Page 40

40

NORA

T he scream tears through the air before I realize it’s mine.

It burns its way up from the pit of my lungs like fire turned inward, my vision blurring as I stumble backward from the collapsing altar. Dust falls like ash from the crumbling dome, stone groaning as if the ruin itself mourns something ancient and vengeful being ripped away.

Rhaegar is on his knees, breath ragged, the fractured remains of the artifact still clutched in one hand—sharp obsidian edges biting into his palm, blood dripping like an offering across his knuckles.

And then everything stills.

The magic doesn’t fade.

It shifts.

Turns.

Twists inside me.

I feel it burrow into my ribs like a splinter. Cold. Familiar.

Unwelcome.

My legs buckle.

I hit the stone floor hard, the cracked bones of my wrist flaring with pain as I reach blindly for something—anything—to anchor me. But the altar pulses with residual magic, and I realize too late what it was hiding. Not just the tether.

A gate.

A door.

And I left it open.

She’s already inside me before I can scream.

I know this voice.

It slides through me like silk dipped in poison. She doesn’t rage. She doesn’t beg. She purrs.

“You should have left well enough alone, child.”

I try to move—claw my way out from under her weight—but my limbs don’t answer. My thoughts fracture. Her laughter echoes inside my skull like shattered crystal. My breath seizes. My heart stutters.

Rhaegar’s voice is distant—too far away to reach. “Nora!”

But I can’t speak.

Can’t warn him.

The world tilts, and I see my body rise.

Only, it's not me anymore.

She wears me like a crown.

My bones. My blood. My voice.

And when she turns to Rhaegar, it’s with my eyes. My mouth.

But none of me inside.

The look she gives him is soft, seductive. Her hand brushes hair from my— her —face. Lips curve. And I feel every muscle betray me, every nerve obey her command like they were always hers to begin with.

“You poor, broken creature,” she croons, stepping over the shards of the artifact. “She doesn’t understand what you are, Rhaegar. What you could be.”

He doesn’t move. Not yet.

But I see the tremor in his jaw. The doubt she’s always known how to exploit.

Her smile deepens.

“She thinks she loves you. But she loves the idea of what you could become with her help. Not what you are. Not the ruin inside you.” Her hand lifts—to his cheek this time—and my stomach churns with helpless rage.

“I love that ruin. I made it.”

Rhaegar’s wings twitch.

His shoulders square.

But he still hasn’t spoken.

And that’s when she leans closer— I lean closer—and whispers the final blow.

“You could have everything. Her body. My power. Eternity bound in flame and stone. Say yes. Say yes, and I will unmake even the gods for you.”

The chamber breathes in.

And Rhaegar moves.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hesitate.

His hand, still bleeding—tightens around the artifact’s jagged remains.

He looks into my eyes.

Not hers.

Mine.

And I feel it—that last thread of connection between us. Fragile. Flickering. But real.

Then he raises the broken artifact high over his head.

And slams it into the altar.

The sound is wrong.

It doesn’t echo.

It splits.

Magic detonates outward like a dying star, the runes on the altar screaming in a dozen forgotten tongues as they unravel. The chamber howls. The floor beneath me—her—fractures. Light bleeds through the cracks like golden veins. A scream tears from my throat?—

No.

Her throat.

Medea howls.

Not like a woman.

Like a thing being cast out of its host for the last time.

I feel her claws dig into my mind, her fury lashing every part of me she can still touch. But she’s unraveling. The gate is closing. The tether is gone.

“You were mine!” she shrieks. “You were made from my rib! My fire!”

I dig in—not with power—but with memory.

My mother’s lullaby.

Rhaegar’s hand in mine beneath the ruins.

My name.

Nora.

Not Medea.

Never again.

I collapse to the floor as she rips free.

The air turns sharp, wild, the magic shattering like glass. I feel my body convulse. My pulse stutters and then returns. My fingers twitch.

I’m me again.

And I can’t stop shaking.

Rhaegar is beside me in an instant, arms wrapped tight around me, his forehead pressed to mine. His breath comes in sharp, shallow bursts.

“Nora,” he whispers. “You came back.”

I try to answer, but the words catch in my throat. Instead, I reach up and place a hand over his, grounding myself in the weight of him. The realness of him.

“I never left,” I rasp. “Not really.”

He exhales shakily, pulling me closer until I feel his pulse against my chest, steady and alive.

“She tried to—” he chokes on the rest. Doesn’t finish it.

“I know.”

And I do.

I felt it.

The way she used me. The way she touched him with my hands. Poisoned him with promises I’d never make.

But he didn’t choose her.

He chose me.

The ruin begins to collapse in earnest now. Stone rain. Screaming magic. The death of something that was never meant to live this long.

He scoops me into his arms—stone skin flaring across his shoulders as his gargoyle form takes over. Wings unfurl. Eyes burn like stars behind a storm.

“Hold on,” he growls.

I do.

And we rise.