Chapter Twenty-Eight #3
In the blink of an eye, his gaze swirls with purple mist again, and I silently mourn the loss, the glimpse of the man I saw.
Before I can move, he lunges forward and snatches hold of my hand.
Darrius lets out a roar, and within seconds, his power obliterates all light, vicious ribbons of darkness ready to flay the Oryndhrian king alive.
His shadows rip him away from me, tossing him into the air, and re-form like a pernicious mass hovering over him where he falls.
“Darrius, no!” I shout. “Regicide will start a war.”
“He did this to you,” he rasps hoarsely, as if he can barely speak.
Despite the gravity of the situation, I feel a tingle of warmth at his devotion, both his and the beast seething beneath his skin. “You can’t murder everyone who hurts me, Dare.”
Those eyes blaze a blinding gold. “Watch me.”
“Everlea is not prepared for war, not when the Aspa?anā are divided and your court is in chaos. Who knows what kind of trouble Masi?ta will stir up? You need to be smart, not rash.” I turn to run my palm over his cheek, mindless of the dried blood caking his skin.
“We both know where that leads. Your people need you.” My voice lowers. “I need you.”
Laleh skulks over to her furious king, who has leaped to his feet.
I shudder at his eyes, now dark purple and furious.
His men point their jādū-infused weapons at us.
They might not have akasha, but those blades and bows can do tremendous damage.
Without my magic and with Aran’s control over my bracers, I’m exposed, and Darrius’s curse is on the cusp of taking him.
We need to be sensible. Prudent.
“My lord, did I forget to mention that your archrival is the little Starkeeper’s soul-fated?” Laleh’s sweet tone sets my teeth on edge. “But never fear, she’s still undecided, and soul bonds can be broken with the right touch. The oracle told me—Fero can see to that.”
“I’ll never choose you or your fucking god,” I say to the purple-eyed Not-Roshan.
“You stupid girl,” he says with a dark laugh, and I recoil at the vitriol in his tone.
Not-Roshan’s evil laughter continues, and my chest aches.
Is any of my prince in there? Is he lost for good?
“The nightmare king wants you for the same reason I do. For power. But you’re too enraptured by your precious bond to see it. ”
I smile without humor. “That’s where you’re wrong. He never wanted this.” My jaw clenches. “He didn’t tie me to him with false pretenses and false declarations, only to use me as a weapon for his personal ambitions. He has never used me.”
That oily, violet-hued rot slithers in Not-Roshan’s eyes, his voice growing thicker and deeper.
His features sharpen, healthy flesh going sunken, as something wholly malevolent takes over.
“You belong in Oryndhr at my side. As my queen and future vessel.” His smile grows cruel teeth.
“Or Aran will command those pretty cuffs to drain you until there’s nothing left, and then I will torture you until you beg me to die.
” He slides his virulent gaze to Darrius.
“And when my wayward progeny inevitably falls to his curse, then I will take Everlea and raze it to the ground. You can save the fate of thousands or be selfish and condemn them to the fate of the realm of Rothdar.”
But my brain is stuck on one thing: His progeny? What does he mean?
“You can’t bypass my wards,” Darrius grinds through his teeth.
“How do you think we got here?” he says. “You have many enemies, boy. The wards protecting your little kingdom are the least of my concerns, not when they will be dismantled from within at my command.”
“You dare threaten me in my own kingdom?” Darrius replies.
“Give me back what is mine!” Not-Roshan roars.
Darrius’s magic bursts out of him in a violent eruption of shadows, his hold on his temper precarious. “She belongs to no one but herself.”
Those words strengthen me.
“So be it.” Not-Roshan flicks a hand, and I see Aran start to chant with a look of horrified shame, but as in the past, he doesn’t do anything to fight whatever iniquitous hold his king has on him.
The runes on my cuffs brighten again and an eruption of agony drives me to the ground.
My entire body feels like it’s on fire as if my own magic is boiling me alive.
My simurgh screams and screams as we’re torn apart by an unseen force, and then we start to weaken, our magic being stripped like swatches of skin.
