Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Seth
The realization throws me for a loop. “He’s a puppet, too?”
The sound that comes out of Zane isn’t his laugh. It’s too hollow, too sharp—like something else is wearing his voice, but it’s not fitting right.
Lucian’s head snaps toward us. Kieran goes still, his hand tightening around the charm at his throat. I let go of Zane, and he drops to the floor. He tilts his head up at me before he stands, eyes flat, skin pulled tight across his cheekbones like a mask stretched too thin.
“Who’s controlling him?” Lucian demands.
Kieran swallows. “I can’t tell.”
My pulse spikes. “Can’t or won’t?”
“I can’t. Whoever it is—” His gaze sweeps the room, unfocused. “They’re not at this estate.”
Zane’s lips twitch. A crack that might’ve once been a smile. “It doesn’t matter.” His voice scrapes the air, distorted. “You think killing me kills my master?”
Lucian steps toward him, ready to shift. I am, too, the old instinct kicking in—one I wish I didn’t still have.
Zane’s gaze finds me again. “You always were predictable.”
Something in me snaps. I lunge at him, my fist connecting with his jaw. The bone cracks, and black smoke curls from the split skin before another chunk of flesh falls off.
Wrong. All of this is so wrong.
“Hold him,” Kieran shouts. “I need him still.”
Zane’s arm whips out, but Lucian catches it mid-swing and pins it behind his back. I grab his other arm and force it back against the wall, my body straining against a strength that doesn’t belong to him. Lucian whips out his knife and holds it against Zane’s neck.
Kieran is already chanting, low at first, then sharper, faster. Words that scrape the edge of sound.
“What are you doing?” Zane spits, jerking against me. His face twists—not with rage, or fear, just confusion. “Stop—”
Lucian bears down on the blade, voice flat as he asks Kieran, “Who is the necromancer?”
“I told you…I can’t…He’s not here,” he hisses between chanted phrases. Sweat runs down his temple as his words become louder, more intense.
Zane thrashes, his body bucking. “You think you can burn him out? You’ll never find him! You’ll only get rid of me!”
“That’s fine with me,” I growl.
His eyes flare at Lucian, bright and wrong. “He won’t stop, you know. Not now. Not when he knows your mate is carrying a child. He’ll want both of them.”
He jerks forward, and I slam him back against the wall. His breath smells of smoke and decay. He’s fading, the thing inside him fighting to stay anchored.
Kieran’s voice grows louder, the rhythm of his chants pounding in my skull. Symbols begin to shimmer under Zane’s skin—thin veins of crimson light, writhing like they’re alive.
Lucian grits out, “Finish it.”
“I’m trying!” Kieran snaps, snarling at us. “Keep him still!”
Zane looks at me before his eyes roll back in his head, leaving nothing but white. “He’ll come for you next,” he gasps, voice fracturing. “For her.”
Selene’s name never leaves his mouth, but the intent is clear. The bond between us flares—wild, protective, raw. I shove him harder against the wall, rage turning into motion. “You don’t get to touch her. Ever.”
He laughs again—a jagged, broken sound that dies on his tongue. His body spasms, muscles locking. The glow beneath his skin intensifies, red changing to silver.
Kieran’s voice cuts through everything now, his words burning the air itself. The ground hums under my boots.
“Almost there,” he chokes out. “Don’t let him break free!”
Lucian leans in, blade pressed under Zane’s chin. “Who is the necromancer?”
Zane’s lips part. For a moment, I think he’ll answer. Then, he screams.
The noise tears through the room. His back arches, body convulsing. The light crawls up his throat, bursting through the fissures across his chest.
Kieran doesn’t stop. The chant builds, cresting into a final phrase that doesn’t belong to any language I have ever heard.
Zane’s eyes find mine one last time. For a heartbeat, there’s something human there—pain, regret, recognition—and then, it’s gone.
The light explodes, and his body fractures, shattering into ash mid-scream. For a moment, his outline hangs in the air, a ghost made of dust. Then it collapses, falling through my fingers in a slow, gray rain.
A hush follows. Thick. Suffocating.
Kieran sways, catching himself on the edge of a table. Lucian lowers his knife, chest heaving. I just stand there, staring at the pile of ash on the floor.
Selene’s voice breaks the silence. “Seth?”
She’s across the room, near Astra. Her hands are trembling, her eyes bright with shock. The bond between us buzzes—so alive, so loud.
Kieran wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “The undead is destroyed. Whatever bound him—it’s gone.” His gaze flicks to my mate. “And you, Selene—you’re free. The binding he had on you snapped when he disintegrated.”
