Please, no.
Thoren sails backward. His head hits the ground first, and there’s another sickeningcrunch, before his body follows.
Arrows fly into the ground around me, one of them narrowly missing my legs as I storm through a gap between the guards and throw myself across the stone to reach my brother.
I’m aware that Cohen is raising his whip as if he’ll use it on me, but several Blacksmiths are pointing and shouting, “Malak’s property!”
Cohen’s arm falters and that’s all I’m conscious of before I pull Thoren into my arms.
He’s so heavy and his body is so hard to lift, his arms sliding outward as I try to pull him close, desperately trying to see his eyes.
“Thoren?”
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
“Look at me, brother. Please. Look at me.”
He doesn’t move. Warm liquid fills my palms where I cradle his head, blood dripping between my fingertips.
His skull is crushed.
His kind, gentle eyes hold no light.
“Thoren!”
A roar builds within my chest, a terrible, horrible roar. “Thoren!”
Cohen Copperstream’s shadow drops over me as he takes an angry step in my direction. “I don’t care whose property they are. I am Lord Copperstream. This is my house!”
He raises his whip again. He’ll cleave my body apart, but I’m barely aware of the danger because my brother’s blood is pooling around my knees and covering my hands.
Thoren was already gone before I pulled him into my arms and now my heart… My heart…
My brother was my heart. He was my compassion. He was the one who told me to care, the one who told me not to be afraid.
Now he’s gone.
What am I now except the one who does the cutting?
Cohen’s whip descends toward me but I’m already moving.
I rise to my feet while, high above me in the sky, the darkness finally breaks.
Chapter 37
Rage clouds my mind as the first rays of sunlight shine down onto the bloody courtyard.
In the distance, I can see that the humans have fallen silent, a sea of tear-filled eyes, an ocean of sadness that will never belong to me.
Cohen’s whip shrieks in the air as the lashes whip toward me.
My hand snaps out, closing around Cohen’s right wrist, clamping so tightly that, in that brief moment, his bones shift beneath my hold and a flicker of fear crosses his face.
I am oblivious to the whip’s lashes and their sharp edges as I use his downward momentum against him, just as he used Thoren’s.
I drop my weight and yank Cohen’s arm forward into the space beside Thoren’s body.
Cohen’s shoulderpops.
