My eyes widened.
Stars.
Mortevain.
Stars only knew the stories I had heard about that wretched island. How they used the Hallowed from Empyrean Loyalist islands as bait to appease the Fallen Angels. They often let the accursed angels cross through the Trumpet Gate. How they allowed them to use the Realm Portal and trespass into the Sorellien Islands. Mortevain, Sainterrain, Toussaint and other islands had a sort of peace treaty with the Fallen. Except, the angels who were given chaos for their peace, wereus. The innocents on Loyalist islands whose blood maintained the freedom of these traitors.
I could feel bile rising in the back of my throat. If Mortevain was Obsidian’s home, that meant... My brain nearly exploded when it all made sense.
“Mortevain.”
The tremor in my shoulders had nothing to do with the cold in this cage.
It had everything to do with my growingrage.
“As in, ruled by theHorn of Everthorn, Mortevain.”
Obsidian watched me with a funny look in his eyes.
He said nothing, letting my mind spiral.
Of all the islands that were against Empràr Zadkias and the rule of the Farasee Order, Manmi and Papi hated Mortevain the most. The island was pretty distant from Edenael, located north of Barrenrock, while we were south of the colossal, central island. But according to Papi, King Everthorn’s actions in the Fifth Age were the reason many of us had become overtaxed, overworked, and over-controlled throughout the Sixth Age by the Ouanaviel Empyrean.
I burned with the fury of my Papi, my villagers, my island, when I thought of the Everthorn name. Obsidian remained silent, as if he could visibly read all my thoughts. His curious expression hadn’t changed as he let me sit in my discomfort.
After some time, the Gargorètti shifted from one side to another. A twinge of pain across his face was my only hint at the agony he endured quietly. Trickles of dark blood oozed from his open wounds. My hearts wrenched with pity for the creature. I was shackled, and in my misery, but I couldn’t just sit here and watch him suffer. Not when I knew I could help him.
“Obsidian.”
I looked up at the Gargorètti keeping my voice low.
“If you let me, I can help with your wounds.”
The gargoyle blinked at me. That curious gaze seized me up before he nodded once, those amber eyes watching my every move. Elated at his permission, I scooted forward, careful not to disturb Bones.
“I’m going to put my fingers on you. You’re going to see a small trickle of blackfire seep out of my hand and into your skin. Itwillburn. A lot. That’s normal. It will help close your wounds even if they don’t heal completely. Okay?”
“Awoui, Madame.”
I thought about correcting him, but I ignored his politeness and got to work. I leaned forward and pressed my palm into the frozen stone of his skin. Reaching within my ethèr, I battled the power, fighting like hèls to draw out the tiniest measure. These rotting chains were doing their job well. Praying to the Infinite that this would work, I siphoned the power into my palm, then released it into the gargoyle’s skin.
Obsidian gasped. Jerked.
Then he sighed.
Profoundly.
Seeing his relief, I grew emboldened. I released a small measure of blackfire on my shackles. The power instantly turned on me, burning me with a scalding heat that actually hurt. I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out. When the sensation of pain passed, I scooted back from the gargoyle and returned to my corner. Stars. This infernal cage was grating on my nerves. My back hurt terribly from being bent over for so long. My wings itched to spread open and breathe.
I looked at Obsidian and gasped.
“What the...”
I hadn’t just healed the gargoyle.
Somehow my powers had made him brandnew.
As if he’d never been wounded. Never lost a twinight of sleep. Had never aged or been worn down by battle. As if his powers had never been weakened. Ever. It occurred to me that such a tiny drop of blackfire resulting in such a miracle waspreciselywhy I was in this infuriating cage.
