The realization twisted inside her, a knife turning ever so slowly.
Reynnar's Draoth.
Chapter 58
Elara forced herself upright, her legs unsteady but her grip on the Wound of Light ironclad. Power throbbed from it, pulsing in time with the fury stirring in her chest, simmering hotter with every breath she drew.
The third thread—the faint, fragile glow she glimpsed in her dreams, always lingering at the edges, a light she’d never dared to reach for. It had been Reynnar all along, barely clinging to life, flickering weakly in the depths of Ivan’s subconscious.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms as a tremor rippled through her frame.
The world narrowed to a haze of red. Her breaths came fast and shallow, each one a bellows stoking the inferno raging inside her.
Ivan.
The name drummed through her mind, tender and vicious, a caress that left behind scars. But no. He wasn’t Ivan. He wastheHunter.
She had clung to the notion that Ivan was a distinct part of him, something she could extract and redeem. But that had been a foolish delusion—the naive fantasy of a lonely girl. There was no shared path, no common thread weaving them together.They were creations of opposing forces, drawn together only to destroy one another, bound by a pull that could lead only to ruin.
Disgust twisted in her, a molten, ugly thing. He knew—had always known; every dark truth, every heinous act, and worse, he was complicit.
To think she had dreamt of him as an ally.
Osin’s steps were languid, each one deliberate, like a predator savoring every inch of ground he claimed. He dragged Calista across the floor, her body limp at his side.
Elara’s instinct to flinch didn’t escape him. He paused, his gaze locking onto hers, the faint glimmer of something that almost looked like delight flickering in his eyes.
“How endearing,” he purred, “two childhood friends, paths crossing once more under such fascinating circumstances.” He tilted his head. “I imagine there’s a charming tale there—perhaps one you’ll regale me with, in due course. But for now…”
Osin extended his hand, palm open. “The blade. Before I tire of this little game.”
A flicker of unease prickled at the edges of theDraothCara, a ghostly thread of Ivan's emotions brushing against her thoughts. Her jaw tightened as she forced the connection away with a fierce shove and slammed the door of her mind shut, erecting towering, impenetrable walls.
Across the space, Ivan’s posture flinched.Good.
It was empowering.Liberating. At her side, the Wound of Light seemed to thrum in response, a faint vibration coursing through the hilt.
Osin's eye narrowed, the veneer of patience thinning. "Come now, Hallowed. Let's not make this more complicated than it needs to be."
Calista’s eyes met hers, wide and burning.Don’t you dare, they seemed to scream.
Elara’s mind spun, her fingers clenching around the blade. Give it up, and risk the Sidhe. Defy him, and risk Calista.
A line of cold sweat slid down her spine. Her grip tightened on the dagger until the leather bit into her palm. She couldn’t fight him—not like this. She refused to touch theDraoth Cara, and though Epona’s dagger pulsed in her hand, brimming with ancient power, she didn’t know how to wield it. Her heart thundered, each beat slamming against her ribs like a drumbeat growing louder and faster.
No.
The drumbeat wasn’t her heart—it was coming from somewhere above them.
Dust shivered loose from the ceiling. The impact reverberated through stone and floor, straight into her bones.
Boots. Dozens at first, then more.
A deadly rhythm rolling down into the Pit.
Osin’s sigh cut through the noise, soft and oddly wistful. “They came for you. Isn’t that… touching? Traitors. Thieves. They think they can take what’s mine.”
He paused, his tone shifting to something almost regretful. “This, I suppose, is my failure—a small misjudgment. In trying to cast you as a symbol of the divine, the Mother’s blessed child, a living testament to her grace, I’ve inadvertently sparked a dangerous glimmer of hope.”
