For Keir.
The knife sunk deeper and Moros’s eyes widened.
For his fleet.
Daimon yanked the blade out and slashed it across Moros’s face.
For Queen Embry, Carwyn, Ren, and Lyria.
Daimon felt his shadows flare with hunger at the taste of the blood they so often craved. He let them feast, drawing more and more pain out from behind Moros’s eyes.
Senna stopped beside him, his chest heaving, as Moros dropped to the ground.
For the thousands of others who have died on both sides.
Darkness reached for Daimon, wrapping around him as Senna turned to him. His eyes widened.
“You’re alive,” Senna whispered. His gaze fell to Moros. “You did it.”
Daimon slowly stepped back, the pull in his chest forcing him back as the sun began to crest the horizon.
“Daimon, you’realive,” Senna repeated in disbelief. He lowered his blade. “You killed Moros.”
“No,” Daimon said quickly. “I didn’t. No one can know I was here.”
Senna’s brows furrowed. “You’ll return to a hero’s homecoming. Evelina will?—”
“You have to be the one.” Daimon drew to the ground, dipping his hand to Moros’s chest and coating it in his blood. Then he reached up and smeared it along Senna’s blade. “You’re the one who slayed him. Do this for me.”
Senna shook his head, growing frustrated. “I cannot lie about such a thing.”
“You must, for Evelina.” Daimon wrapped himself in his shadows once more, securing the walls he was supposed to keep built. “Tell her that her happiness is all I’ve ever cared about.”
No one could know Daimon was still alive. He was still bound to the Shadow Realm, and he couldn’t risk anyone looking for him—especially his fleet. He knew them well enough to know they would try, but he also knew their efforts would be futile. He wouldn’t be the reason anyone else lost theirlife. He still belonged to the shadows; deep down, he always knew that he would. No matter how hard he fought for redemption, there would always be a stain of darkness within him.
Valon soldiers were sprinting toward them. Daimon slowly backed away, over the border and into the Shadow Realm. The soldiers had their magic at the ready, but it dulled once they reached Senna and they saw the body and the blood on his sword. Before he could say a word, they praised Senna’s name as the rebel slayer.
A shimmering light caught Daimon’s eye, a flash of hazel eyes blinking up at him. He could hardly see her, but he could feel Evelina there.
“The sun is nearly up now,” he said softly.
Her lips moved, but no sound came out.
He shook his head, and just before disappearing back into the darkness to which he was bound, grief rumbling in his throat, he said, “This time, Eve, I need you to wake up.”
Seventy-One
Evelina
Evelina’s eyes snapped open.
She was staring up at soft green leaves, the sky beginning to lighten above. Everything that had happened in the dream replayed through her mind: the dragon enveloped in shadows running from her light; Vero dying and saving Brielle as they hit the ground; Daimon thrusting a dagger through Moros’s chest.
Daimon had seen her, had told her to wake up. She tried to tell him she wasn’t going, that she wanted to bring him back with her. But he couldn’t hear her.
Her pulse raced. Was it just a dream? A nightmare?
“Evelina,” Annora whispered.
