But Briar was dying.
She could feel it, the collar draining faster than her body could sustain. The warmth, desperate after so long, kept pulling toward Eliam, and the collar kept punishing her for it, a vicious cycle that was shutting her body down. Her heartbeat stuttered and slowed.
Eliam felt it too, his attention flickering to her for just an instant. It was enough. Malachar's blade found his side, sliding between ribs with a wet sound that made Eliam grunt. But instead of pulling back, Eliam grabbed the blade with his bare hand, holding it in place while more thorns erupted from his other palm, driving straight through Malachar's chest.
The Winter Lord gasped, blood bubbling from his lips. Eliam twisted the thorns deeper, his face terrible in its fury.
“You should have kept to your mountain halls, Malachar,” Eliam sneered, preparing to drive the thorns deeper.
"Wait," Malachar choked out, his eye finding Briar. "The collar she wears. Only I can remove it."
Eliam's hand stilled but didn't withdraw. "Lies."
"Look at her," Malachar managed, blood running down his chin. "It's killing her, it’s tied to my magic, my life. If I die, it becomes permanent. She'll be dead in minutes."
Eliam's gaze snapped to Briar, and she saw his expression change as he truly looked at her. She knew what he was seeing—her lips blue from lack of oxygen, her body barely moving with breath, the frost spreading from the collar as it consumed her. She tried to reach for him but her hand wouldn't lift.
"Remove it," Eliam demanded, twisting the thorns again.
"Remove your thorns first," Malachar countered, though speaking clearly cost him.
They stood frozen for a moment, locked in mutual destruction while Briar's breathing grew shallower. She could feel herself fading, sliding toward darkness that had nothing to do with Eliam's shadows. The warmth in her chest was growing quieter, pulling less strongly, as if it too was dying.
Eliam withdrew his thorns with a vicious twist that made Malachar scream. The Winter Lord collapsed to his knees, one hand pressed to the hole in his chest.
“Get up,” Eliam said, his voice quiet.
Malachar grit his teeth and stumbled towards the bed.
"If you’ve deceived me," Eliam said, shadows coiling around him like living things, "I will take you apart piece by piece and scatter those pieces across every realm."
Malachar reached Briar with shaking hands, his blood dripping onto the white sheets. His fingers found the collar and he spoke words in the old tongue. The collar grew colder, then burning hot, then simply fell away, clattering to the floor in two pieces.
The relief was instant and overwhelming. The drain stopped, the warmth in her chest settled, and she could breathe again. Deep, gasping breaths that hurt but proved she was alive.
Eliam gathered her into his arms, pulling her far from Malachar's reach. She collapsed against his chest, her fingers clutching at his shirt with what little strength had returned. He was solid and real and here, when she'd thought no one would come.
"You found me," she whispered against his shoulder, and she felt him tense at how broken her voice sounded.
"You’re surprised?" he replied. “I’ll always come for what belongs to me.”
“I don’t…. you threw me out,” she reminded him, and she felt his arms tighten around her.
She pulled back just enough to look at his face, seeing the terrible fae features softening as he looked at her. The antlers were fading, his height returning to something more human, though his eyes still held that green fire.
“I… may have acted rashly…” his hand rose to brush hair from her face, his fingers tangling briefly in the loose strands.
Briar felt her heart skip in her chest. It wasn’t an apology, but then she didn’t expect one. It was, however, acknowledgement.
“Take me home,” she said. “Please.”
He said nothing as he lifted her gently, cradling her against his chest as he turned toward the window. She saw the movement over his shoulder—Malachar pushing himself up with one hand while the other drew a thin blade from his belt.
"Eliam—!"
The warning came too late. Malachar drove the ice blade into Eliam's shoulder, the frozen weapon sliding deep between muscle and bone. Eliam grunted, nearly dropping her as he staggered. He reached back and ripped the blade free, ice shards breaking off in the wound as blood immediately soaked through his shirt, but Malachar was already forming another weapon from winter air.
“Did you think I’d just let you—”
