My gaze locks on his remaining foot. Clutching the sword with both hands, I run at the giant and swing the sword into his calf. The impact rattles my wrists and makes me utter a string of obscenities, but I hold on. Hold strong.
The clay fissures and then his ankle snaps off.
Ares’s livid howl reverberates through the cavernous building as he slithers like a snail down the column, spiderweb cracks shooting up his shins when they connect with stone.
He crumbles and crumbles.
I did it.
I defeated the Quatrefoil!
I did it.
Tears stream down my eyes, mix with the blood still gushing from my forehead. I want an unobstructed view of my victory, so I wipe them away, smearing my cheeks, pasting my hair to my throbbing skull.
The leaf glistens and falls with a clank amidst the debris of clay. I step toward it and then lean over and clasp the warm, smooth metal. I want to kiss it. I want to spit on it. I want to stomp it under my boots. I want to hug it.
In the end, I just hold it with both hands.
A thunderous crack sounds next to me. The column breaks in half along with every other column balancing the vaulted ceiling. And the ceiling . . . the beautiful ceiling painted with cherubs and clouds collapses over me.
I waged a battle against a monster and won.
I will not lose to plaster.
I run toward the window just as it explodes, thankfully, outward.
Before I can reach my escape hatch, something glances against the back of my skull.
I stumble. My ears ring, and my tongue tastes leaden.
I press my palms into the shuddering ground.
My leaf?
Where’s my leaf?
I crawl, my palms scraping through the debris. Before I can spot my prize, something heavy slams into the base of my spine, flattens me. I try to get up, but the world spins, and spins.
Quiet and dark.
Flecked by pinpricks of light.
Stars.
I see stars.
And then I see nothing.
57
Slate
Iturn off my phone. All is in order.
Bastian will receive everything I own when I die at moonset, which according to him, is at 4:43 p.m.
Thing is, I don’t even give a fuck about dying. Because it’s been almost four days, and Cadence is still in a coma. Her face is covered in cuts and scratches. She’s got a black eye and a gash through her right eyebrow.
