Chapter 65
Chapter Sixty-Five
N umb, blind, I mounted Stormfire, barely feeling the saddle beneath me.
Signaling with my feet, I urged her forward—desperation launching us into a pace that defied logic, defied grief, defied everything.
Time didn’t pass.
It splintered.
It fractured into jagged pieces, sharp and senseless.
Only seconds passed before my house came into view. I yanked Stormfire to a halt, guiding us into the cover of a thicket of trees.
The world around us pulsed, thick with a tension that buzzed against my skin.
The house stood still. Silent.
Too silent.
A chill prickled down my spine.
There had been no ward barring our entrance. Which was what I'd expected—Mom had planned on resting while I was in Ophelia—but for some reason, its absence felt wrong.
Like a sign.
A silent signal that something wasn’t right.
I tightened my grip on my bow, fingers slick with sweat despite the cold seeping into my bones.
Every instinct screamed at me—louder than my heartbeat thundering in my ears—but I forced myself to scan the clearing.
Nothing appeared out of the ordinary.
No forced entry into the house. No smoke curling from shattered windows. No warriors lounging with bloodied blades and smug grins.
All good signs.
At least, that’s what logic told me.
But logic was a traitor.
All because I hadn’t seen my mother with my own eyes. It shouldn’t have meant anything. She could easily be inside, sewing, humming a lullaby under her breath the way she always did when she thought no one was listening.
But the suffocating nausea twisting through my gut didn’t believe that.
Something was wrong.
Terrifyingly, soul-achingly wrong.
The trees around us creaked. The wind barely stirred. Even the birds had gone silent, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
"Cover me," Maalikai whispered, his voice stripped of everything but lethal focus.
Before I could stop him, he sprinted out of the cover, moving like a shadow, slipping from the trees, every step calculated, quiet, deadly.
And then—a flicker of movement snapped my attention.
Someone darted out of the barn, low and fast, hugging the side of the house like a shadow tearing itself from the walls.
Sunlight caught the edge of his sword, transforming it into a second sun—a flash of silver death.
My blood turned to ice.
Shit.
They were here.
“You’ve got this,” I whispered to myself–even though they were for Maalikai–the words barely audible over the thundering in my veins.
No mercy. No forgiveness.
Only cold, lethal certainty.
My arrow flew, slicing through the air with a soundless promise.
It buried itself in the warrior’s skull, snapping his life away mid-step. He dropped without so much as a cry. Dead weight. A life snuffed out.
Maalikai didn’t stop.
He pressed himself against the wall, vanishing into the shadows–like darkness had been waiting for him, like he commanded it. Shadows curled around his feet, cloaking him as he moved, making him a ghost–silent, lethal, inevitable.
I didn’t breath.
I didn’t blink.
I watched him bleed into the darkness, silent and brutal, edging toward the front door like death itself.
I stayed frozen in the thicket, my bow still raised, my heart hammering against my ribs so violently it stole my breath.
The danger wasn’t over.
Not even close.
The enemy was already here, coiled into the cracks of my world, waiting to strike again.
An ache twisted deep in my gut, clawing at me to move—to run after Maalikai, to shield him, to put myself between him and almost certain death.
But I stayed hidden.
I had to.
No one except Maalikai knew I was here. The element of surprise was my secret weapon. From this vantage, I could protect him. I could kill anything that came for him before it even knew I existed.
It was a fragile shield.
But it was all we had.
Laced with bone-deep urgency, I watched as Maalikai crept closer to the door, every line of his body drawn taut with purpose.
I didn’t breathe.
Couldn’t.
He slipped inside, vanishing into the house with a whisper of movement.
And then—the waiting began.
Each second dragged claws through my skin.
It shouldn’t take this long.
It shouldn’t.
Thirty seconds—no more. That’s all it should take to find her.
Less to flee.
Unless—
Unless they were gathering supplies.
Unless something inside was terribly, catastrophically wrong.
Minutes dragged like a whip across raw flesh, tearing me apart. I gripped the bow until my knuckles went bloodless, until my fingers ached with it.
I couldn’t stay still.
