“It would be my privilege, Your Majesty.” I speak loudly as the moons darken into a deep, brilliant crimson.
At the pinnacle of the eclipse, with the Blood Moons washing over all of us, my hand snatches Zedriel’s throat.
I squeeze tightly, and his eyes flit in panic before sinking into something that resembles acceptance, his brows relaxing. He studies me, gaze softening before his eyes flick to Jessamine and then slowly to Leeson.
He holds their sorrowful stares, and I can only watch through the mirror of his own orbs as he blinks once, twice, as if saying goodbye.
Then he sweeps to Alora, and a single tear slides down his bloodied face, leaving a trail of white through the gore. He stares at his companions, his only family, and blinks while swallowing thickly, the muscles in his throat working down a barely audible sob before clearing his throat.
“I’m sorry, friend,” I whisper so quietly that the only way I know he’s heard is by the drop of his chin.
He murmurs through clenched teeth as to not allow the king to notice. “I’d rather it be the hand of a friend than that of my enemy.” His eyes flick back to mine, kinship flaming within their dark-brown depths.
I hate him for flaying my heart right open. The emotion floods in, washing me in torment that will chase me until I meet the goddess.
A friend.
Fuck him and his friendship if it means I’ll have to carve this into my soul too.
I squeeze tighter, wishing I could slit his throat instead of what I’m about to do. Even strangling him would be more merciful.
“Now, Devourer. Save them.”
Zedriel’s plea forces me to act. I grab his shirt with my free hand and expose his chest.
Damn this realm. Damn them all who can’t feel this hurt.
“Get on with it.” King Euron’s harsh order lashes me through the silence of the courtyard.
Zedriel’s rough features slacken as he prepares for what’s about to happen.
Summoning my shadows, I feel the unnatural hum rise within me. His soul immediately flickers in my presence, thrumming inside him like a moth in a lantern.
I close my eyes, loathing this moment and reluctant to see the inevitable fear bulge in his eyes. I’ve taken many lives to know that the fear eventually creeps in, no matter how much they think they’re prepared.
Pressing my fingers to his hard chest, the muscles spasm under my touch and push farther until I feel his skin part as my shadows slice through like a knife.
His soul cries out, even though his body has gone eerily still. I flex my fingers before outstretching them to grasp the ball of essence, hisduska.
The damned thing is strong as I sink my fingers deeper into it and cleave it from Zedriel. Like pulling fruit from a vine. His eyes go out, the color dulling significantly until the pupil blowswide, as my mind jumps between everything from his childhood until now.
Ifeelthe love he had for someone who died too young, the next woman he married and quickly lost.
The hatred he carried for too long that almost made him take his life.
Friendships that restored his faith in others.
The memory of him handing me an oversized coat.
Watching my icy being thaw with his kindness in the early sunrise.
And worse, the image of myself holding back the tears that would damn everyone in this courtyard.
My lips contort into something feral, an anguish that tears at my own soul.
I open my eyes and the illuminated orb, white and ethereal, flitters like a lantern in a storm. It’s still tethered within him as I can’t bring myself to sever the last of him.
I close my eyes again, a snarl forming on my lips, and yell as I rip my hand out of his chest.