Gods, I’m fucking dying. Whimpering, I tear at the bracers until blood pools across my skin, but nothing stops the onslaught.
Dimly, I hear Darrius roaring my name before crashing down beside me.
“Had enough?” Not-Roshan taunts.
Shuddering, eyes wet with tears, I spit a mouthful of blood. “Fuck you.”
“I suppose not then,” he says, and searing pain crashes through me anew. “Aran, a portal, if you please.”
“Your Majesty, we can’t leave her like this,” he grits out, staring helplessly at my contorted, crumpled form. “This is wrong.”
“She made her choice. Don’t worry, the defiant little star won’t die. She’ll wish she did, however.”
Darrius cradles my face, tears running down his own cheeks and cutting paths through the dried blood there.
This proud, impervious king is weeping because of my pain .
. . because he can’t take it away or fight these demons for me.
His eyes are brilliant gold, his features sharpening with every second, and I know I’m about to lose him to the curse.
“Stay. With me. Dare,” I sob brokenly. “Please . . .”
“Starbright, remember what Ve said,” he whispers urgently, pressing his forehead to mine as I convulse uncontrollably.
Sweet darkness flickers across my consciousness; I would welcome it.
“You are both lock and key. You’re the only one who can break these chains.
I’d give my life to take the pain for you, but I cannot.
” He kisses me, his lips on mine, but I can barely feel them. “Please, Starbright, you must fight.”
Darrius’s beautiful voice fills me inside. Pain is the greatest teacher in life; it is both a seed of courage and the root of strength. Without pain, there’s no evolution, just like without darkness, there is no light. We are but a vessel. Fight and be reborn, pátnī.
I can barely think through the torment saturating my senses, but the word—that word—filled with so much hope infuses me with a strength I didn’t know I possessed.
The bond between us pulses, and wondrously, I feel a surge of vitality as his magic bolsters mine.
I dig deep into the wellspring of akasha in my blood to the core of my starlight power.
To my soul.
Swallowing my sobs of agony, I sink into the spell eating away at my essence and embrace it.
I let the blistering paroxysm spread into every molecule, because from the ashes, my faithful simurgh and I can only rise.
The pain is debilitating, but I was born to burn, and my own flames can never immolate me.
The runes on my arms erupt, my aura so blindingly bright that I have to close my eyes, and then finally, I feel my simurgh emerge from the embers like a drizzle of stardust kissing my skin. She lets out a war cry from our lips that makes everyone clap their hands over their ears.
Delving inward, I target the corrosion woven into the bracers like small lesions in the starlight of my magic, and I heal each of them one by one, purging the rot from within.
These cuffs were created by my magic—corrupted, twisted magic used to overpower and oppress me—but it’s still mine. I am the key.
Open.
The cuffs release, falling to the ground, and I collapse.
If I wasn’t staring at the king of Oryndhr right at that minute, I would have missed it—a look of utter awe, so filled with love, pride, and heartbreak that it’s like a punch to the gut. Unconsciously, I reach a hand out, a spiral of starlight ghosting over him.
I never wanted to hurt you, my starling.
My magic brightens, amplifying his thoughts. Roshan?
It’s too late for me. Save them. Save everyone. You’re the fiercest woman I know.
A sob wells in my throat. Ro, are you with me?
I’m always with you, Sura.
Clutching his head, my former love snarls like an animal, a grotesque undulation beneath his skin making his spine snap straight and his eyes bleed to a putrid mauve and then go frighteningly vacant.
And suddenly, we are in the presence of something so evil that the stench of decay spreads everywhere.
A dark purple film descends over his irises and spidery tendrils of rot branch over his cheekbones.
He looks like something born of the abyss.
A monstrous, inhuman creature.
The entity that has taken over the king of Oryndhr hisses like a serpent as Aran hastily conjures a portal behind them.
One by one, they disappear, but right before he enters, the god-king pauses, his voice like knives against the senses.
“I’ll see you soon, son, and next time, this realm will be mine. ”
“Son?” I mumble, wondering whom he’s talking to.
His mouth curls into a gruesome rictus. “Oh, little Starkeeper. How much he has kept from you. Your precious fated is the heir of death himself.”