Page 202 of The Violet Raven

“No!” I gasp, my legs refusing to move as the weight of the moment crushes me.

Callan’s arms wrap around my waist, his strength far outmatching my failing resolve, and he tosses me over his shoulder.

I let out a scream as he begins to run.

Finn stands firm, hand moving to the hilt of his sword, drawing it with the precision of a man prepared to fight until the bitter end.

Before turning, he raises two fingers to his lips, kissing them softly, and gestures them toward me.

Then, without hesitation, he faces the oncoming threat, and I can do nothing but watch in helpless horror. He fights valiantly, his movements swift and precise.

“Finn!” The scream shreds my throat. I pound my fists into Callan’s back—uselessly, like trying to dam a river with my bare hands. Time slows, each second stretching into an eternity as my body weakens further, my grip on this life slipping away.

“Look away,” Callan begs, voice cracking. “Gods, Triona, look away!”

I can’t. Tears well in my eyes as I choke out, “Not while he still draws breath, Cal… don’t leave him… please.” My voice trembles with desperate sorrow as I cling to consciousness by a thread, my gaze fixed on Finn.

Through what feels like the eyes of another, I see it—see him as a blade buries itself in his chest—the steel glinting cruelly as it exits through where the tattoo of the stag lay on his back.

Finn staggers but keeps his grip on the sword, forcing Indech back with a desperate thrust. For a heartbeat, I dare to hope—but then Indech wrenches the blade free, and scarlet blooms across Finn’s shirt in a pattern too cruelly beautiful for this nightmare.

He lifts his gaze to find me in the chaos. A tired smile ghosts over his lips—tender, resigned. In that final, silent moment, he mouths something I know intimately and irrevocably: ‘I love you.’

And then he collapses.

Something inside me shatters. A sound erupts from my throat—not a scream, not a sob—something inhuman. I feel an indescribable pain that destroys a person from the inside out.

Darkness threatens to steal our final moments—the press of his lips against my fingers, the mingling warmth of his body with the fading embers of my own, and those whispered words, as soft as a sigh from the Otherworld: “We will never part.”

But the world is too cruel a place to hold such solace.

The last thing I know is the taste of iron on my tongue, the burn of tears in my throat, and the faint press of the ring against my chest—unbreakable, even as I break.

Then, the world is gone, taking Finn with it.

The Strength to Stand

Callan

Monday, 23 June 1823

County Meath, Ireland

Formerly Province of Mide: Seat of the High Kings

Triona hasn’t spoken since she woke—since the blood loss and exhaustion nearly took her.

The image of her bleeding, the wound on her leg pouring out as Finn had me drag her away, haunts me. It’s replaying endlessly in my mind, but I know it’ll haunt her in ways I could never understand. He died for us—for her. And I let it happen.

I can still hear her screaming his name, still see the blood draining from her face as she struggled to stay conscious—until she wasn’t. She was out for hours, long enough I thought I’d lose her. I stayed up all night, and all bloody day, watching her chest rise and fall, praying it wouldn’t stop.

But like before, somehow, the wound on her leg healed too fast—far too fast for the injury Finn swore was made by a blade imbued with magic.

When she finally woke… there wasn’t even panic in her eyes. Just this hollow stillness. She looked down, touched the bandage on her leg like she had to check the wound was real. Then she looked around—searching for him. That’s when reality set in, and silent tears came.

And I couldn’t take it. The guilt, the agony—I had to step outside before it crushed me.