“You did it, lass,” Correk commends, exhaling deep, and something like pride gleams in his eyes. “She chose to stay and fight,” he whispers, as if talking to someone else.
“The brand?” I blurt, twisting my neck to see.
Correk lifts my shoulder to inspect it, eyes closing in quiet resignation.
“Well, the good news is it’s not infected anymore,” he says, voice tight. “The bad news, princess, is that it’s very much still there. Along with scars from every Starsdamned injury that fucking bitch inflicted,” he looks away, hardly able to stand the thought of Vessira’s cruelty.
I exhale sharply through my nose, and it’s the first time I realize I can breathe without feeling like I’m drowning.
I suck in slow, deep breaths, replenishing what’s evaded me.
I’m still branded.
I push to sit, still tender and sore as Stars, and lock eyes with Correk. “Why do you need me to live so badly, Correk? What’s in it for you?” I croak, voice still hoarse from the screams that have scraped my throat.
Correk thinks for a moment. Pausing, strategizing, planning—I’m not sure.
“I made a promise, Princess Elyssara Dawnmere of Dravara,” he says with a heaviness I can’t name, and the use of my full royal title that I’ve never heard spoken aloud sends a ripple of gooseflesh across my skin.
“To who?” I urge.
“Someone I care about very much,” he says, and the look in his eyes is familiar somehow. Like I’ve seen it before. Or perhaps it’s just the look of longing for someone you’ll never see again that I know so intimately. “Maldrak can’t take Dravara, Princess,” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “He just can’t.”
“I need more, Correk. I’ve just dragged myself back from the Final Gate for what? Cryptic fucking answers and more torture from his royal dog?” I spit, frustrated at his ambiguity.
“I can’t tell you anything while you’re here. Not with Maldrak able to get his hands on you, and Vessira still torturing you like this—she can get it out of you, even if you’re strong, Elyssara. And I know you are. But all must remain hidden until it’s time,” he explains with no explanation at all.
“What fucking time, Correk? You speak in riddles and half-truths that make no sense! Did I heal myself only to be broken again? Because it felt pretty fucking nice at the Final Gate and I’d prefer to go back there,” I snap, sarcasm thick on my tongue.
I can’t do it again.
I can’t see their faces.
I can’t lose my grip on reality that I cling to—precariously.
He grunts in frustration, dragging his hand back through his curly black hair, hands landing either side of his round belly.
“Then, you need to find a way through it, Princess. I’ve already told you how,” he says, the dying flame from the sconces catching his burnt umber skin and turning it golden.
My mind races, sifting through dreams, nightmares, realities and apparitions to source the words I need. And then?—
Lillath chains only nullify Starborn magic, and if my intel is correct, you have more than that running through your veins.
“My magic from the gods,” I breathe in realization.
He nods.
“But I don’t even know if it’s there, Correk. Or how to use it! Summon it! Anything!” My chest tightens, panic rising hot and fast again. “What’s the fucking point of having this Starsforsaken magic if I can’t even use it!” I squeeze my eyes tight, willing the world to fall away, and find myself in the warm embrace of Ronyn and Seren.
My breath whooshes in and out rapidly, and my lungs suddenly feel half the size.
Fuck.
“Love, I need you to breathe. And I need you to do what you always do, and tell me one thing you can smell, see and feel,” he soothes in a tone befitting a father.
I train my attention on my breath, willing it to slow.
“I can see this stupid fucking cot,” I wheeze, and Correk huffs a soft laugh.
