“I had a touch of trouble getting over here across the Sea of Storms,” she says, her tone airy, like this is some casual conversation and not the moment that could reshape everything. “But it seems I got here just in time.”
Chapter Thirty-three
The Soulreaper glides towards us. Her unmistakable yellow-blonde curls frame her face like thorny brambles, and her presence feels like a stain, a darkness seeping into the very fabric of the air around us.
“My darling boy,” Madame Vera says, hands outstretched. Next to me, I can feel something shift in Taron as a change overtakes him.
“I knew you wouldn’t let me down. And you…” A wicked smirk adorns her lips as she looks at me. “You have great promise.”
My fists clench involuntarily. The impulse to scream is overwhelming, but I suppress it. This woman took everything from me – my sister, my home, my life. And here I am helping her.
I look at Taron, but he averts his eyes. All at once, the energy emanating from him dissipates, like a turtleretreating into its shell. I sense something different about him, a change in his stance and the way he carries himself.
His face becomes a mask, every muscle frozen, posture rigid. It’s as if Madame Vera’s mere presence has somehow cut him down, leaving behind only a shadow of the boy I’ve come to know.
Seeing him like this is reminiscent of our first encounter in the parlour – a stoic young man ensnared in Madame Vera’s web, devoid of independent thought. I see now the extent of her hold over him.
Madame Vera turns to face the Astrals. She spreads her arms wide. “Here I am again, after all these years,” she announces. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to be back.”
“You have a lot of nerve,” the Astral in green remarks with disdain.
Madame Vera’s smile is bright, almost deceivingly kind. She doesn’t have the face of someone with wicked intentions, which I suppose makes her all the more dangerous.
“On the contrary,” she says, “I can’t imagine a more fitting return. I’m here to finish what I started all those years ago.”
“Why resurrect that tyrant?” asks the monocled man.
Madame Vera’s shoulders stiffen. A subtle tremor runs through her as anger bleeds into every rigid line of her posture. Her veneer of pleasantry splinters, finally revealing the malice beneath.
“Why not?” she sneers. “The amulet is rightfully his.It belongs to my family, yet you dared to steal it and send us into exile. I say, no more. Today, the time has come for the Halo bloodline to reclaim what is ours.”
“You’ve failed to do so once before,” says the Astral in blue.
“Indeed, but I was young and foolish then. I didn’t play by the rules of the game. I stole the wish and it cost me dearly. You can’t touch me now, because the wish is rightfully mine. Am I wrong?”
The Astrals’ faces are written with disgust. I half-expect them to rush forward to apprehend her. Defend the temple or block her from accessing the amulet, but they stand motionless, rooted in the shade of the tree.
She must be right about them being bound to the rules of the tournament.
Madame Vera strokes Taron’s cheek as she halts beside him, her lips murmuring a soft, “Well done, my dear.”
I can’t stand the sight of it.
“No need for formalities,” she continues, looking around. “How do we do this? Do they simply pass me the amulet?”
“That’s how it works, yes,” says the Astral in blue, turning towards Taron and me and adding in a quiet voice, “Please, don’t do this. You can still reconsider.”
A shadow of alarm touches the Astral’s otherwise placid face, and I hesitate.
“Resurrecting that tyrant would mean the end of our kingdom as we know it,” says the monocled man, stilladdressing Madame Vera. “You may be of his blood, but he won’t care about you. He is callous and cunning. Selfish beyond comprehension. The power he gained from the amulet smothered any thread of humanity he had left in him.”
“He was a god, and you feared him!” Madame Vera’s face is all lines and teeth now, flushed an angry red. “He inspired devotion so fierce his followers would have scorched the earth in his name. Your precious High Council can’tdreamof commanding such unwavering loyalty. All they do is send their youth to slaughter and disguise it as tradition. Yet no one holds them to account.”
“The High Council isn’t perfect by any means.” The monocled man calmly adjusts his eyepiece. “But Valerius never built loyalty. He bought it. And anyone who refused his price was oppressed or killed.”
“Enough!” Madame Vera pivots towards Taron and me. “They’re stalling. Please, my darlings, we must complete the transfer at once.”
A tight coil unspools in my stomach. Maybe this is a mistake. I convinced myself to wash my hands of whatever happens. That if the Astrals had stopped Madame Vera from resurrecting Valerius once, they could do it again.
