“Little death,” he says, the regret heavy in his voice. “She won’t make it in time.”
Nor can I grant the raven a painless death.
Not any more.
My vision blurs, tears stinging behind my eyes.
“Light take your enemies,” I whisper in Malbolge, daring to stroke the feathers along its crown. “And shadows keep you safe.”
As if it understands, its chest deflates and doesn’t rise again. The red eye grows unfocused and my tears slip.
I’museless.
Truly, utterly, undeniably useless.
Ryc’s warm hand falls upon my shoulder and glides over my back in a soothing rub.
“Your heart is showing, little death,” he says softly.
I know it’s not meant to be an insult.
But it feels like one all the same.
Tucking the raven against me, cradling it as if it were an infant, my tears continue to silently fall.
“I tried,” I say, my voice surprisingly calm, even if devoid of feeling. “And I couldn’t…”
Ryc helps me to a stand, pulling me into his embrace with the raven between us. The pained expression on his face fuels my tears, despite the warmth and adoration flowing through our bond.
“I can’t live like this, Ryc,” I say, and he brushes a tear away from my cheek with his thumb. “I cannot be some worthless,innatelesscreature—”
“You are far from worthless,” Ryc interjects, his brows creasing.
I scoff a bitter laugh. “You’re right. My worth is staked in my blood. Sovereign Kings are willing tokillover it.”
Ryc’s expression hardens. “They won’t get near you,” he says, his voice a low growl.
“And so you’ll give Vaelyn what he wants,” I say, holding his stare.
There’s no winning.
White light flares around us and the familiar shimmer of magic rushes over my skin. The light fades as quickly as it appeared, leaving us standing in the middle of my darkened quarters. The only light coming from the fireplace. Its warmth seeps into my chilled skin.
“Vaelyn can have every soul in this realm,” Ryc says, pressing a kiss to my brow. “Except yours.”
There’s no doubt in his words.
Not a trace of it.
Instead, like all nyraphim, they carry a staggering confidence in the face of death.
Damn foolish fae.
He releases me, asking, “What would you like to do with the raven?”
I would like to see it live.
“I’ll see to it in the morning,” I answer quietly. “Give it a proper burial.”
