Chapter 79 #2
“Oh, but you did.” Brennan’s eyes darkened, his fist closing around Vehsa’s dagger.
Nails scraping the daisies. Jostling the brown leather pouch he wore around his waist. Cillian’s pouch.
Another piece of what he’d stolen on the beach.
“You are my pet, Zadriel, yet you allowed Cillian to steal my sap and my Heart from my room. Followed him to Castle Berwick and supported his delusions as he attempted to execute my plans before we were ready, watching as he wasted everything on that woman. You walked him to his death.”
The scent of burnt flesh throbbed in Zadriel’s memory, seeping into his lungs along with the savory smoke wafting over from Moldenna.
His stomach churning, bile crawling up his throat.
Zadriel took a slow breath, attempting to leash his fear.
“Cillian was his own man,” he said, keeping his voice even.
Knowing this would end in agony, but it would be much worse if he stoked Brennan’s ire.
“You know as well as I do, there was no stopping him.”
Brennan chuckled darkly. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your delusions of freedom. I intend to spend the rest of my life breaking you of such foolish notions.” He pulled the dagger free, sanguine already coating the iron blade.
The rhythmic drip, drip, drip of crimson blood against the tent floor ticked away the seconds, time slipping into the ether, leaving Zadriel alone to face whatever hell awaited. He already knew what came next. Whose blood soaked the blade.
“Did you know my son wrote me letters while he played king?” Brennan sliced into his palm, blood welling to the surface, mixing with what was already there.
Heat surged through Zadriel’s veins while Brennan wove his blood thrall, edging closer.
Not allowing Zadriel an ounce of space. “He knew you wanted the princess for yourself.”
The low ceiling grazed Zadriel’s head, off-white walls fluttering while a spring breeze drifted past. The tent felt too small. The air too thick, soured by citrus and copper.
A pallor seeped over Zadriel’s face, his breath coming in short, desperate pants while he inched away. It was a dangerous thing, that knowledge, but at least Brennan didn’t know Mora was his mate. He could take solace in that.
He didn’t bother pleading—Brennan had taught him at a young age that there was no point. Instead, his wide, glittering eyes flicked to Aedlin. He hoped she saw what he couldn’t say, a plea for her to take Darius and run the moment she was able.
The grass caressed Zadriel’s boots when he stepped outside, off-white fabric framing Brennan like a fallen angel.
“I loved Cillian like a brother,” he said, skirting around the tent while Brennan followed.
Inching closer to the massive wall of viridian and evergreen, half-tempted to run into their embrace.
Knowing the blood thrall would force him back moments later.
Two sanguineous streams raced over Brennan’s fist to curl around his wrist, the eye in his gods awful ring spinning around while it watched.
Zadriel was vaguely aware of the tremor in his legs, the sweat coating his palms. He took another step back, despite his stiff bones, agony dipping its claws into his spine. Clawing through him.
He needed to hold on a moment longer. To lead Brennan away.
It was difficult to swallow, his throat painfully dry. “This won’t...” Zadriel took a slow breath, his hold on his body already failing. “... bring him back,” he managed to spit out before falling to his knees.
Brennan took his time breaking the distance between them, an oak sapling snapping beneath his boot. Behind him, Aedlin slipped from the tent, her hand pressed over Darius’s mouth, the wind fluttering in her blue dress.
Thank the Mother.
His spine grew stiff, back painfully straight. Zadriel flexed his fingers, baring his teeth when Brennan stood before him, calling on the last of his might.
A lethal growl tore free—he drew out his knife and slammed it into the man’s foot, his fist crashing against leather. Muscle and tendons popping while metal sliced into flesh.
The dagger slipped from Brennan’s hand while a sharp hiss rasped between his clenched teeth. Zadriel attempted to keep his grip. To pull the blade free and stab Brennan again and again. But his body slackened, fingers slipping away. The knife handle sticking out from a mud-stained brown boot.
“If you thought you knew pain before...” Brennan snarled, bending down to tear the knife free. A brutal promise writhing in the depths of blinding azure.
Zadriel knew he would pay in flesh, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. So long as Aedlin and Darius could flee. His heart slowed to a gentle thrum, his unblinking stare a churning sea of black speckled with gold.
He was a puppet now. Waiting for Brennan’s command.
Lowering himself to one knee, Brennan used the sharp edge of the paring knife to force Zadriel’s chin up, pricking the skin and smearing blood on his blade. “Did you end my son?”
