Chapter 74
He pulled the blade from the body of the last mercenary, but what he saw nearly stopped his heart.
Evelyne was on her knees, streaked with blood and dirt, and something that looked like vomit, her hands were shaking, her face was ghost-pale. And the mercenary—the one—lay twisted at her feet, neck snapped clean, eyes wide and sightless.
There was no way she could do this with her bare hands.
He looked around sharply, scanning the ruin—Ravik was still locked in a brutal duel near the archway, Cedric had a blade to someone’s throat, and Vesena was gone from view. The priests were dead. Most of the mercenaries too.
He forced himself upright, teeth gritted against the fire burning in his side, and ran to the mercenary. The body. The evidence. He crossed the distance and plunged the blade into the man’s neck with deliberate fury. And left it there.
Breathing heavily, he turned to her. She looked at him, cradling Thalen’s body close to her chest, tears mixed with blood were streaming down her face. He wanted to approach her but something that broke free from the hells itself, stopped him.
It started with a rustle—barely more than a breath of movement.
A broken gait shuffled into the light. A glint of something metallic—jewelry or madness, Alaric couldn’t immediately tell.
The woman emerged from the sea of corpses like a fever dream given shape.
She was older, bent nearly double, her skin a sickly parchment hue stretched too thin over brittle bones.
Blood leaked sluggishly from an open wound at her neck, painting a jagged trail down the tattered drapery of what had once been brown robes and a long blond braid.
A sigil, rough and fresh, carved in crimson across the ruined line of her mouth—three lines intersecting a circle. And Halwen lay beside her feet. His hand still held a dagger after he’d carved the sigil.
The woman’s head lifted.
She looked at Evelyne with red eyes pierced through her, through a frail veil separated the living from whatever slept beyond.
Before he could move, the woman spoke.
“Don’t trust the one who stands beside you when the moon bleeds,” she whispered, her eyes rolled back. “The gate will open when no shadow touches Elareth. Silver festoons the gold.”
Evelyne simply sat there, rigid, her wide gaze locked on the woman as if the words themselves had wrapped chains around her.
Alaric stepped forward, placing himself between them.
The woman swayed where she stood.
“Filaments undone in weeping ash,” she continued to chant. “The guard walks in darkness… the wolf hidden in plain sight…”
Her voice cracked and whatever spell had stitched her together unraveled all at once. The guards surged forward. They seized her, dragging her collapsing form back. She fell into their arms, utterly lifeless this time, her mouth falling open in a final, empty gasp.
Alaric stared down at her, heart thudding, a bitter taste crawling up the back of his throat.
Magic, wild and starved, bled through the cracks in the world where Halwen and his fanatics had tried to tear it open. It roared against the broken stone and raked clawed fingers through the night.
And then it was gone, sucked in by the air.
The shimmering thread faded into soot and silence, leaving only the stench of blood and failure behind.
He turned slowly.
Evelyne was still on the ground, curled over Thalen’s small body. Her nightgown clung to her in blood-soaked folds.
Beside the boy lay the broken wooden sword.
Alaric dropped to his knees, his wound flared, but he didn’t stop. He gathered her and the boy, cradling them. Evelyne shook against him, howling now, deep and guttural. Just the sound of heartbreak wrenched raw and thrown into the night.
Around them, the soldiers began to gather. One man stopped and lowered his head. Another followed, and then another. Hands lifted, pressing to hearts in unison. Blades dipped next, steel catching a shard of moonlight before angling toward the ground.
Ravik stood off to the side, his face carved in anger. Even he, even that scarred and battered cynic, lowered his head. Vesena stood frozen, her eyes red, tears streaking down her cheeks. Isildeth knelt a few paces off, hands over her mouth, trembling.
Cedric shoved past the others, breath ragged, blood on his hands, eyes wild.
The sword slipped from his grip and struck the stone with a sharp, echoing clang.
He crossed the distance slowly, until he dropped to his knees beside them.
His fingers closed around the splintered wooden blade, cradling.
His jaw locked hard, the muscle ticking, but he kept staring down at it.
Alaric rocked Evelyne gently, his cheek pressed to her tangled hair, one hand curled over Thalen’s cooling back. There were no words. Only the unbearable weight of a world that would never be the same again.