“To stone.” His voice is a whisper of sound, as melodic as the hum of his metal.
Malak shoves my father backward and for the first time since Father’s deep light burst around him, Father stumbles.
His eyes are wide as he glances at his chest, the briefest pause before he throws himself forward again, driving his sword toward Malak’s neck.
The breath stops in my chest as a dark-gray substance washes across my father’s chest, radiating out from his heart where the Blacksmith shoved him.
Dark gray…
Stone.
It’s spreading quickly, rushing up Father’s neck and down his legs, clothing and all, even as he struggles to drive his sword forward, his movements becoming stilted and shuddering as the stone consumes his light.
I try to shout, but my voice is strangled in my throat, my eyes wide with horror.
I don’t understand how this is happening.
Blacksmiths control metal, not flesh and bone!
Malak doesn’t move another step, doesn’t waver, waiting for my father’s sword to slowly reach his jugular before the blade shudders to a stop—its tip a hairsbreadth from cutting him.
At the last moment, my father’s eyes meet mine.
Then his light fades, his face sets, a final breath leaves his lips and…
He’s gone.
His body has become a statue, his left leg forward, his weapon poised to strike, every part of him turned to stone except for his sword.
He’s there, standing only a few paces away from me, but his life, his soul, and his heart are no more.
I’m aware that Thoren is shouting, screaming, roaring where he lies helpless on the ground. The wolves are howling. But not a single sound passes my lips, not even a groan of horror as a chunk of my heart slides away.
The moment my father burned his light, I was forced to accept that I was about to lose him.
But not like this.
Not like this.
Chapter 18
I’m numb as I lie on the icy earth.
So much of the snow melted during Father’s fight with Kalith that the icy liquid reaches my fingertips where my left arm is pinned to my side.
I took off my fur coat inside the building and now the cold is biting me. Probably. I can’t feel much of anything.
Across the way, Kalith stumbles to his feet and Malak strides over to him without a glance at us. With his back to us, I still can’t fully see Malak’s face.
Kalith winces and squints, a disgruntled expression flooding his features as he squares his shoulders. “I had the situation in hand.”
Malak’s voice is low, a metallic hum that’s somehow expressionless, yet hints at danger. “You did not.”
In a swirl of black material, he turns toward the cabin. “Wait here with the captives. Keep them alive until I come back.”
Kalith quickly steps into Malak’s path. “I’ll get her.”
Malak pauses, his head turned toward Kalith, his silence glaring before he replies. “You will not.”