I couldn’t stand it.
I took one desperate, shaking step forward.
Halfway through my second—the door slammed open.
Air punched from my lungs. Maalikai staggered out, cradling my mother in his arms.
She was too still.
Too pale.
Blood soaked her body, staining Maalikai’s arms, dripping into the dirt as he carried her.
But she was alive.
Undeniably. Impossibly. Alive.
At least for now.
Even from here, the blood was unmistakable.
It wasn’t just on her—it owned her.
It slicked across her skin, soaked into her clothes, bled from places I couldn’t even see. It clung to Maalikai like a second skin.
I didn’t know how bad it was. If she could survive this. If it was possible for me to heal her wounds. Bile surged in the back of my throat. Tears blurred my vision.
No.
Just no.
Without thinking, I took another step forward.
I didn’t care about danger anymore.
I didn’t care about strategy.
I needed to be with her.
I needed to protect her .
I needed her to live.
A flicker of movement at the edge of my vision snapped my head around. Another warrior. Striding from the barn, sword at the ready, eyes locking onto Maalikai.
Less than ten yards separated them.
Too close.
Maalikai was completely exposed. Defenseless.
He knew it. I knew it.
The warrior knew it.
A blood-curdling war cry ripped from the enemy’s throat as he charged, blade raised high.
Primal. Deadly.
Terror ripped through me, shredding whatever was left of my restraint.
He would not take Maalikai too. I refused to let him tear another piece of my soul away.
Without thought, without hesitation, I let the arrow fly. Though I couldn't hear the impact from the trees, I knew the sound it would make—the wet, brutal thud as it punched through flesh and bone.
The warrior crumpled to the ground.
Lifeless.
I should’ve been horrified. I should’ve felt something.
But I didn’t.
Not even a sliver of remorse.
The bastards had stolen everything from me.
Everything.
If I hadn’t killed him, he would’ve killed Maalikai. And I would kill a thousand more if I had to.
Screw him.
Screw all of them.
They deserved worse. And I would be the one to give it to them.
A breath of relief escaped me—short-lived. So short-lived it might as well have never existed.
Another warrior charged from the side of the house, sword raised to defend his fallen comrade. But this time, Maalikai was ready. I’d bought him enough time to set my mother down, enough time to arm himself. Maalikai met the warrior head-on, steel flashing as he countered the first strike.
They moved in a blur, so fast I couldn’t take a shot without risking hitting him.
Crap.
Steel clashed, ringing out sharp and vicious over the roaring panic in my head. And then—a flicker of motion behind the house. Another warrior, shielded from Maalikai’s view, stepped into the open with a blade begging for blood.
For Maalikai’s blood.
Maalikai didn’t see him.
No. No. No.
I loosed an arrow with a snarl of fury.
It hit—dead center, right through the skull. A clean, brutal kill. The second warrior dropped like stone?—
But I was too late.
Blood soaked into Maalikai’s shirt, thick and dark, flowing faster than I could process.
A broken cry tore from my lips—feral, unhinged—as I sprinted from the trees.
I loaded another arrow, hands shaking with rage and terror, and aimed. The sharp snap of my movement was enough—just enough—to draw the remaining warrior’s attention.
Maalikai, bleeding but unbroken, seized the moment. With a roar, he drove his sword into the man’s heart. Crimson gushed from the warrior’s chest as he staggered, then fell facedown into the dirt.
Dead.
The sight of blood soaking Maalikai’s shirt liquefied my insides.
Without thought—without breath—I sprinted forward, distance vanishing until only air separated us.
“Maalik—”
I couldn’t finish.
The words twisted in my throat, too tangled with terror to make it out—the words that meant please tell me you’re okay. Please don’t leave me. Please stay.
The idea of losing him now—after everything—it would destroy me.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s just a flesh wound.”
A breath whooshed from my lungs—half relief, half disbelief.
But the dread clawing at my heart squeezed tighter. Because Maalikai was bleeding. Because my mother hadn’t moved.
“Mom?” I rasped, dragging my gaze down to where Maalikai had laid her on the ground.
