Chapter 12 Emory #2
There was a moment of utter stillness, where Emory and the two deities who each had a pull on her magic stood staring at one another.
And then—a thunderous noise, a tremble that had them all lurching on their feet.
It took a moment for Emory to register what she was seeing.
Ash spilled from the fountain like quicksand.
And Emory knew the ash meant death. It meant that the worlds would keep dying, because nothing had been fixed.
Clover might have disappeared, but the fountain was still depleted, the ley lines still dwindling.
And now the ash of what remained of this world at the center of all worlds, this place that used to be the seat of gods, was spreading like death.
Magic would cease to exist unless they fixed it. They had to make the fountain flow again, perhaps bring the gods back to their godsworld, this place that was now a sea of ash.
Someone shouted Emory’s name.
The ash in the air had cleared enough now for her to see the Godsgate far down below, an ornate thing that looked made of carved glass or ice, open onto the mountain peaks beyond.
Running across the expanse of ash that separated the Godsgate from the fountain where Emory stood were Virgil, Nisha, Vera, and the two draconics.
Relief flooded through her at the sight of her friends. They’d gotten out of the temple alive, had evaded the Songless and made it here in one piece.
But the ash spilling from the fountain was like a tidal wave headed straight for them.
“Look out!” Emory yelled. She wasn’t certain they’d heard her, but surely they could see the wave of ash coming their way, surely they would have the good sense to turn around and head for safety before it was too late.
Emory moved toward them, desperately thinking of a way to help—but was stopped by Romie grabbing her roughly by the arms.
The look on her best friend’s face was full of hatred, unlike anything Emory had ever seen on her. “This is your doing,” Atheia hissed, nails digging into Emory’s skin hard enough to draw blood. “All the power you stole…”
“That wasn’t me!” Emory struggled to get out of Atheia’s hold without hurting Romie. “It was Clover.”
“You Tidethieves are all the same. And if I have to spill your blood into the fountain to restore even an ounce of magic, then mark my words—”
Emory was wrenched out of Atheia’s grasp by Sidraeus. “Spill another drop of her blood, and I’ll split you up into so many pieces you’ll never be whole again,” he said in that low, silky voice that made the threat sound all the more deadly.
Atheia’s mouth curled in contempt. “Sidraeus. It pleases me to know you’ve come back wrong.
” Her shifting eyes ran down his torso at that, eyeing the spiral scars that still glimmered faintly there.
“Now step away from the Tidethief. Let me sacrifice her to the fountain and fix this mess you’ve made. ”
“You and I both know her Tidecaller blood won’t replenish the fountain,” Sidraeus said. “Nothing will except for us—or the gods themselves. And they’re not here to make that happen.”
“And whose fault is that? That monster,” Atheia said, pointing to where Clover had disappeared, “is a product of your unnatural magic and filthy ambition. All these problems lie with you, Sidraeus. And if the sole reason for my coming back is to wash away the stain of what you created, then I’ll gladly give my life once more to see it through. ”
The two deities launched themselves at each other.
“No!” Emory screamed as Sidraeus sent a surge of crackling dark power flying.
But Atheia easily evaded his attack, sidestepping it in a fluid motion.
Beams of prismatic light erupted from her middle and pushed back against Sidraeus’s shadows.
Both deities braced under the impact. They seemed equally matched, neither of them gaining ground.
When their magics faded, leaving them unscathed, Atheia smiled at Sidraeus, inviting more violence.
Emory whirled on Sidraeus with a hand to his chest. “Stop. You can’t kill her—that’s Romie.”
His ecliptic eyes pinned her in place. “I don’t care,” he snarled at her before launching another wave of power at Romie.
Emory realized she had no control over him. She’d made a bargain to bring him back, and because of this, he was bound to her, yet she had no real power over his actions. And now he was going to kill her best friend. No. She wouldn’t let that happen.
Grabbing the ceremonial dagger Clover had used to kill the keys, Emory stabbed herself in the gut.
Sidraeus screamed, stumbling back in pain as he searched his middle for a wound that was not there.
When an Eclipse-born is harmed, so too will he be, the souls of the Tidecallers had said.
So maybe she did have power over him after all.
Sidraeus met Emory’s gaze as she twisted the dagger deeper into her gut.
It hurt like hell, and she wanted so desperately to stop, to wrench the blade out and heal the pain away.
But she held his gaze with a stony face, hoping he understood what this meant: that she wasn’t above hurting herself if it meant keeping him from killing her best friend.
That he was at her mercy.
“Emory,” he gritted out. “What she means to do is inconceivable.”
“I don’t care,” she said with difficulty, shooting his own words back at him.
Speaking brought tears to her eyes, made her breath shallow, the pain in her middle unbearable.
Her fingers trembled around the blade, but she didn’t falter.
“If there’s a chance Romie’s still in there, I can’t let you hurt her. ”
“Listen to your pet, Sidraeus,” Atheia crooned.
“I’ll even play nice and let you live, for now, if only for the satisfaction of knowing you’ll see me purge what you’ve created out of this world.
” She brought Romie’s hand up to her face and contemplated the Waning Moon tattoo on the back of it, tracing it lovingly.
“I think I’ll start where it all began,” she added as if speaking to herself.
It was at this very moment that Vivyan and Ivayne landed on the plateau the fountain was built on, their draconic wings unfurled and beating wildly.
They were carrying Virgil, Nisha, and Vera—having picked them up, Emory supposed, to avoid the avalanche of ash—and set the three of them down now on shaky legs.
“Romie!” A thousand different emotions danced on Nisha’s face. The lines of her body went slack in relief as she lurched toward Romie.
“Don’t!” Emory wheezed in warning.
But Nisha had already stopped short, the smile slipping from her face the second those kaleidoscope eyes met hers, and she realized this wasn’t Romie at all.
With that unnerving smile, Atheia vanished—dissolving into a great swirl of shimmering air that gusted out of the sea of ash quicker than Emory could make sense of. Sidraeus raged, moving as if to follow her, but stopped as Emory gave another twist of the dagger.
Only when Atheia had fully disappeared and Sidraeus was on his knees looking defeated did Emory pull the dagger out of her stomach.
She fell to her own knees, blood spilling in the ash.
Dizziness threatened to pull her under, but she stayed lucid enough to call on her healing magic, tending to her wound until the pain subsided to a faint numbness.
Distantly she was aware of Virgil and Vera fussing over her, asking if she was all right.
Of Vivyan and Ivayne holding their swords a breath from Sidraeus’s neck.
Of Nisha staring, aghast, at the spot Romie had vanished.
But Emory tuned them all out, her eyes glued to the three bodies lying in the fountain bed, almost entirely buried beneath the ash.
Aspen and Tol and Orfeyi, the three keys whose lives had ended for Atheia to live. Emory hadn’t wanted to look at them before, but she forced herself to do so now. She sent a wave of healing toward them, desperate to find a trace of life, something to fix.
But they were dead.
And as what little could be seen of their faces disappeared beneath the ash, Emory wept.