I will be free.
I drag the Golden Son to Ashen, shove him toward the demon’s side.
“You’re going to have to lift yourself up,” I snap. “I’m not strong enough.”
He mumbles something too soft, too slurred, and his eyes begin to fall shut.
“Ronin!” I shout.
That awakens him. His eyes snap open, vivid blue slicing into mine.
“Pull yourself up. Now.”
He nods barely, but somewhere inside that wrecked body, he finds the strength to grasp Ashen’s fur and haul himself onto his back.
I climb up after him, patting Ashen’s neck, trying to soothe the beast as he snarls at the Ithranor circling like vultures.
My power is already slipping, the pain ebbing into nothing. I can only hope there’s enough left in me to put up a fight.
My hand drifts to my belly, to the faint flutter beneath my palm. A breath, a life. Fragile and fierce. I close my eyes for the span of a heartbeat, square my shoulders, and exhale.
“Home, Ashen,” I whisper.
Ashen’s stark white eyes flare with eerie light, and I brace for the rush of wind, for the sky to tilt as he leaps from the ledge, slicing through the storm of Fae, carrying us away from Driftspire toward the distant arms of my husband.
But he does not rise.
The stone beneath us trembles as his massive paws strike the tower with purpose, a deep growl rumbling in his chest. Then the air before us bends. It flickers, warps and a sliver of darkness tears through the space ahead. A speck at first. Then a widening ripple. Something darker. Vast. Infinite.
The void.
My breath catches. I grip Ashen’s mane tighter.
The cold unfurls inside me like smoke, familiar and terrible. That emptiness. That hunger. The thing I had nearly forgotten, but which never truly leaves.
Before I can stop him, before I can speak or even think, Ashen hurls himself forward.
Into the dark.
The void swallows us whole, the world vanishing in a rush of shadow and cold. Behind us, the rift seals with a sound like cracking bone, just as the Ithranor crash upon the tower.
Chapter 18
Daed
Before her.Zema’s island looms larger as I approach, its silhouette dark against the storm-lit sky. The wind is vicious tonight, howling like a beast, driving the rain in stinging needles against my skin. Thunder cracks, rolling with the fury of a wrathful god, and a sense of unease rises in my gut, tightening with each beat of my wings. I push forward, muscles straining against the storm’s weight, and feel relief when my feet finally touch solid ground.
The island itself is eerily silent, untouched by the tempest raging around it. I adjust the satchel at my side, fingers brushing against the apples I brought, redder, juicier than the last, a small offering to bring Zema a glimmer of joy. But something about the quiet tonight prickles at the back of my neck.
I step forward, the cave just ahead, barely visible through the sheets of rain. I narrow my eyes, scanning for movement, the familiar flicker of firelight. But there is nothing. Only stillness. Only dark.
“Zema?” I call.
Silence.
I move closer, arriving at the mouth of the cave and ducking my head inside. My gaze sweeps over the empty bed, the abandoned plate, the firepit long gone cold. The embers are stone-hard, scattered ash curling in the draft. There has always been fire here. Even on the worst nights.
I straighten, pulse quickening. “Zema!”
