Still, I pull again, more forceful this time.
Ashen resists. Then snarls. Then folds his wings and drops.
He hits the stone balcony of the tower with a bone-shaking thud, his massive body slamming through the ledge. Stone splits and crumbles, dust blooming in a thick cloud around us.
I slide off his back, and when the dust clears, I see him.
The Golden Son.
Maskless.
Chained against a wall, dangling from shackles at his wrists.
I’ve never seen him so pale, his blond hair stuck to his face with sweat, his chest barely lifting with breath. But he stirs when he hears me. Eyes slitting open, dazed and unfocused.
“Amara? What are you…”
“Be quiet,” I snap. “Or I’ll change my mind.”
I lift my hands, the last of my power flickering to life, green fire curling over my skin. I grip the shackles around his wrists, feel the metal sizzle beneath my touch, until it melts and drips down the wall in black streaks.
That’s when I see it.
The raw, flayed flesh of his wrist.
The rune that once marked him carved away.
Cut straight from his skin.
He falls forward, and I catch him.
His weight knocks the breath from me. Sweat and grime coat his skin. His head drops against my shoulder, limp as a broken doll.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“Say another word,” I growl, “and I’ll leave you here, I swear.”
But there is no time to breathe.
The wind shrieks around the tower, and the raised voices of the Ithranor rise like a storm in the sky. With the Golden Son’s arm slung over my shoulder, I drag him toward Ashen, who waits on the shattered ledge, and too late, I realize he was far wiser than I.
The tower is surrounded.
The sky churns with Fae riding the currents, their eyes locked on us, their blades drawn. If they do not already know what has become of Anethesis, they soon will, and I do not expect mercy.
Suddenly, the Golden Son’s legs give out beneath him, and he crashes to one knee, dragging me with him.
“Get up!” I bark.
“Leave me,” he breathes. “I’ll slow you down. Hold you back. Save yourself, Amara.”
I roll my eyes. “Be quiet. You’re coming with me. That is not up for discussion.”
He doesn’t argue again. He can’t and even if I left him, the odds of escape would still be razor-thin. But I didn’t come this far to fail.
I’ll carve a path in green flame.
I’ll let Ashen gorge himself on as many Ithranor as he can stomach.
