Chapter Thirty-Three
He is not a good person, Aleksi. You, of all people, must know that his heart is barren, stony. He does not countenance obstacles. One day, he will begin to view the rest of the High Court as such, and he will set out to remove us.
And Ash does not see it. I have tried to tell him, but he will not hear me.
He would hear you.
A creased, faded letter from the Huntress to the Lover
Aleksi had always loved swords. Not using them in the commission of violence, mind—though he did firmly believe that sometimes, violence was necessary in order to prevent even greater atrocities.
No, he loved the technique, how a perfectly balanced sword could become a part of your body, and how fighting with one often felt more like a dance than a skirmish.
This was not a dance.
Aleksi attempted to dodge Sorin’s brutal attacks between determined swings.
He had begun by targeting unprotected spots, areas where Sorin’s patchwork armor left him exposed.
But every glancing slice resulted only in the Betrayer—the Destroyer, now—pulling in another hunk of rubble to correct the vulnerabilities.
So Aleksi moved on to the places where only thin sheets of metal or weak-looking pieces of wood shielded Sorin.
He battered at them, relying more on brute force than mastery to dent the metal and splinter the wood.
By now, perhaps Sorin was bleeding beneath his makeshift armor, but Aleksi could not be certain.
He, on the other hand, was absolutely bleeding. Aleksi had not been able to evade every blow. And though Sorin’s Void-crafted weapon might not have been inflicting serious injury, even small wounds became a problem when there were enough of them.
So Aleksi fought harder, raining hit after hit on Sorin’s armored body until his hands grew numb. Sorin’s next strike found Aleksi’s wrist, and his sword went flying once again. This time, it hit the protective wall of Aleksi’s magic and dropped to the ground like a stone.
“You see? This was their mistake.” Sorin emitted a rusty chuckle. “They should not have left a pretty face draped in velvet to do a god’s job.”
Aleksi rarely used his wit and skill at reading emotions to fling pointed verbal barbs, but if anyone deserved to be treated that way, it was this fucker. “Isn’t that what you thought about Sachielle?”
Sorin almost recoiled; Aleksi could see it in the sudden stiffening of his spine. The man’s jaw tightened, and his amusement gave way to a rage that poured off him in slashing waves.
“You misjudged her, too, didn’t you?” Aleksi grinned, knowing that he bared bloody teeth. “You thought she was biddable, harmless . . . right up until the moment she annihilated you.”
Sorin’s anger was visible now, a bruise-colored cloud that nearly obscured his scowl.
“Because that’s what you still think, right? That she took your power?”
“No,” Sorin growled. “That bitch stole it.”
“Come, now. Think.” Aleksi tapped his bloodied temple. “If it was power she craved, she would have assumed the bonds of your Imperial subjects instead of releasing them.”
A shadow flickered over Sorin’s features, denial tempered by recognition. In that moment, Aleksi knew. He had hit on the solitary fact that had been bothering Sorin. It was the only thing he could not square with his assumptions about the battle—and his loss.
“Sachi didn’t take the magic of the Dream from you, Sorin.” The truth, and it blazed between them, brighter than the sunlight. “She would never do that. She only gave it permission to leave you.”
The stone dagger trembled in Sorin’s hand. “You’re lying.”
“You know I’m not,” Aleksi countered. “You had used your power so ill that it deserted you the moment it was able—”
“Shut your mouth.”
“It fled from you.”
“Shut up!” Sorin screamed as he hurled his Void-crafted knife at Aleksi.
It was a sloppy throw, and the stone hilt of the knife bounced innocuously off Aleksi’s shoulder. The weapon fell to the ground, where it dissolved into wisps of dark shadow.
Sorin dragged in a deep, ragged breath and smoothed his hair.
“When I’ve killed you and everything you love,” he said through gritted teeth hidden behind a pleasant smile, “and sunk this cursed island back into the sea, I will tear down the Western Wall, storm the Sheltered Lands, and make them all pay.”
He was not posturing or trying to upset Aleksi so that he would drop his guard or make a mistake. He was as serious as the grave.
And Aleksi could not let his threats come to pass.
Sorin held out his hand, and another hunk of rock flew into it. This time, when the stone fell away, it revealed a sharper blade with barbs all along its length. They were angled back toward the hilt, positioned to inflict maximum damage when pulled from flesh after a strike.
It did not matter. It could not. For Aleksi, this fight had never been about emerging victorious. It had never been about emerging at all. His goal was simple and singular: he had to stop Sorin.
Aleksi’s survival did not factor in. Winning did not require it, and he had been prepared to accept that. He had been ready to die . . . as long as he took Sorin with him.
Then Naia had stared up at him with eyes that saw far too much and whispered of empty places shaped like him.
If she had been railing against the insurmountable reality of the challenge before them, then Aleksi could have borne her words.
But she had been clear-eyed, pragmatic in her assessment of their chances.
She knew that he might have to die today, and she had not broken down or tried to stop him from facing his fate.
She had simply asked him to try very, very hard to stay alive.
For the first time since he’d come to Rahvekya, he fully regretted that he might not be able to.
But he had made a sincere promise to try. So he reached out for the now-familiar power that thrummed through the stone and soil beneath his feet. If you love me, he whispered into the silence of his mind, then help me.
The answer came a moment later, halting but determined. How?
Guide my hand.
Sorin lunged forward with a roar, his new, horrible stone dagger poised to plunge deep, and Aleksi saw it, amidst the shards of stone and glittering bits of bent metal that formed the Destroyer’s armor.
A tiny unprotected spot, just beneath Sorin’s ribs.
All Aleksi had left was the small dagger that Isa had gifted him. To use it, he would have to stand and allow Sorin to close the distance between them. He would most certainly be hit, and with a waiting, stationary target, Sorin would strike a fatal blow.
But so would Aleksi.
He did not move.
Sorin buried the barbed blade in Aleksi’s chest with a roar. It hurt, but not nearly as much as the almost feral look of triumph and delight on his former brother’s face.
He should at least be sorry he’d had to do this. Aleksi was.
Sorin’s victorious expression slowly melted into confusion, and he let go of his weapon and looked down.
Blood gushed over Aleksi’s hand, but he held tight to his gifted dagger. He had angled it up, right into the heart—morbid proof that Sorin did, indeed, have one.
An ironic way for the god of love to kill someone.
Sorin exhaled roughly. One last breath. “How could it be you?”
The answer was stark, more brutal than this tragic tableau. “How could it not?”
Aleksi locked his knees and willed himself to remain standing. He had to be sure, had to see the light leave Sorin’s eyes, watch his aura fade into nothingness.
When it did, and Sorin’s dead weight fell into Aleksi’s arms, no force in either the Dream or the Void could have kept him on his feet. He shoved away from Sorin’s corpse, staggered back, and collapsed to the sand and stone.
Aleksi lay on his back and stared up at the sky. It was clear blue, not a cloud in it. He could feel his heartbeat in his fingers and toes, quick at first but slowing with each passing thump.
This was so much more pleasant than his last impending death had been.
His sole regret was that he would not get to see Naia and Einar one last time.
The island’s magic surged beneath him, reaching up with curiosity and concern that melted into a puzzling determination. Aleksi laughed and pressed his palms flat against the blood-soaked sand on either side of his body.
“Tell them that I kept my promises,” he rasped. “Every single one.”
The heavens above him dimmed, and the Dream called.