Pure, brilliant white light erupts between us and Celeste, solidifying into a shimmering barrier that spans the entire garden. Celeste’s death magic slams into it and stops, dissipating harmlessly against the shield.
“Get away from my daughter.”
The voice is cold, absolute, and achingly familiar.
Hera.
Chapter Twenty
Kieran
The bond snaps taut, then starts to fray.
I feel her slipping away from me like water through my fingers. My body jerks forward, every instinct screaming at me to reach her, to hold on, to refuse what’s happening.
“No,” I rasp, stumbling toward where Daciana lies on the ground. Blood stains her lips. Her chest is barely moving. “No, no, no—”
Then Hera’s voice cuts through the chaos: “…my daughter.”
My head whips toward the gypsy witch, and for a moment, everything stops. The battle raging around us fades. Celeste’s triumphant laughter dims. All I can hear is those two words echoing in my skull.
Hera’s daughter.
I look down at Daciana. Her eyes flutter, unfocused, and I see her trying to process it, too. Trying to understand what it means even as the poison from Celeste’s dark magic eats through her veins.
“Kieran…” Her voice is barely a whisper. She’s struggling, fighting to stay conscious, to stay alive.
“Stop.” I drop to my knees beside her, my hands already glowing with healing magic. “Don’t talk. Don’t move. Just let me—”
I pour everything I have into her. Centuries of accumulated power, every healing technique I’ve ever learned, every desperate prayer I’ve never spoken aloud. The magic flows from my palms into her chest, searching for the poison, trying to burn it out of her system.
But it’s not working.
The poison is magical, ancient, specifically designed to kill someone like her. It wraps around her organs like vines, squeezing and suffocating. Every time I destroy one black thread of it, two more take its place.
“Come on,” I grit out, pressing harder. My hands shake. “Come on, damn you. Work!”
Daciana’s hand finds mine. So weak. So cold.
“Kieran…” She’s fading; I can feel it through the bond. The golden thread that has connected us for centuries is growing dimmer, darker. “It’s okay…”
“It’s not okay!” My voice cracks. I’ve never felt this kind of terror before. Not in eight hundred years. “You don’t get to leave me. Not now. Not after everything—”
Behind me, Hera is fighting Celeste, her magic crackling through the air. I should be helping. I should be protecting the others. But I can’t leave Daciana. I can’t let go.
I try again. More magic. More power. I’m burning through my reserves, pushing past every limit, and it’s still not enough.
“Hera!” Her name tears from my throat, raw and devastated. “Help her!”
The gypsy witch’s head turns. Just for a moment, she looks over her shoulder, and I see something in her eyes—something ancient and sad and determined.
“She’s dying,” I choke out. “I can’t—I can’t save her—”
Hera blocks one of Celeste’s attacks, then another. Her gaze drops to Daciana, and I watch her face transform. Not the powerful witch, not the mysterious gypsy. Just a mother looking at her daughter.
“I can save her.”
Four words. That’s all it takes for hope to flood back into my chest.
