Chapter Fifty-Three
T here’s a tug on my ankle, yanking me off my feet, and before I can make sense of it, I’m sprawled out across the ground, my head aching with the aggressive contact with the stone floor. I look around for the cause of my lucky fall.
The vines. They yanked me down and saved my life. But I didn’t come away without harm. My fingers trace along my collar bone, a sharp sting and a warm stickiness answers my unspoken question.
Killian and Hadeon stand over me, their forms blurring as my eyes fill with tears of defeat. “I’d say there’s very little of your blood left at this point.” I can’t see him through the tears, but I can hear the smile in his taunting voice.
“Father. Her blood.”
“Yes, I think I’ll leave it. As a reminder.” At first, I can’t make sense of what he’s saying. My strength continues to weaken and I can’t hold both hands to my wound, it’s too hard. One hand flings out to the ground beside me. It’s warm, the ground is so warm. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know it’s because of my blood.
“No, Father. She said ruling is in her blood .” Killian talks over me as if I’m no longer present. Which, in moments, I may not be. But I can hear the realization dawn as he repeats my words .
“But that would mean,” Hadeon begins, slower to reach the same conclusion. “No. She can’t be. I watched Queen Bronwinn bleed out, her belly still round with child.” But I can hear the question in his voice as he kicks my ankle.
The world slows, but something is nagging at me, pulling at me. A thought?
No. A thread. A faint thread of my power is pulling back at me now. Trying to make sense of it, I blink the tears out of my eyes. But my timing is wrong because Hadeon thinks I’m answering whatever question he’s just asked.
“You’re Azulian’s brat then?” he confirms. “Well, this changes a thing or two.” Even in my blurring vision, I can see as he tips his gaze toward his son.
Where’s the dagger? I use the brief distraction of them deciding my fate to try to recall where it landed. In answer, the vine Hadeon had stomped out, rolls toward me—the large, pointy red petals blooming to produce the very dagger.
“We can’t have her alive.” In these past moments my attention has been elsewhere, but I still at those words. I’m running out of time.
“She’s the last of the Fae, Father. She could be useful. All she knows is us. If we can revive her, she’d be ours. We can breed her, make our own armies of Fae scum. Think how quickly they’ll decimate an enemy if we have all this power behind us. Think how quickly we could mine Blagdenbeck. Don’t you see all we could do?” Killian, ever the strategist, is going straight to using me for a military advantage. I’m not surprised, but it still stings. I thought he saw my side, could be on my side.
I palm the dagger before their attention returns to me, the hilt rubbing across my scar, reminding me of Avicii—no, of my strength in tough moments.
Hadeon kicks me again. “You there, child? How does that plan sound? We’ll take you apart piece by piece to find out how that power within you works. Maybe distill your essence into tiny bottles and set you on a shelf. You’d see eternity yet, that way.”
Fighting against the unconsciousness threatening to swallow me whole, I hold onto each of his words as if they’re the roots holding me to this earth. I inwardly cringe at the not so discrete picture he’s painted.
“Precisely. We’ll neutralize her and use her Fae-like qualities to our benefit. This is even better than we could’ve imagined. Rather than decades, we’ll conquer the surrounding realms in years, maybe even months. With drops of her blood, we’ll uncover the remains of Glorixia, and all its treasures.” Killian nods along with his own reasoning, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of what? My blood all over them?
“I don’t know, son.” Hadeon still sounds skeptical. “She’s a loose end. One I should’ve tied off years ago. Leaving her alive could be beneficial, but it seems too risky.” Without warning, Hadeon lifts his long sword with two hands, putting all his weight into driving it down, straight into me.
I move without hesitation. Before his arms come down, I pool all the energy left within me, just enough to bring me onto one knee. I meet his movements with my dagger gripped tightly in both hands, poised high.
His eyes connect with mine, but there’s no fatherly love there. Just pure hatred and loathing. As his sword comes down, I lean into his weight, knocking his sword from his hand causing him to frantically grasp for purchase on something. He grabs my shoulder but my body is planted. I will not go down with him—not yet. My hands and all of my focus lock on my dagger—driving it into his chest. I let his fall do some of the work for me, and every inch he falls is met with an inch of my blade.
A gasp from Killian sounds, a small reminder he’s bared witness to my actions. I roll away, aware that he holds the upper hand as I still can’t see through the blazing pain engulfing me. I expect swift retaliation from him. My foggy mind tries to figure out the fastest way out of here without another confrontation.
I don’t think I could do the same to Killian, my big brother. A little stoic and aloof, sure. But his late-night stories raised me, fostering my love for books and adventure. He was a father figure where Hadeon was not.
I wait as the seconds tick by, watching what he’ll do. Surprising me, he falls to his knees beside Hadeon. His hands hover back and forth over his chest unsure what to do. He finally clasps his hands around the dagger still in his father’s chest.
I watch, knowing I don’t belong here anymore. I am not part of this private moment. I am the cause.
Hadeon’s hands find Killian’s own, gripping with what strength remains. Together, they pull the dagger from his chest and within seconds, the floor turns crimson beneath them.