But the way she looked at him now, as she lay there, face-up in the snow?
It was hatred.
Cold and deep and certain as the grave.
And maybe it was shock that held him here, that kept him from turning away. Or maybe it was the breaking of his own heart, because he couldn’t accept that Soraya, his Soraya...his greatest friend...
Had just tried tomurderhim.
“Don’t,” he whispered, as she moaned, and gave a rattling breath. And he knew she was going to die, a traitor. A defector. Perhaps he would die right beside her in the snow...
The broken Windmage and her Crown Prince.
“Don’t leave me like this,” Arawn begged.
But she’d closed her eyes now.
And the wolves...
Cyrra’s screams would haunt him for the rest of his days. The wolves had pounced on her, his beautiful, golden war eagle, and shredded her with their claws and teeth. He begged Vivorr for fire.
For saving...
And it was a gift when he felt the flames surge from the depths of him, and he charred the wolves from Cyrra’s back. They wouldn’t die, not unless he removed their heads, but it was enough time that he made it to her.
She lowered herself close to the ground, so he couldfallupon her back. And then she was soaring away with him, his blood staining her feathers.
His tears, already frozen on his face as the snow swirled against him. As he reached for Soraya’s cold, lifeless body.
The last thing he saw, before his eyes fluttered closed, was her face.
Her eyes were open, as if she were watching him. But she wasn’t. Not really.
He knew, he felt it in hissoul...that shewas gone.
His heart broke.
And then he let out a final cry – a groan that came from the very pits of him – as that ember inside of his chest went out. He felt it...like he’d had wings all his life, and they’d just been clipped.
Help me,he begged his god.
But he didn’t know if Vivorr was even listening, if his god could even hear him.
Because Soraya was dead.
And his magic, nestled in the core of his heart, had died along with her.
14
He didn’t know how he made it back to the safety of the wards.
But when he woke in the infirmary, gasping from the scar on his chest, one so large it nearly split him in two...the first face he saw was Kinlear’s.
His eyes were red, like he’d been crying. His clothing was rumpled, and he looked haunted. Like he’d sat here for however long it took for Arawn to wake up.
“Soraya,” Arawn gasped, as it all came back to him.
The darkness in her voice.
