Chapter 40 An Unraveling of Divinity and Mortality #3
One hand left my waist to fumble with the locks on my manacles, movements uncharacteristically clumsy. His hands shook as he worked the mechanisms, fingers slipping in the blood that coated both our bodies.
The first manacle gave way, and my right arm fell limply to my side, sending a fresh wave of agony through me. I might have screamed. I couldn’t be sure. Sound itself seemed to be coming from very far away, muffled by the roaring in my ears that matched the rhythm of my failing heart.
Valen’s face was close to mine now as he reached for the second manacle, his features twisted with concentration.
My blood was smeared across his copper skin, staining his perfect face, matting in his dark hair where it had fallen forward.
His jaw clenched so tightly that I could see the muscle jump beneath his skin, a vein pulsing at his temple.
The second manacle released, and I collapsed entirely, unable to support my own weight.
Valen caught me, his arms encircling my broken body with unexpected gentleness.
He lowered me to the floor, kneeling beside me, his hands hovering over the wounds in my sides as though uncertain whether to touch them.
“I can fix this,” he muttered, but his voice lacked conviction. “I can—“
His hands descended, pressing against the worst of the wounds, and fresh agony exploded through my body. I screamed again, the sound tearing from my throat like something alive. Valen jerked back as though burned, his eyes widening further.
“It’s getting worse,” he said, his voice rising with something that sounded almost like panic. “It’s rejecting me, it’s still feeding—“
He broke off, staring at his hands with dawning horror. They were covered in my blood, but beneath the scarlet coating, his skin still pulsed with power—veins of light visible beneath the surface, as though his divine essence had broken free of its mortal container and couldn’t be contained again.
Despite the pain, despite the darkness creeping ever closer at the edges of my vision, I felt a surge of something like triumph. I had done this. I had broken through his careful control, had made him forget himself so completely that his power had turned on him as surely as it had turned on me.
I managed a smile, feeling blood bubble between my lips. “You... lose,” I whispered, the words barely audible.
His head snapped up, eyes meeting mine with a flash of the familiar anger that had defined our relationship for so long. But beneath it now was something new—something almost like fear.
“This isn’t a game, Mireille,” he growled, but the effect was somewhat diminished by the tremor in his voice. “You’re dying.”
“Worth it,” I managed, still smiling through the blood. “To see... your face... like this.”
His expression hardened, the momentary vulnerability giving way to a more familiar mask of cold fury. But his hands still shook as he tried again to stem the bleeding, pressing against my wounds with renewed determination.
The pain when he touched me was beyond bearing, a white-hot agony that obliterated thought.
I think I must have lost consciousness for a moment, because when I next became aware of my surroundings, Valen was no longer touching me.
He had backed away, risen to his feet, and was staring down at me with an unreadable expression.
“I can let you die,” he said, his voice soft. “It would be a mercy. You’ve been begging for it since the beginning.”
Before I could respond, a new voice cut through the heavy air of my cell—not in my head this time, but audible, projecting from the cell next to mine. Death’s voice, but different from how he spoke to me—colder, more formal, with an edge of contempt that I’d never heard directed at me.
“Have you broken your plaything again, brother?”
Valen’s head snapped up, his attention shifting to the wall that separated my cell from Death’s. His expression hardened completely, any vulnerability shuttering behind a mask of cool disdain.
“This doesn’t concern you, brother,” he replied, his voice regaining some of its usual control.
Death laughed, the sound echoing strangely through the stone. “Doesn’t it? I’ve saved her once before, I could do it again.”
I was floating too far from myself, the pain creating a strange distance between my mind and my failing body. Gods playing their divine games. It made a terrible kind of sense.
“What will you give me this time, Vharok?” Death’s use of the god’s name seemed deliberately provocative. “You’ve already removed two of my chains. How many more would you remove to save your little toy? How much more of my power would you restore?”
Valen growled, taking another step away from me. “Don’t play games with me. Name your price.”
“Complete freedom.” Death’s voice was flat, unyielding. “All chains removed.”
“Impossible.” Valen’s response was immediate, almost instinctive. “You know I can’t do that.”
I coughed again, the sound wet and alarmingly weak. Both gods fell silent, their attention returning to my failing body. The pain was receding now, replaced by a creeping numbness that I knew was far more dangerous. I was slipping away, my grasp on consciousness growing tenuous.
“She’ll die,” Valen said finally, his voice strangely hollow. “If neither of us heals her, she’ll die.”
“Yes,” Death agreed, something soft and almost sad entering his tone.
Valen was silent for a long moment as he looked down at me. I stared back at him through half-lidded eyes, no longer able to focus properly, my vision blurring at the edges.
“If she dies, she would be trapped like all the others,” Valen said finally, as if to himself. “Caught before the void without passage. I could still reach her.”
He knelt beside me once more, careful not to touch me, his eyes studying my face with an intensity that might have been uncomfortable had I the strength to care.
“I won’t release any more of your chains,” he said, speaking to Death but looking at me. “I have not completed my revenge just yet.”
“Then she dies,” Death said simply.
Valen’s jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. He leaned closer to me, his voice dropping, meant for my ears alone.
“This isn’t over between us, Princess,” he murmured, something like reluctant resignation coloring his tone. “You are still mine. I can still reach you. Your death is merely… inconvenient.”
Without another word, Valen turned and stalked from the cell, his movements stiff and controlled as though he were holding himself together by sheer force of will.
The door slammed behind him with a metallic clang that reverberated through the dungeon, the sound of his retreating footsteps fading until only silence remained.