“I’m not going to fight you,” Mal says calmly. “You’re my brother. Brothers don’t wage wars against each other. Tell me where Mother’s spell book is.”
Fenrir looks skyward, laughing. I cover my ears, the sound hitch-pitch and awful. It reminds me of theIn-Betweenand my skin crawls.
“You’ll never find it,” he singsongs. “You’ll never save him.”
“Then we’ll just have to search for it.” Fenrir’s eyes dart to his brother and Mal pauses. “It’s here, isn’t it?”
The heir freezes, glaring with all the might of a burning flame.
“Is it in your secret spot?”
“Secret spot?” I ask. “Like where he hides his journal?”
“Basically.” Mal turns, glancing to the far frame. It’s only slightly off center, the edge tilted up. He grins. “There.”
As he strides across the room, Fenrir scrambles to his feet. I blink, barely missing how the heir raises his sword, and I rush forward. Not to catch him, but to stop.
My magic flares, and I see his heart in my mind. The beating organ pounds with ferocious need, tarnished and blackened. It feels heavy, a weight of stone in the Fae’s chest. Grabbing it, I hold the thread of life tight, a red strand so delicate any sudden movement will break it.
He seems to know that. Before I can yell, Fenrir jerks, head snapping back. It’s the slightest touch and the thread snaps.
His heart drops, a weight of limestone turning to dust.
Releasing him, I scream as my hand falls to my mouth. Mal catches him and his sword falls to the ground with a solid clang. I drop to my knees, eyes wide, frozen as we look down at the heir.
My fingers hover, looking for a heartbeat. But I felt the snap, saw it in my head. Fenrir is dead, eyes wide and open. A blackness like ink drips from the corners and I gasp.
When it finishes, Mal gently closes his brother’s eyes. He doesn’t cry, doesn’t wail, but the sorrow he feels is reflected in his body. It’s a heavy cloak too much for one person to carry.
They might not have gotten along, but Mal loved him.
My lips tremble and I stammer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to?—”
“He asked us to kill him,” Mal quietly interrupts. “We gave him peace.”
He bows his head for a quiet moment, then rises. He goes back to his task of finding the spell book, never looking back at him. I stay rooted. How did I let this happen.
I had a hold on him. A sudden twitch should not have ended him.
Guilt sits like lead in my belly.
He pulls the canvas wide, hinges squealing. He doesn’t ask for the combination on the safe, just turns the knob until it clicks. At my frown, Mal sighs, dejectedly.
“My brother always hid his treats in here. I used to steal them.”
The spell book sits behind him. Scrambling from the floor, I hold it, the cover tinging my fingers like pure energy. Thankfully, it doesn’t burn me.
“We should go.”
I stop him, curling protectively around the book. “What about your brother?”
Mal shakes his head. “We’re running out of time, Max. Let’s finish this.” Sad eyes look to Fenrir’s body and he gulps, a lump in his throat. “I’ll grieve when this is over.”
Without another word, we leave Fenrir’s bedroom.