“It’s okay. I’m here,” she whispered, her voice thin and fraying at the edges.
Relief and terror crashed together inside me as I dropped to my knees.
Her emerald eyes, dulled by pain, locked onto mine. They held me—but not long enough to block out the blood staining her dress. The sight stole the ground from under me. I didn’t feel the impact of the earth. Didn’t register the scrape of my hands and knees as I crawled for her. Reached for her.
All I could feel was the sound of her blood soaking into the dirt.
All I could see was the horror.
Blood had soaked her white dress, turning it into something unrecognizable—crimson, broken, wrong.
"Emylia," she gasped, reaching for me with bloodied fingers, pressing something into my hands.
The signets.
Her signets.
"I've put your father's warrior signet in there. And yours too."
"Mine?" The question stumbled out instinctively, meaningless and broken. Honestly, at the moment, that was the least of my worries.
All that mattered was the way her hands trembled.
"You are the greatest gift the Gods ever gave us," she whispered, forcing the words past shaking lips. "I’m sorry we couldn’t protect you better."
“No—” The word escaped me, ragged and desperate. "You protected me just fine," I choked out, refusing to let her make this a goodbye.
Tears blurred my vision. I bent lower, clutching her hands in mine like I could keep her here.
"I failed you."
Her hand grazed my cheek, a trembling, feather-light touch that undid me more than any sword could have.
"You could never fail me," she whispered, the words almost lost to the rising wind.
A shudder rolled through her body—not the final kind, but the kind that warned of the storm gathering inside her.
The fight slipping from her veins.
My stomach hollowed out.
No. Not again.
I couldn’t lose another parent.
I couldn’t lose her.
I just couldn’t.
“No matter what happens,” she rasped, blood tinting the edges of her mouth, “know that I love you more than life itself. I would do anything for you.”
“Mom, please hang on. I can heal this. I just need to siphon—” I whispered it like a prayer, like I could rewrite fate.
She shook her head, the movement so small, so final it gutted me. “Not even I could heal this.”
My tongue grew thick. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.
“I am so incredibly proud of you," she said, each word softer, more fragile. "And I love you... so, so much."
“I love you.” My voice cracked open. Tears streamed unchecked down my cheeks.
"I'm going to finally see your father again." A faint smile crossed her face—sad, but peaceful, like she had already let go of the world.
No.
No, no, no.
“You’re not going to die,” I gritted out, the words shaking with fury and terror. “You’re going to fight. You’re going to live.” Emotion entangled every word, strangling the air in my lungs.
“It’s okay, Emylia,” she whispered. "You’re going to be okay."
Her hand found mine—squeezed it—reassuring, steady—but it did nothing to quiet the storm breaking loose inside me.
I sobbed, the sound raw, tearing from somewhere deep, somewhere primal.
“No," I gasped. "I'm not. I can't survive losing you too."
Her other hand grasped mine, gripping so tightly our fingers turned white.
“You can," she breathed. "And you will. You are the strongest person I know.” Her hand lifted, weak, trembling—tapped against my heart. “In here.”
“Mom, p—please fight.” I was begging. Pleading.
I would have thrown myself into the void if it meant saving her.
She shook her head once, slow, almost apologetic. "Even though I want to... I can't."
Her gaze drifted to Maalikai.
"Please... take me to my husband. I don’t have much time left."
Maalikai, face drawn and stricken, lifted her carefully into his arms. He carried her to the willow—the sacred place where I had carved my father’s rune.
The tree swayed, whispering above us. Gently, he lowered her down. Her hand reached—shaking—to Maalikai’s injured arm. A thin wash of blue, the softest magik, glowed over his wound. The skin knitted closed.
“There," she murmured. "Now you can protect my daughter.”
Then she turned to me.
Leaning forward, she cupped my cheeks between her hands—hands stained red with her own blood—and pressed her lips to my forehead.
"I love you," she breathed, "to Elessandria’s moon and back."
“Mom. Please. Please don’t go,” I sobbed out, words collapsing under the weight of them.
She smiled—that same soft, sad smile—and then a shudder ran through her.
And she was gone.