Xyliria grinned. “That’s the spirit.”
I turned to look at Varyth. He shook his head once.
Another wave of Xyliria’s magic ripped through Linc.
The sound that escaped him?—
Gods.
A whimper.
I’d never heard Lincatheron make a sound like that. Not once.
It tore something fundamental inside me. Something that could never be repaired.
Fenric was sobbing now, guttural sounds that came from watching your soul being carved out with rusty knives. “Please—please, I’ll do anything. Hurt me. Kill me. Just stop.”
Merrick stepped closer, twirling on of my moonsilver daggers between his fingers as he moved. That predatory smile never wavered, even as his voice dropped to mock concern.
“Tick tock, little assassin,” he crooned, fingers trailing along one blade’s edge with obscene reverence. “Your friends are breaking so beautifully. Look at them.”
I snarled, the sound ripping from somewhere primal and feral.
“I won’t.”
Merrick chuckled, the sound like silk wrapped around broken glass. “Even now? Even watching him fall apart?” He gestured at Fenric, who was straining against his guards, trying desperately to reach Linc. “Even hearing sounds you never thought he could make?”
My grip on the dagger tightened until my knuckles went white.
“I. Won’t.”
Xyliria’s magic released its hold on Linc, and he collapsed forward, shaking, blood trickling from his nose, his mouth. His breathing came in sharp, stuttering gasps that spoke of internal damage, of things broken that couldn’t be seen.
But she didn’t give him long.
Didn’t let him recover.
Her hand lifted again, magic coiling around her fingers like hungry serpents.
“No.” I lurched forward, but the guards wrenched me back. “I said I won’t choose.”
“Then watch them both die.” Xyliria’s voice was silk and poison, delighted anticipation dripping from every syllable.
The magic built, darker this time, more violent. I could taste it in the air—death magic, the kind that didn’t just stop hearts but shredded souls.
Varyth was straining against his bonds, his fury so pure it was making the air shimmer. But the collar around his throat pulsed with suppressing magic, keeping his power locked away.
“Choose,” Xyliria purred, “or lose them both.”
“I won’t.” My voice cracked, but the words held. “I won’t do this.”
Her smile turned savage.
She whirled.
And before any of us could process what was happening, before anyone could scream or lunge or even blink?—
The blade in her hand slid into Brynelle’s throat like a whisper.
