“Interesting,” Astros hummed out.
Dritan’s breath caught. My chest constricted. He did not have long.
Wedid not have long.
“It will not work,” Aquas said. This time, his tone was more somber and remorseful than resentful.
But the Origin of Flames stared at Emmerick before she said, “I’m willing to bargain with you—to give you the chance to try. My only condition is that the child of Desidero must enter Death’s domain with you. By the prophecy’s demand, she should be there for the killing blow.”
Chapter 68
Elsedora
Around the fire at Lamoreaux, Fen used to tell me stories. He’d scared me with tales of elusive ghoulish creatures crafted from dark magic—creatures who fed off death and mourning. Fear of those monsters haunting the nearby woods kept me from wandering far beyond the orchards.
Neither Banshee nor Specter directly harmed, but they were bad omens. Both brought about death. I never longed to meet one, and for centuries, I hadn’t.
When the creatures of my girlhood nightmares emerged from the woodlands, my skin crawled. The Banshees’ wails curled through the night like a lash against my nerves.
A hundred tattered robes joined the fray, adding to the calamity. The Specters’ trickery confused soldiers and caused havoc among our troops, who could not discern their translucent decaying faces from those of the Moirai’s in the moonlight. They swarmed and aimed to distract us.
Death called to Death.
We’d be one with them soon.
All of our Source powers had worn away, and we fought only with our blades.
Griffiths descended, clawing into the Moirai, but the opposing creatures of Death just kept cresting the hills. More and more clashing of metal. More cries of pain.
My ears rang. I’d lost too much blood.
“We need to retreat!” Fenris shouted to me and Wyeth. My Soil-wielding friend could not control the direction of her vines any longer. She heaved out a frustrated breath.
We’d been pushed onto the streets of Kruthin. Our wounded had no way of evacuating; it would be their death sentence if we allowed Caym’s army to gain any more ground. Even Vangard was tiring—Moirai clung to his legs, and he snarled and spun. Storefront windows shattered, and Asterie attempted to fight the Moirai off the beast.
“We can’t!” My throwing dagger left my palm, but my Wind wouldn’t guide it, and I missed. I never fucking missed.
“Elsedora!” Wyeth wailed.
As I was slammed to the ground once again, my head hit a cobblestone wall hard. My vision swam as I tried to rise, but dizziness overtook me.
As claws dug into my shoulders, I thought of Emmerick and let my dazed sight focus on the graying moon.
Chapter 69
Emmerick
Icupped Amara’s cheek and said, “If we succeed, my hope is the stone will allow Lark and Dritan to wake.”
The tears she shed for me spilled over my hand.
“What of you?” she asked, shaking her head.
“Bring Elsedora. She’ll wake me.” I offered my mother a weak smile.
The glimmer of hope that told me I’d see my wildflower, my truest of heart, again made my chest swell.
But it did not matter whether I woke. If Lark could run that blade through the Death Origin’s heart and get Dritan out of there, then we would have succeeded. The Moirai would fall, the realms would be safe. El would be safe.
