Chapter 47
Lucina
The blast strikes Grey in the leg, taking him to the ground, and Pax screams, jumping in front of the former Captain.
Callan moves, charging at the first Rogue he sees while I spin on my heel, counting five of them cresting the hill.
When the sun hits their faces, I see the raw and irritated skin around their yellow eyes, nail marks scratched into their cheekbones.
It was Salem’s idea to blind them, so I gave it all I had, nearly killing myself in the process. It was the only thing we could think of to do to distract them. To buy the Sol more time.
And it appears our time has run out.
The Hound rushes into action, spearing two of them to the ground before they can release the strikes gathering in their hands.
Callan has one, and so does Pax—who manages to fight them off while keeping himself firmly planted in front of Grey as he struggles to get back to his feet.
Which leaves one for me.
Diving headfirst into my power, I find a big vacant pit where Sol magic is supposed to be. I scrounge for anything of use, but I don’t have time to search or replenish.
The Rogue in front of me creeps forward, grinning as if she’s already won.
My father’s magic will have to do.
His power is always there, seemingly endless, and I can tell it enjoys when I’m left with no choice but to reach for it.
Rogue power taunts me as it flows through my bloodstream, crackling and biting like frost in the coldest winter.
It doesn’t take more than a heartbeat for shadows to gather at my feet.
I dodge her first blow—a spear of black, aimed at my chest—and I throw one back, clipping her shoulder as she barely bolts out of the way.
The grunts and familiar sounds of magic cracking are the only indication that the others are still fighting. I’m not worried about Salem as much as I am about Pax and Grey. Callan’s always been an unstoppable force, and he seems to have enough anger to fuel him into the next century.
Too focused on the others, I’m almost hit by her next strike, twin midnight black daggers slicing through the air, grazing my hip and tearing through the fabric at my ribcage.
The sharp chill of it scraping against my skin is enough to shock me into action, and dark magic rips from my outstretched hands, racing across the ground, forming vicious talons sharper than any blade I’ve ever seen.
The Rogue’s pupils become black slits, her irritated eyes widening when the points of my shadows pierce the skin of her ankles, and with a sharp tug, I drag her to the ground.
She lets out a frustrated scream, scrambling to throw something back at me, and I strengthen my hold on the magic, giving it everything I have.
Shadows climb her body, ripping at the fabric of her clothes, and when they slide around her neck, she must know it’s over, because her trashing in the dirt becomes more desperate.
I make it as quick as possible, too worried about everyone else to take my time, honing the dark tendrils around her neck until they're sharp enough to slice through her skin.
With a gurgled shriek, dark blood spills onto the ground, and the Rogue slumps face down in the dirt.
Pulling up more of my father’s magic, I whirl around to see who I can help.
Salem has already killed one and is fighting with the other. He snatches the largest of the Rogues by his collar, and as soon as I see him get his hands around his neck, I know there’s no point in watching.
The sickening crack of his spine rings out behind me as I turn to Pax.
The Rogue he’d been up against is bleeding out in the dirt, and he’s already moved to help Grey to his feet. I exhale a relieved breath as the former Captain stands, his movements shaky, but the wound to his leg doesn’t look fatal.
“Pax!” I call out to him, nodding in the direction the Sol took to the Banyan. I can’t see them in the distance, but they couldn’t have made it that far. If I had to guess, Devon or one of the others has blanketed their group in an illusion. “Take him to the others—”
A scream to my right pulls my attention. It pulls Pax’s too.
Callan’s back is to us, and the Rogue he’s up against is…still alive.
The man is doing his best to crawl away from Callan, but bright orange flames lash out, ripping at his ankles, the hem of his robe catching fire. The Rogue screams again, kicking at the fabric in an attempt to stomp out the flames.
For every inch the Rogue scrambles back, Callan takes slow steps towards him, silently pulling daggers out of his waistband. He’s…stalking him like a predator would. He’s playing with his prey.
I surge forward. “Callan?”
He doesn’t hear me. He doesn’t even flinch.
“Callan!”
Black wisps of smoke form at the Rogue’s fingertips, but Callan does nothing but stare at the attack as it forms, his grip on his knives loose.
There’s no urgency in the way he moves, and premature victory burns in the golden glow of the Rogue’s irises.
My heartbeats slow as I move, throwing myself between them. I pull enough Rogue magic into my bloodstream that it consumes me entirely, blacking out my vision and seizing every muscle. It erupts in a sickening crack that rattles through the clearing, reducing my hearing to a high-pitched ring.
It takes a moment for my vision to clear, but the buzz of heavy magic lingers beneath my skin. It’s too much to herd back to the well at the base of my spine, so I let it stay—dark and cold in my veins.
The rocky ground where the Rogue had been is singed from Callan’s fire, and all that’s left of him is the burnt robe he’d been wearing.
I exhale a sharp breath, the burst of air audible in the dead silence that’s fallen around us.
Whirling around to face Callan, I gape at him, “What were you thinking?!”
There’s a moment, brief and absolute, where he meets my eyes. He sees me. I know he sees me. But instead of love, relief, recognition, or even heartbreak…there’s only anger. Blinding anger. It’s so jarring that I stumble back a step.
“Callan?”
He stalks forward. I’m the prey.
My heart pounds. “Callan, stop—”
I barely dodge the dagger he throws at me. Barely slide to the side in time.
A rush of noise breaks out around us, but all I can see is him. The fury in his eyes. The charged violence in his body.
