chair with a groan. The blanket fell to my lap as I rolled my neck and stretched my arms, joints popping.

Another quick tap on my cheek. “Wake up, little mutt.”

A sleepy smile pulled at my lips as I rubbed my eyes and squinted against the early morning light. The sunrise poured in, thick fog blanketing the ground, a chill in the humid air that would burn off soon.

“Good morning,” I mumbled.

“Wake up.”

I jumped up and looked over the back of the chair, sure I’d heard another person, but found no one.

“What is it?” my friend asked.

I scanned the room as I sank back in the chair, pulling the blanket up to my chest. “Nothing, I guess.”

He shoved a mug into my hand, and I wrapped my fingers around it, holding it beneath my nose. Steam rose from it, swirling with the scent of coffee.

Mother didn’t allow me to have coffee yet. “Fourteen-year-olds have enough energy as it is. We don’t need you bouncing off the walls, too.”

That was why he shared his with me—with my father’s permission, of course—and joke’s on her, I didn’t bounce off the walls, nor had I the last few months that he’d been bringing it. I hid it well, and so our routine continued, Mother none the wiser.

“Thank you.” I took a cautious sip, humming until I swallowed, and a metallic aftertaste remained. I hid my reaction, though, because he always made an exception for me, an extra ration of honey for my secret coffee. He must’ve forgotten this time.

“You’re welcome,” he said, sitting on the ground in front of my chair with a mug of his own. “Why are you sleeping in a chair?”

“Wake up.”