Selene exhales, a sound somewhere between relief and anguish. Her eyes meet mine, and for a second, the room fades away.
Lucian’s tone cuts through the haze. “The necromancer?”
Kieran shakes his head weakly. “He must have anticipated that we would come, that someone would come. He remained hidden. If he were on the estate, I would sense him.”
Lucian’s jaw tightens. “Then, we’ll find him.”
I nod, but I can’t stop shaking. The ash clings to my skin, sticking to the sweat and blood. No matter how hard I try to brush it off, it stays.
When I finally look up, Selene is coming toward me, watching me. Her mouth opens, words caught behind the tremor in her breath.
“Are you hurt?” she asks softly.
“No.”
Her gaze holds mine, steady despite the fear still in it. The bond between us pulls tight with heat and gratitude and something else I can’t name.
Zane is gone. Selene is free. But the air still tastes like ash.
She steps closer, just enough that I can feel her warmth, though we don’t touch. My chest aches with everything I don’t say.
“Don’t,” she whispers. “Don’t shut me out right now.”
“I’m not.” My voice comes out rough. “I just…can’t let go yet.”
The corner of her mouth shudders, but she nods. “Then don’t.”
Behind her, Lucian steadies Astra, the last echoes of the spell on her fading from the air. The scent of burnt magic lingers—iron and smoke and the faint trace of something old leaving the room.
I keep my eyes on Selene. The dust still swirls around us, catching the light like embers.
Zane’s gone. But she’s here.
And for the first time in too long, I can breathe.
The aftermath of this whole incident is nothing compared to the guilt my mate feels.
It’s been a week, and the castle feels quieter now, though maybe that’s just me. Selene spends most of her time in the healers’ compound, looking after her friend. Although Daciana is recovering, Selene holds herself responsible for what happened.
Astra has tried to convince her it wasn’t her fault. Daciana, too. But my mate refuses to leave her friend’s side. At this point, I’ve simply accepted it.
I check on her every day, bring her food, maybe drag her home to sleep for a few hours and change her clothes. But I know that till Selene is sure Daciana will be fine, she won’t think about anything else. She nearly killed her closest friend—the woman who saved her—and she can’t forgive herself.
I also have things to deal with, however, so that’s where I put my focus.
It is dim in Lucian’s study, the fire throwing dull light across the walls.
Leon is standing near the window, arms folded.
Kieran sits a little apart in the high-backed chair opposite the hearth, elbows on his knees, the worn lines of his face catching the glow.
His eyes are sharp despite the exhaustion.
Lucian paces, his mood as heavy as the silence engulfing the room.
Kieran is the one who finally breaks it. His voice is low, steady. “Zane had been dead for a long time.”
“How long?” Lucian asks.
“At least a year,” Kieran says. “Maybe closer to five.” He exhales slowly, the sound jagged. “I checked what remained of the anchor traces. They were old. Reinforced again and again. Whoever maintained him knew how to feed a corpse without losing control.”
Leon grimaces. “Five years? That’s impossible.”
“Not impossible,” Kieran says, eyes fixed on the fire. “Just horrifying.”
I lean forward in my chair at the table. “If he’s been dead that long, then this didn’t start recently.”
“No.” Kieran’s tone is grim. “This was methodical. Someone raised him, kept him stable, waited for the right time.”
My throat tightens. “Three years ago, the Radrick patriarch died. Then the heirs started dying. One after another. All clean deaths, all unsolved.”
Leon looks over. “You think that’s connected?”
“I know it is.” My tone is flat. “Whoever the necromancer is, they cleared the bloodline. Zane was next in line for the title. They wanted him there as their puppet.”
Lucian’s jaw flexes. “The whole plan seemed to be to get to Astra. But since she only arrived here relatively recently, and is only seven weeks pregnant now, they must have had another plan before. One they decided not to carry out.”
Kieran nods once. “The red powder you showed me was blood dust. It is shed from an undead.”
Leon mutters, “Word’s spreading. They’re saying Zane tried to attack the Queen. That he kidnapped Her Majesty, and you killed him.”
Lucian doesn’t flinch. “Better they think that than the truth.”
“How’s the Council taking it?” I ask.
“They’re quiet,” Leon says. “Too quiet. They’re watching to see how this shakes the court. They’ll move when they can twist it to their advantage.”
Kieran rubs his temples, weariness in every motion. “The necromancer should be scared of trying again. For now. But don’t fool yourselves. They’ll come back around—if not with another undead, then with something worse.”
Lucian’s voice hardens. “You’re saying they’ll come for Astra again?”