Somewhere, in the far recesses of my mind, a quiet reminder stirs that he didn’t know me when he agreed to Calista’s bargain. He was desperate. He had little choice. It tries to justify him.
But I trip over that thought. Because he did get to know me. He wormed his way into my heart, won my trust so completely that I chose him over Peonica without hesitation. And still he waited until I broke. Until Rust Hollow burned. Until my sister almost died. Only then did he offer his protection—his life—to try and mitigate his mistake.
As if this was a better wayout.
“I wanted to tell you,” he says, voice rough. “But if I’d told you the truth, my bargain would’ve been forfeited. You were meant to win. You were meant to be safe. And if I didn’t break the terms of the bargain, my friend would have gone free too. At least then I could’ve made it right by her in the end?—”
An animalistic scream tears from my throat as I slam my foot into his shin. It hurts me more than it hurts him, but I don’t care.
“I hate you!” I scream. “You betrayed me. My sister could be dead. I lost the Trial. And now there will be torture, rape, killing, enslavement—” My voice breaks, blazing rage searing every word. “All because of you,” I scream, the words ripping out of my chest as I slam both hands into his solid chest. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch, only shuts his eyes for a brief, unbearable moment.
The rage inside me is excruciating, white-hot, driving a single need to hurt him as badly as I am breaking. For the lies he made me believe. For the mirage he built to keep me blind.
“I hate you, Kaelzar,” I grind out, salt flooding my mouth as more tears spill. “I hate you with all my heart. And if I ever see you again, it will be at the end of my blade, as you take your last breath.”
I want him to deny it. To rage. To sneer. To show me the monster I’ve been fool enough to trust—cold, cruel, a beast beneath the skin.
But his face doesn’t twist in anger or mockery.
Instead, pain and resignation hollow his expression. It is a look of complete and utter defeat that claws at what little remains of my heart.
“You already have my life in your hands,” he says quietly, gesturing to the ink on my arm.
And then he dissolves into the air.
I lean toward the last speck of him, my hand twitching in a frantic, instinctive reach for the space where he just stood. His sudden absence feels like a hole was ripped straight through my chest.
I blink at the empty space, my mind scrambling to catch up. There were no shadows around him when he vanished, I realize.
Slowly, the truth settles in. Because I lost, the Sphere has sent him back to Elysium just like it would any other Godbeast.
In the frenzy of the past minutes, I forgot that rule. When Iscreamed for him to leave, I thought it would be my choice. That it would be his choice to accept it.
But it was never up to either of us.
The realization that he is gone forever hits so hard my tears dry. My body feels leaden as I sink to my knees beside Peonica’s still form. The victory is gone. The better future I promised to so many is gone.
Heis gone.
But I’m still here, I tell myself. And Peonica, injured as she is, is still here too.
Then, like plunging into icy water, I realize the magic I tore from Calista’s original body is still inside me. I don’t question how or why. I place my hands on my sister and reach for her with my Blood magic.
“Please wake up,” I beg, reaching out to cup her face. I press my other hand over her chest, but there’s nothing to heal, her body is whole.
With a sharp wince, I pull the magic back. Now that the chaos has stilled, I can feel just how much power I consumed and how desperately it wants release, too eager to tolerate even a sliver of restraint.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper to Peonica and lift my gaze to the dragon who has been sitting with me in silence all this time. She studies me.
“It seems it’s just the two of us now,” I say with a dry, tragic chuckle. Two fractured halves, each missing the part that made us whole. Incomplete and abandoned.
“Sometimes all you need is one other at your side to stand strong on your four…”she says into my mind, then looks me over. “…or two feet.” With that, she rises, stretching her long neck. Then her attention shifts to Peonica’s unmoving form. “It also helps,” she adds with a faintly sardonic edge to her voice, “when that one other is large enough to do the carrying.”
I checkon Peonica as we trudge through the streets of Viele. She lies draped across the dragon’s back, tucked securely between her crippled wings. Despite having made the temple my home, I can’t bring myself to return there. The memories of what happened andwhat it means are too painful. So, as always, I head for Micheline’s inn.
I’m so lost in my thoughts and in the crushing weight of the magic now lodged inside me that I barely register the soft impact against my shoulder.
I catch the red fabric before it falls—a handkerchief, one of the many people once wore in support of me. Confused, I glance down at it, then slowly lift my gaze, only to realize the street is strewn with the same color: scarves and handkerchiefs trampled into the dirt, with more fluttering down from windows and balconies above us.
