Chapter 28
The feeling of hot, serrated knives raking across her body wasn’t something she’d ever get used to, no matter how many times she willfully brought it upon herself.
With as deep a breath as her chains would allow, she sent part of herself towards her hiding spot in a pocket of the Moonweaver’s mind.
She couldn’t leave her completely. Not yet. Had to make sure it had worked. Needed to get there before—
Oops.
Moth was likely going to feel some of this.
In three, two…
A sharp tsk-ing sound was all the warning she got before pain exploded across her cheek, his fist ramming into her with the force of a comet.
Unbeknownst to her assailant, though, his violence propelled her towards her destination, and she slipped behind the door she’d made there.
“Night take you, you interfering bitch.”
So predictable. She knew he was going to say that.
Honestly, his voice was worse than the agony consuming her. The familiar, imperious tone that had once comforted her was now just one more item on a long list of things that she unequivocally detested.
Funny enough, that list was dedicated almost solely to him.
She tried to open her eyes, but couldn’t accomplish the simple task so soon after her indiscretion.
Which was fine, actually, considering the sight of him would probably make her vomit.
Besides, she knew him almost as well as herself.
Knew what a handsome piece of celestial garbage he was without having to look at him.
“Worth… it…” she said through gritted teeth.
Another pummeling fist. That one broke the skin, a hot stream of blood bursting forth to pour down her face.
Fabulous. It was definitely going to stain her hair. Not that it mattered. She’d forget about it soon. Too much else to remember.
“Haven’t you had enough of this, Endellion? Wouldn’t you prefer a gilded cage at home to the filth of this world?”
Never. Better she be stuck here for eternity. At least the dank cavern walls and teeming darkness told the truth. Besides, there was no way to move the pieces as she needed to from home. No way to save them from so far away.
Shame her most recent attempt had to include her own suffering. So little a thing and she was nearly as weak as the ones she was trying to protect.
“All you have to do is tell me where they are. So simple, and I’ll set you free.”
She fought the overwhelming desire to roll her eyes. Choosing to switch one word for another had been simple.
‘Do not fear the light’ would have yielded only death in the long run.
‘Do not fear his light’ had given them a chance.
A very simple choice, despite the consequences to herself. It had pushed the limits of what she was allowed without ruining everything, but the Sorcerit was dense enough that it hadn’t really broken any rules. Getting through to her was like trying to pull teeth with a cobweb.
She probably could have screamed Brandir is your fated mate and the world will literally end if you leave him right now! at full volume, and Lunara still would have been confused.
Destiny was funny like that.
What he was asking for…
“There’s nothing simple about the destruction of an entire planet, and we’ll need them in the end, so I’ll be keeping it to myself, thank you.”
Not that she’d ever be telling him.
He huffed, and she didn’t have to see to know he was spearing her with an impatient glare.
“I am beginning to tire of this,” he hissed. “Why do you even care?”
He would never know the beautiful, perfect answer to that question—not until it was too late for him to do anything about it.
Provided she made it that far. That they all made it that far.
“Maybe I just like messing with you.”
And…
Bam! Bam! Bam!—three more strikes to the head.
Why always the head? Oh yes. Right.
Because she was so wrapped up in chains that he’d hurt himself if he hit her anywhere else.
“So… predictable.”
Was that her choking on blood? Or was it… No, it was her this time. He’d shattered her nose—again—but it had rattled her just right. Just enough to crack the door and bring soft whispers fluttering by, a vision with their trembling urgency.
The Sight was slightly different when it featured the present. Images were sharper. Less dreamlike. They played out behind her closed lids as though she was standing right beside them, anticipation building with each passing second.
‘Lunara? What are you doing over here? Are you alright?’
Essence within, he was a handsome brute kneeling down there. Slightly too young for her taste, though. She preferred them, well, a bit older.
She turned in her mind and looked on with grim satisfaction as the Moonweaver paled, grappling with whether to accept or deny the truth.
This was it, where the vision always split in two, side by side—one irredeemable and careening headlong towards utter destruction, and the other…
A monumental step closer to hope.
‘Speak to me, my little moon.’
Please, please, please…
The Moonweaver’s thoughts echoed as her own. ‘It was true. Weeping Sisters, it was all true.’
There was no way, in all the worlds, she could have stifled her triumphant cackling.
“What did you do? What did you do?!”
He was many things, but entirely stupid wasn’t one of them.
Her laughter was cut off when his hated hand seized her throat in an unforgiving grasp, repeatedly slamming her head into the cave-wall she was shackled to.
“I should have slit your throat the moment you left Argellion’s ruined cunt,” he choked into her ear. “The second I laid eyes on you and heard the sound of your pathetic cries, mewling for her leaking tit. If I’d known what a fucking nuisance you would be, I’d have saved us all the trouble.”
“You’re… just… jealous.”
There was no point in finishing until he let go. It wouldn’t be long anyway.
Nearly…
Now.
She sucked in air with gasping relief, spitting blood onto the floor.
Only, she finally recalled there was no floor anymore. Just miles and miles of her starlight hair.
Curse it and damn it. Now there was blood in her hair. Or was there already blood in her hair? It was so hard to remember…
“What could a meddling whore like you possibly have for me to be jealous of?”
Oh. Right. She’d nearly forgotten when she was.
Mustering every immortal ounce of her defiance, she forced her eyes open. The swelling made it difficult, but it was worth it.
Worth it, as always, to see his perfect lips peeled back in a sneer far too hideous for the beauty he boasted.
To see his eyes flash with fury against his mottled, alabaster skin.
To see that long lock of platinum hair—the one that never stayed tucked behind his pointed ear—tremble with coiled violence.
She was the only one capable of riling him and it always brought her a twisted sense of satisfaction to do it.
So, yes. It was worth the encumbered breath when yet another split vision presented itself and she chose her path, saying, “My lustrous, feathered wings. Obviously.”
They hadn’t been lustrous in hundreds of years, but her seeming delusion would diffuse him for a moment.
“You’re completely mad.” One corner of his mouth twitched upwards as he considered her, his mood as changeable as the wind. “Believe me, I couldn’t possibly care less about your fucking deformity.” Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair and paced away, as if to leave.
“But they’re such a stunning representation of the greater issue!”
He stopped dead at the far end of the cavern, his head tilting back. “Which is?”
Finally here, living it, she knew there was just enough time to deliver words all the more devastating for their truth. Words she hated, but they would need him off guard.
The two visions became one and her fate was sealed. Nothing for it. No matter how much it was going to hurt.
“That here, on my back, is everything you’ve ever wanted and will never possess. I was loved, while you’ve wasted your days wondering whether the same was true for yourself, instead of seeing what was right in front of you.”
He went so, so still.
“That I am of the stars and I know it, but you will never have a sure moment in your life. Traitors rarely do. After all, you’re the coward who was weak enough to believe the lies of Night.”
He disappeared, traveling through the unseen channels of this world in the blink of an eye. When he reappeared before her, she delivered the final blows.
“Argellion should have slit your throat, just to save us all the trouble of having to put up with your incessant insecurities. Instead, you look at my wings and all you can think is that she loved me more than she ever could have loved you, like the utter fool you are.”
A single tear escaped the confines of his long lashes and slid down his cheek, his eyes burning with so much hatred that it sucked the air from her lungs—right before a scream rose up from the depths of him.
He threw himself at her captive body, spittle flying as he slammed, and slammed his fists against her.
Just like she knew he would.