A scream—Ferria. The sound of fire sputtering out. They were almost out of time.
"Please." Tears ran down her face, mixing with the blood on her hands. "I know what I'm asking. I know what it costs you. But I can't watch you die. Not when I can save you."
"Briar—"
"My blood is different anyway." She was desperate now, words tumbling out. "You know it is. The warmth, the magic—it's yours. Part of you. You wouldn't be feeding on a human, you'd be taking back what's already yours."
His jaw clenched. She could see the war in his face—principle against necessity, revulsion against need.
"They're dying out there," she whispered. "We're all going to die. Please. Please, Eliam. Just this once."
The sounds of battle were getting worse. She heard Karse roar in pain, heard something heavy hitthe ground.
Eliam's hands moved to her throat, fingers ghosting over the mark Malus had left. "This will hurt."
"I know."
"I might not be able to stop."
"You will." She tilted her head, exposing her throat. The warmth pulsed stronger, seeming to understand, to offer itself. "I trust you."
He didn’t move and for a moment Briar thought he might continue to fight it. Then his mouth was on her throat, not where Malus had bitten but the other side, and his teeth broke skin.
The pain was sharp but brief. Then came the pull—deep, desperate, nothing like Malus's controlled feeding. Eliam drank like he was drowning, like her blood was air. She felt the warmth respond, flowing toward the wound, offering itself eagerly to its other half.
Her hands tangled in his hair, holding him close even as dizziness washed over her. She could feel him getting stronger with each swallow—his grip steadying, his breathing deepening. The chains around his wrists groaned.
"I can’t… please, no more," she whispered, but he didn't seem to hear. The pulling sensation intensified. Her vision started to gray at the edges. "Eliam. Eliam, stop."
With visible effort, he wrenched himself away. Her blood stained his mouth crimson, his eyes had gone completely black, no white visible, and for a moment she didn't recognize him.
Then he blinked, and they were just his eyes again, horrified and grateful and furious all at once.
"Briar—"
The chains around his wrists snapped.
He stood in one fluid motion, power radiating from him in waves. The moss on the walls flared brighter, responding to his presence. The very air seemed to thicken with forest magic.
"Stay here," he commanded, and his voice carried the weight of the Forest King even if he no longer held the title.
Then he was gone and she heard the Withered's hissing screech accompanied by the sound of ancient wood growing where no wood should be, and, finally, silence.
Briar stayed where she was, one hand pressed to her bleeding throat, the other flat against the cold stone floor to keep herself upright. The warmth in her chest thrummed with satisfaction, weaker but content.
They'd done it. He was free.
Chapter twenty
The silence after violence had a weight to it. Briar could hear her own breathing, harsh and too loud in the sudden quiet. She lay on the cold stone floor of the cell, one hand pressed to her bleeding throat, the other flat against the floor to keep the world from spinning.
Ash drifted down like snow—all that remained of the Withered. The air stank of burned moss and decay, making her already churning stomach worse. She could taste copper in her mouth, feel the sticky warmth of blood trailing down her neck, soaking into the torn silk of her dress.
Footsteps. She forced her eyes open, though the effort felt monumental.
Eliam stood over her, and for a moment she didn't recognize him. His eyes were still completely black, no white visible. Blood—her blood—stained his mouth, his chin. Power radiated from him in waves that made the remaining moss flare brighter, as if bowing to their king.
Then he blinked, and they were just his eyes again. Dark, worried, fixed on her.
