A rustle of robes echoed behind him. Four men and one woman stepped out from the shadows—his allies. All dressed in regal mage attire, silver and violet sashes marking them as nobles of The Spire’s High Houses. Their expressions were smug, condescending.
One of them—a man with sunken eyes and fingers stained with ink—snorted softly. “She’s an orphan. Unbound. Untamed. Jarrick should have married her before taking her from the city. The contract is the only thing preserving propriety here.”
“I refused to marry him.” I spoke clearly. Slowly. So these idiots could understand my words.
“She’s a foundling, is she not?” said another, completely ignoring me, irritation flashing in dark grey eyes. “Reputation in tatters. No family to care for her. Gratefulness would suit her better than rebellion.”
I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood, fighting a sudden urge to hate all Death Mages again. Except mine, of course.
“She hasn’t completed the bond with Grimm,” another added, flicking a lazy glance toward Devin, who stood at the edge of the circle, radiating silent fury. “As far as tradition goes, the betrothal stands. Ritual law cannot be overridden by sentiment.”
Jarrik turned toward the throne. “I acknowledge that she fled. That her emotions are… troubled. But we wereintimate.She gave herself to me willingly. The bond, though not sealed in blood, was forged in flesh.”
The words struck me like a slap.
A lie.
A monstrous, vicious lie.
I stepped forward, the fire in my chest rising like a scream. “That’s not true.”
“She denies it because she’s confused,” Jarrik said with a faux-gentle smile. “Her power is awakening. She fears what she doesn’t understand.”
“YOU LIAR!” My voice cracked the air like thunder. Magic surged up my spine, crackling under my skin like lightning in a bottle.
And then—I heard them. The words from the book in my room.Nova’s Requiem.
They shimmered in my mind’s eye, curling like molten gold across my memory. I’d read them the night before, scrawled in the ancient Earthen tome, hidden under a spell only one with Starborn blood would be able to see, tucked between warningsand half-burned pages. A spell of last resort. A weapon born of light and fury and soul-deep fire.
It wasn’t just magic. It was truth incarnate. And I couldn’t stop it.
The first word left my lips like a prayer.
The second, like a blade.
The third—a war cry.
Light exploded in my chest.
A white-hot orb of condensed starlight ignited inside me, burning outward, every breath fanning the flames. I could feel my heart feeding it—my anger, my betrayal, my refusal to be claimed like a sword or a slave.
The fire surged through me andbecame me.
The floor beneath me cracked. The air shimmered. Then?—
Detonation.
The light burst from my chest in a ring of gold and silver flame, a shockwave of burning, howling truth.
Jarrik screamed. Not like a man caught in pain. Like a soul ripped open.
The Starfire struck him full force, not destroying his body—but annihilating every lie that clung to his essence. I saw it—black threads of corruption boiling away from his skin, his mouth forced open as if the light itself was dragging the lies from his throat. He staggered backward, clutching his chest, eyes wide and unseeing.
His allies fared no better.
One dropped to his knees, retching up a writhing shadow that twisted into smoke. Another clutched her head and screamed as illusory glamours tore away, revealing a younger woman beneath, twisted by dark bargains. All of them—liars, manipulators, false claimants—were burned down to what they truly were.
And the fire didn’t stop.
