He did not deserveme.
But he didn’t deserve to die either.
In one motion, I flipped the dagger in my hand, the metal cold against my fingertips as I grasped the blade’s edge without hesitation. With a sharp twist of my wrist, I sent it flying behind me. The blade sliced through the air with deadly precision—then sank into the Grim’s abdomen with a wet, sickening thud.
She let out a snarling screech, doubling over as blood bloomed across the emerald fabric of her cloak. Her hands clutched at the wound, her eyes snapping to mine. Her earth element retaliated on instinct, lurching to life in the courtyard as thick vinesburst toward me, aiming to bind my limbs. But with a sharp swish of my arm, the foliage turned to ash midair, crumbling to nothing before it ever touched me.
I lunged at the Grim, slamming her back against the stone wall with a force that rattled the courtyard. My dagger twisted deeper into her abdomen, and she let out a gut-wrenching cry, her face contorting in agony. Her cloak darkened with fresh blood as I yanked the blade free, the metallic scent thick in the air. Without hesitation, I drove my forearm across her throat, pinning her in place. She gasped and clawed at my arm, her eyes wild with fury and pain, but I held firm—just enough pressure to choke, not to kill.
My jaw clenched as her words slithered into the space between us, venomous and deliberate. “You’re just like her,” she spat, voice strained through gritted teeth. “Harlow.”
At the sound of my birth mother’s name, my grip on her throat tightened, my forearm pressing harder. Her breath hitched, but still, she smiled through the pain.
“Vengeful, but weak,” she hissed. Her gaze slid past me, landing on Thorne crumpled behind. “Unable to finish the job. That’s what got her killed.”
My heart stuttered, and my grip faltered for just a breath. It was all the Grim needed. With a snarl, she shoved me off, her palms slicing through the air as she summoned a gust so sharp it cracked like thunder. It hit me square in the chest, meant to send me flying.
But I didn’t fall.
My boots skidded against dirt and loose rock, heels digging deep. I dropped to one knee, fingers clawing into the earth to anchor myself. The wind howled around me, but I held my ground. The power she tried to break me with only made me dig in harder.
I sprang onto the edge of the fountain in the center of the Bolthole, the stone slick beneath my boots. Using it as leverage, I launched myself into the air, channeling my air element to carry me higher, faster. I flew toward the Grim with a roar caught in my throat, landing a solid right hook to her jaw midair. The force knocked her off her feet, and we crashed to the ground together.
We rolled across the cracked stone floor, a whirlwind of fists and claws. Her nails scraped down my arm and my elbow cracked against her ribs. Blood smeared across our skin, but I didn’t relent.
Then suddenly, her arms jerked up above her head. I blinked, breath heaving, as I realized they were pinned—bound by Captain Thorne. He had used his own shackled wrists to trap hers, locking them together in a makeshift bind. A muffled shout tore from behind his gag as he held her in place, jerking his chin toward her struggling form.
I frantically tore into the inner folds of her cloak, my hands shaking with adrenaline. My fingers brushed the smooth leather of Cami’s scripture, and I yanked it free. Then, deeper in the pocket, I felt it—cold and pulsing like a second heartbeat. I wrapped my fingers around the Mareki shard, the gem icy against my palm. A surge of magic raced up my arm, the arcanial pull immediate and consuming, as if the shard recognized me.
The Grim let out a savage growl, and her limbs thrashed beneath Thorne’s restraint. Her eyes blazed with fury as she yanked her knees up, slamming them into his ribs with brutal force. Thorne grunted, his grip faltering for half a second—but it was enough. The Grim wrenched one hand free, fingers curling as she summoned a surge of her stolen air element. Wind exploded outward in a shockwave, throwing both of us backward. Thornecrashed against the wall with a sickening thud, and I hit the ground hard, rolling across the stone.
By the time I scrambled to my feet, the Grim was already standing. Blood streaked her cloak, her hair wild, her breathing ragged. I blinked—and in that instant, she vanished, dissolving into a swirling burst of smoke that twisted and disappeared into the shadows.
My breath came in ragged gasps as I rushed to Thorne’s side, where he slumped against the cold stone floor. Pressing two fingers to his neck, I found his pulse—weak, but alive. I shook him gently, and his eyelids fluttered open, consciousness returning in slow waves.
Without hesitation, I looped his bound wrists over my head, pulling his arm across my shoulder. With a grunt, I lifted him to his feet. Captain Thorne wobbled on shaky legs, leaning heavily on me as we stumbled out of the Bolthole and into the winding inner halls of Mageia.
It didn’t take long before we ran into an Aryan elemental. I lifted Thorne’s bound wrists over my neck and ordered the soldier, “Take him to the infirmary and get those tungsten shackles off.”
I was three paces away when Captain Thorne’s voice stopped me. “Thank you.”
I froze, then spun on my heel to meet his gaze. “Don’t thank me. I didn’t do it for you.”
Then I was running—racing back to the ones I called home.
Chapter 61
The clash of steel on steel sent a jolt through my arms, rattling my bones as I blocked the Tyrian’s strike. I smiled through the pain, knowing he could see the blood on my teeth—the same blood I could taste, sharp and metallic, from where his elbow had split the inside of my mouth.
We broke apart for a breath, blades high, then surged forward again. At the last second, I slipped a hand through the narrow gap between his arms, gripping the pommel of his sword to wrench it away. I folded into him, turned the momentum in my favor, and drove the dagger from my thigh up into the soft flesh beneath his chin.
His blood gushed out like a torrent as he collapsed at my feet.
I pivoted sharply, arching my back midair to twist away from the next blow—just in time to catch the Tyrian sneaking in from my blind spot. I landed with precision, drove two quick jabs into his jaw. Bone cracked under my knuckles. A third strike broke his nose with a wet snap, and he reeled just enough for me to plunge my dagger straight into his heart.
The two men closing in on Shayde dropped at the same time as mine, their heads severed cleanly by a single, fluid arc of his blade. Shayde turned, breathing hard, his eyes catching on me—and lighting up despite the chaos.
But a fresh gash sliced down from his hairline by his left eye, trailing jaggedly to the bridge of his nose. Blood streamed down his cheek, mixing with sweat and grime, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or didn’t care. His gaze slid over every inch of my body, searching for wounds.