“No.” Zadriel’s deep voice was soulless, devoid of the anguish he felt. Each breath calm and steady.
“Who did?” Brennan demanded through gritted teeth, sweat beading on his forehead. Trickling down to gather in his rich brown hair, the long strands hanging past his chin.
“I don’t know.”
Brennan pulled the blade away and Zadriel’s head bobbed forward until he stared at his breeches, grass tickling the dark fabric. Trickles of Brennan’s blood seeping between the weeds to stain Zadriel’s knees.
Then, Brennan’s fist slammed into Zadriel’s cheek with a thunderous crack, stars exploding in his vision while his body lurched to the side, his face crashing onto the ground.
Nausea clawed through his stomach, a thick stream of blood welling in his nostrils and spilling down his throat.
The cool weeds caressing his skin doing little to soothe the pulsing pain.
“Who do you think ended my son?” Brennan seethed.
“I don’t know.”
Crack.
The skin on Zadriel’s cheek split when knuckle hit bone, blood spilling from the wound. An ache thrumming in his skull.
“Who could have ended my son?”
“I don’t know.”
The next blow was lower, a loud snap echoing from Zadriel’s jaw, agony erupting in its wake. Sharp canines pierced his inner lip, blood and saliva slipping over his teeth to pool on the earth, mixing with the dried pine needles and broken twigs scattered throughout the grass.
The tip of the paring knife came into Zadriel’s vision, silver glinting dangerously close to his eye. One flinch from Brennan and it would slice into his black iris.
“What use are you to me then? You saw nothing, heard nothing, know nothing.” Brennan pursed his lips, staring down at the small blade.
“It’s a shame I need you alive,” he sighed, lowering the blade until it hovered above the broken flesh on Zadriel’s cheekbone.
“But that doesn’t mean you need to be whole. ”
Zadriel lay motionless, his head pounding, face slick with crimson. His limbs were heavy, his body a foreign thing. Was this what Mora felt when she became obsidian vapors, the undulating mass so like the smoke crawling up the Mother Tree as She burned?
As he burned Her.
Whatever happened next, Zadriel accepted it.
Let this be the Mother’s retribution.
The blade inched closer, nearly touching the flesh beneath his eye.
“Stop!” Aedlin yelled, her voice too gods damned close.
You were supposed to run, Zadriel screamed in his mind.
There was no relief when the knife moved away from his field of vision, Brennan turning to find Aedlin standing near the far side of the tent, Darius clutched to her chest.
Brennan clicked his tongue. “You do not command me, Aedlin; you’ve never been my queen.”
Aedlin’s throat bobbed, but she lifted her chin. “Zadriel had nothing to do with your son’s death.”
“Oh?” Brennan stood, the light of the moon tumbling over his shoulder. “Was it you?” he asked, moving closer. Trying and failing to hide his limp.
“N-no.” Aedlin’s wide, amber eyes were so bright they burned themselves into Zadriel’s mind—for once, every emotion played on her face, the mask she wore crumbling to dust and floating away with the gentle breeze.
Brennan took another step and she trembled, clutching Darius tighter.
His head cocked to the side while he examined her face. “Did you send a guard to do your dirty work?”
“No.” Aedlin was more resolute, her eyes narrowed, but her hands shook and Darius sensed it, whimpering as he pressed his head into the hollow of his mother’s neck.
“Who. Killed. My. Son.” Each word was a threat, what was left of Brennan’s patience slipping away to be consumed by fury.
Amber clashed with obsidian—Zadriel felt the weight of that stare, despite his inability to react. They bored into his soul, an apology in those honeyed gems that looked so much like her.
“Mora,” she muttered.
One word.
Uttered quietly. Hesitantly. Smothered by disbelief, rage, and sorrow, her heavy voice curling around the name in a protective embrace.
Despite Brennan’s hold on him, Zadriel’s heart faltered.
The pulse of warmth he felt when he thought of his mate grew frigid, cold burning in his chest. Blood spilled from the gash on his cheek, tumbling over his lips to join the saliva puddling beneath his face, but it felt so far away.
He wanted—needed—to dig his nails into his heart and claw through his bones until that soul-deep pulse released him.
Until he could double over and roar. But Zadriel couldn’t move.
His mate had killed his brother, ending the only family he had… and damning Zadriel to this.