Therion looks to me, suddenly at a loss for words.
Ronyn’s eyes follow, landing on me. My armor.My weapons.
When his eyes settle on the twin swords strapped across my back—their hilts standing proudly behind me, and his mouth drops.
He moves slowly towards me, entranced by the onyx gleam of my swords. He stammers, lost for words. Huffing, spluttering, looking around wild-eyed to the group—Jax, Daelen, Rubi and Merrik still and expectant.
“You have two fucking god metal swords!” Ronyn exclaims, pacing and gesticulating wildly.
I can feel the smirk lifting my mouth, and calmly, I confirm, “I have two god metal swords.”
Ronyn splutters again, eyes flicking from the group, back to me, to the group again.
“You have two god metal swords that areblood-boundto you,” he repeats with fervor.
Then, he stills. Mind working, sifting and sorting through the past weeks.
“You let Elyssara use your god metal weapons,” he whispers, still trying to understand.
My chest tightens at the thought of her.My Starbound.
I nod slowly.
“I thought she was a gift from the gods the first moment I felt her presence near mine—but Iknewit when she touched my blade and it welcomed her,” I say, voice raw and broken.
Ronyn stills, his throat working with emotion. “I don’t care that she’s got magic of the gods. I care that youlether use a sword that is so sacred to you and your people,” he grits out, barely holding it together.
“I love her,” I say. It’s the only truth I have left to offer him.
He breaks into a run and throws himself at me, gripping me in an embrace that feels like forgiveness. Like understanding. Like finally, he sees what I’ve been saying all along; I fucking love her.
He pushes off me and stretches his hand out. “Brothers?”
I grab his hand, pulling him in for a warrior’s embrace, slapping him on the back. “Brothers,” I confirm.
He spins on his heel, heading back to the group, “Ahhh, I love a bit of brotherly love in the morning, don’t you?” And then he sits down as if nothing happened.
I see why Elyssara loves him. Ronyn’s spirit is what our people have lost—levity, optimism, hope.
“Kael?” Seren asks, and I look to her. “How many other zarethite weapons are there?”
Trust Seren to ask the big questions.
“One,” I say coolly, and shadows lick at my fingers in an instant.
The air stills, and everyone holds their breath.Waiting. Dreading what I’m about to say.
“Maldrak,” I snarl.
Resolve flares bright in Seren’s eyes. “Then we take it back by force,” she says. “And by blood.”
And I know: when we face Death, we’ll be ready.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ELYSSARA
Reality melds with visions—aconfusion of Vessira’s blades, endless nightmares, and the conjurings of my imagination that plague me more insistently the closer I get to the Final Gate. But not even Morrathys wants me. No, evenherefuses to take me, no matter how many times I beg.
