Chapter 17
Von
F olkoln, Ezra, Kaleb, Soren the worm, and I were in one of my private offices, made up of mahogany shelves full of ancient tomes and relics.
A large, ravenous fireplace was surrounded by a sitting area comprised of four wingback chairs and an exceptionally long settee—the length customized to fit my vast height.
A handmade rug anchored the furniture, providing warmth against the cold, obsidian floors.
The rug, among many other improvements, had been one of Sage’s ideas when she lived here. That short span of time made up the happiest days of my eternal life.
Happy.
The word was a foreign one now.
Soren was seated at one end of the settee. Ezra was in the middle, Kaleb on the other end. His knee hadn’t stopped ticking since he sat down. His fists were clenched, and I was somewhat surprised he hadn’t pummeled Soren yet. For Sage’s sake, I knew he hadn’t.
Folkoln stood by the fireplace, an elbow placed on the stone mantle, hand propping his head up.
“I’m supposed to drink this?” Soren asked hesitantly as he peered down at the cup in his hands. Inside of it was a bubbling, slimy liquid that smelled worse than the shit-filled streets of Norwood.
“You sure are,” Folkoln crooned.
Soren swallowed harshly. “Can I ask . . . why?”
“Because you broke Sage’s unconscious mind barrier, you two are linked, but you can’t contact her because she has passed. With the aid of my elixir, it will restore your connection temporarily, even through death,” Ezra answered, her hands resting on the curved handle of her cane.
“So I’ll be speaking to her ghost?” Soren asked, complexion paling.
“In some sense, yes. In others, no,” Ezra replied, tipping her head from side to side as if it were a balance, weighing her response.
Now I understood why she’d wanted the Lost Soul’s tears—because a Lost Soul could link the living with the dead. I looked at Ezra, my expression flat as I said, “I take it you had more than just a hunch about what the tears of the Lost Soul would do.”
Ezra gave me a wink. “Sometimes you need a taste of your own medicine, Von.”
“The tears of what now?” Soren squeaked, voice trembling. I eyed the cushion he sat on, wondering if I should have put a piss-pad down.
“I don’t believe anyone gave you permission to speak, fingerless,” Folkoln drawled.
“Folkoln,” Ezra scolded.
“Yes, love?” he teased, biting his lower lip.
Ezra shook her head and let out a huff. “Remind me why you are needed here?”
“Would all of you just shut up?” Kaleb snarled.
He looked at Ezra, then Folkoln, before his gaze landed on the window.
“Sage is out there. Wherever there is. She needs us, and all we are doing right now is wasting time.” He looked at Soren.
“Find your fucking balls, Soren, drink the damn liquid, and help me get my sister back.”
Soren looked down at the cup and studied it, the teeny-tiny cogs in his peanut-sized brain turning—looking for an escape plan, no doubt.
Enough was enough.
My voice cut through the silence. “You have two options here, Soren, do not think you have a third. You can drink it on your own or I’ll shove it down your fucking throat, cup and all.”
Folkoln chuckled.
Soren nodded so fast it was almost comical, and perhaps if I wasn’t in such a sour mood, it would have been. Eyes darting back to the cup, he raised it to his mouth and drank. Gagging, he lowered it and exclaimed, “Creator above, this is awful!”
“Funny, it didn’t smell that bad to me,” Ezra said, a bony, crooked finger reaching up to tap her chin. “I wonder if it was the—” She cut herself off. “Never mind.”
“Does he need to drink all of it?” Folkoln asked, enjoying every second of this.
Ezra lowered her hand back to her cane and nodded. “That would be best.”
“You heard them,” I told Soren.
He blew air through his lips, then, like a good mutt, he forced himself to swallow the rest, face contorting in anguish.
When he was done, he slammed the cup down on the end table, sputtering and choking and trying not to vomit.
After he regained control of himself, he raised the neckline of his shirt to wipe at his mouth.
Then, we waited. And waited.
After a while, Soren looked at Ezra. “Nothing is—”
His mouth slammed shut, his head snapped back, and light shot from his eyes, beaming up at the ceiling. A scream, horrific and unnatural, shredded through his throat with such force that blood bubbled from his mouth.
“What’s happening?” I asked Ezra, striding forward.
“He’s going to die! Fuck! He’s our only way to contact Sage!” Kaleb exclaimed, jumping up. He ran his hands through his hair, his body tense. Wide-eyed, he looked at Ezra then me. “What do we do?”
“He’s not strong enough.” Ezra placed her hand on Soren’s arm, whispering in a language I had not heard for many centuries. “Vee norhvic mor leann.” She repeated the words, over and over again.
“What is she saying?” Kaleb asked me with urgency.
But it was Folkoln who replied, “She’s lending him her strength.”
Brightness shone from Ezra’s eyes, blinding my own.
She continued to chant. Each time she said the words, her voice weakened.
“It’s not enough,” I said, moving toward them.
“Von, wait!” Folkoln growled.
But it was too late because I grabbed Soren’s arm and began chanting with Ezra. “Vee norhvic more leann. Vee norhvic mor leann.”
White-hot heat scorched into my hand, like a brand upon my skin. It sunk into my palm, carving its way through my arm, up into my chest. There, pain exploded. My teeth gnashed as the force of it brought me to my knees.
“Fuck’s sake,” Folkoln growled. His hand fell on my shoulder, and he started to chant along with us.
The world around me blinked out and a new one took its place. I was surrounded by a roaring crowd, full of females, in some decrepit-looking arena.
But all of it faded away the moment I saw her .
Crumpled upon bloodstained sands was my mate. My Sage. My everything.
She looked like a ghost of her former self, her expression vacant, like she had already checked out. She was dressed in rags, hair matted and clumped. She looked thin. I ached to take her in my arms, to bring her back here, to cook for her, to brush her hair . . .
But I couldn’t do any of that.
Weary blue eyes lifted to mine. Tears gathering, she whispered in disbelief—