Callan rushes forward, another knife in his raised fist, and as soon as I realize what’s happening, my blood runs cold.
Yellow.
My eyes are yellow.
The hilt of the knife leaves his fingertips in slow motion, spiraling through the space between us—and for a split second—in this moment where time crawls…
I hope it kills me, and I hope it’s quick.
Because surviving this would mean living with the memory of the man who has spent so much time protecting me, being so blinded by his own anger that he doesn’t even know who he’s hurling a dagger at.
I can hear my heart shattering in my ears. I can feel tears welling in my eyes.
And then I move.
One step to the side.
What would have been a perfect hit, straight through my chest, lethal in a way only the Captain would be capable of, splits the skin across my collarbone instead.
It rips the fabric of my clothes wide open, the drag of the blade lasting longer than it should in this pocket of time where nothing feels real anymore. It’s just another nightmare.
But my father isn’t here, lurking in the corner, lingering at the foot of my bed, and I’m not being led down the halls of the Estate by my grandmother. Forced to endure the pain my mother felt the night of the attack.
No, this nightmare is worse because I can’t wake up from it.
Blood spills, warm against my skin, and I wish I could say it hurts, but I feel dull and sharp all at once. Empty and numb. My body doesn’t even feel like my own anymore.
Before I can fully grasp the scope of the situation, time resumes, fast and unforgiving.
I’m jerked back by an arm that wraps around my chest, forcing me away from him. From Callan. From the man that I love.
It’s Salem, I realize, when Pax rushes between us, forcing Callan back, shouting at him to drop the rest of his weapons.
I become so numb I think I might melt into the ground, but the arm around my shoulders—covering the wound at the base of my neck—prevents me from doing so.
All I want to do is fade away. I want to be anything but myself. Anything but the monster reflected in the sharp silver of the eyes still glaring back at me.
It’s a break in his sanity, but it might as well be mine too.
Callan fights against Pax, still too lost in his temper to even realize what he’s done, and I wish I were that far gone.
“Cal!” Pax screams, forcefully shoving him backwards. It’s the most aggressive I’ve ever seen him towards his Captain. His brother. But that final shove seems to do the trick.
Callan blinks, stumbling as he finds his balance, and when he looks up, I watch as he takes in the scene before him with clear eyes.
He notes the discarded knives in the dirt, and his chest rises with a fast breath. Then he sees Pax, his brows furrowing at the distress on his brother’s face. And then he sees me.
He sees the hold the Hound has around my chest and the blood spilling from my shoulder, seeping beneath Salem’s arm. It isn’t until his gaze lifts to mine, meeting hazel eyes instead of the yellow ones he so violently despises, that all the color drains from his face.
His mouth forms the syllables of my name, but in whatever stage of shock I’m in, I can’t hear it, and I don’t think I want to.
I push against the arm wrapped around my chest, and with slight resistance, Salem lets me go. Maybe he sees it too—the regret on Callan’s face.
Or maybe he smells it, permeating the air: guilt and remorse and an impending apology that can’t fix this kind of irreparable damage. The cut is too deep. The cut is still bleeding.
I can’t feel it.
No one says a word. Not Pax, not Grey, not Callan or Salem. No one moves a muscle as I bend, picking up one of the knives.
Pax shifts in front of Callan, then. Barely an inch, and my attention snaps up at the movement.
He must think I’ll throw it back, start a war, give his Captain a wound to match my own. But I thought Pax knew me better than that—I could never fathom hurting somebody I love. That reality would eat me alive, consume me whole, leave me a shell of a being.
Though I can’t imagine feeling any emptier than I do right now.
I flip the warm blade in my hand, catching my broken reflection in the metal.
At first, I don’t see myself. I see the girl the Captain found, lost and afraid. I see the person I became with him—the girl he loved, the girl he’d take to see the stars, the girl he saved countless times.
But it’s gone before I can savor it, that beautiful reflection morphing into someone new.
A woman. She’s cold, devastated, and utterly spent. She gave all she had trying to prove she wasn’t a monster, and none of it was good enough. She became one anyway. And he…
He swore her heart was good. Perhaps it was…
Anger flares in my chest, a barbed wire coiling around my ribcage.
Until he shattered it.
I flip the dagger and stab it into the earth. Hard. The hilt trembles with the force.
“Pax.” My voice is lifeless. Vacant.
His eyes find mine, and I ignore the man standing next to him.
“Tell Gemma I love her.”
“Lucina.” The plea in Callan’s voice hardly registers.
I turn towards Salem. “Tell Selene I’ll be back soon.”
“Lucina!” There’s a scuffle behind me. “Lucina, please. Please, don’t do this.”
I look up at the Hound, praying that he can read it in my eyes. Praying that I won’t need to voice what I’m asking for because I don’t think I have the strength for that.
Salem takes in my face, blue eyes darting between my own, and when he nods, a wave of relief ripples through the dread and desolation that’s taken residence in my hellish heart.
The Hound positions himself behind me, and I can’t bring myself to look at anyone but Pax as I turn, the beginnings of a cerulean mist rising around us.
Hot tears slide down my cold cheeks. “And tell Kimber that she was right.”
We live in fallacies, she’d said. Mistaken beliefs. And gods, was she spot-on. They’re everywhere. All around me. Hidden in plain sight.
The Hound is an evil god with cruel intentions.
Rogues are wicked, and their magic is a plague.
But worst of all, I decide, as the world fades to blue, and wide silver eyes find mine through the smoke.
The Captain will never hurt me—our love is greater than the demons that haunt him.