Page 170 of Fallen Nocturne

Cedwyn makes no move to take it. He only looks at what she’s offering.

“Why aren’t you taking it?” Rhianelle demands.

“I’m saving you from yourself,” he answers pleasantly. “You are far too soft. Were you truly going to rescue this creature after everything she has done?”

“I wasn’t trying to rescue her earlier.” Rhianelle shakes her head. “I was going to whack her with it.”

Cedwyn looks at her for a beat, then a laugh startles out of him. “I will never understand you.”

Weariness settles over Cedwyn’s face. “Keep the sheath, little queen. I have lived too long and fed on too many souls. I am tired.”

“Cedwyn—”

He tightens his hold on Lilith. “If I’m going to the Hollow anyway, I might as well take you with me.”

He winks at Rhianelle one last time before the hands of the damned reach up, eager and hungry. They pull them under.

Lilith’s last scream cuts off abruptly.

Silence falls.

For a moment, no one moves. No one breathes.

Then I hear it. Shade’s voice, rough with pain and anger.

“Stop it. Rainer, stop—”

I turn to see Rainer kneeling beside the assassin, his hands glowing with that familiar golden light of Anastarros’s blessings. But Shade is trying to push him away, his face twisted with fury and something almost like fear.

“You’re wasting your blessing,” Shade hisses, blood on his lips. “The Nevrin poison—it’ll reactivate when you do this. You’ll die—”

“I don’t care,” Rainer says, his voice unwavering.

“The Fae King.” Shade catches Rainer’s wrist with blood-slick fingers. “That’s what you wanted. Your revenge. He’s right there. You can finally—”

Rainer doesn’t even glance toward King Eirik. He doesn’t spare a single look for the fae who destroyed his home, slaughtered his family, took everything from him. The king who’s been his obsession, his purpose, his reason for living for centuries.

Rainer only presses more blessings into the injury. “You have to live.”

Shade’s expression cracks. For a moment, I see beyond the Grimsbane mask and the assassin’s guarded composure. I see someone who’s never been chosen or put first.

The light from Rainer’s hands intensifies, washing over Shade’s wound. The assassin gasps and arches, then slowly relaxes as the healing takes hold.

My eyes find the Fae King, the only enemy left.

Eirik is still cradling Morgaine in his arms. She’s so frail now, her body aged by Elli’s curse. He is pressing kisses to her withered hands to comfort her.

Morgaine stares down at herself and begins to cry. “Look at me,” she whispers. “I am old. You cannot possibly still want me like this.”

Eirik takes her face gently between his hands. “I want you. I will always want you.”

The old enchantress begins to sob.

“Don’t worry, my love,” he whispers. “I’ll find a way to fix this. A healer, a mage, anyone who—”

“Oh, how touching.”

Blight’s voice cuts through the moment like a dagger. She sniffles dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest.