69. Chapter 69
Chapter 69
A scream tore from Aurelia's throat, drowned out by the deafening roar in her head.
Ven slumped to the ground beside her, and she caught him, her arm wrapping around his back.
“No—no, no, no,” she whispered, pulling his body into hers as his crimson eyes snagged on her face. Wet seeped through her gear, between her splayed fingers as she held him, but she didn't dare pull her hand away . . . she knew what she would find. She didn't want him to see the terror she felt, but he only gazed up at her, a look of calm passing over his features as she cradled his head.
Her fingers threaded through the strands of his dark hair as she looked down at his face. His eyes were closed, and maybe it was a mercy that she wouldn't have to witness the light leaving them. His shadowskin had torn open revealing the edges of the tattoo inked across his chest. His face—flecked with red and black blood looked . . . peaceful. And as anguish burned through her, she recalled what he'd told her of the goddess they served. That Fate was a respite from this world.
But she hardly believed that. Fate was a cold, cruel mistress.
Metal gleamed as Maloch got to his feet, the black bands inked around his wrists flexing with the corded muscle beneath as his heavy blade drug across the frozen dirt. He walked to where Karro lay unconscious on the ground, lifting his scythe once more.
A flash of white appeared between the demon prince and Karro. And red flame burst from Valea’s hands as she tried to shield the Wraith from Maloch’s fury. But the demon prince hardly seemed to feel the pain as he gripped her wrist, twisting her arm with a crack that had the fierce female whimpering as she stumbled back.
The droning in Aurelia's skull was deafening now as her gaze drifted across the courtyard. Where Valea crawled across Karro’s motionless form. Where the remaining smiths had encircled Embra as she worked to heal the injured, the soft golden-green glow of her magick blotted out by the mass of demons now closing in on them. And she caught a glimpse of Hathos, a grimace etched into his rugged face as he lifted his hammer in one hand and a broadsword in the other before she lost sight of him, too.
Nira still fought beside Agius—bloodied and gore-spattered, the screaming from inside the palace louder now as an endless sea of glowing green eyes and hunched, dark shapes poured through the broken walls. Silver and blue cloaks were strewn across the ground, bloodied and broken along with the black gear of the fallen Wraiths. Among them, the crumpled bodies of men, women . . . children. A spill of auburn curls snagged her eyes, and Aurelia clamped them shut against the depthless despair that threatened to shatter her into oblivion.
Every sense emptied from her as she looked down. The pain was so visceral, so excruciating, that she was certain she’d find a gaping, bloody hole where her heart had been ripped from her body . . . But no, Fate had not been kind enough to take her.
Numbness spread through her chest as she clawed at the dregs of her power—tearing, grasping for any thread. Begging and pleading Fate or the Unnamed or whatever god had forsaken them tonight . . .
A flicker of pale gold was the only answer, faint as a breathless gasp as it left her fingertips and disappeared into Ven’s chest.
The last of her magick.
She had spent most of her life playing a pawn in someone else’s game. Powerless. But Ven had shown her how much more she was capable of, and she would not waste what he had given her—what all of them had given her—by being a passive bystander. If she could give them a chance, even a sliver of hope, she would take that wager every single time.
Because in some matches, winning required sacrificing the queen.
Lifting her hand, she gently traced the red ink of the claiming mark along Ven's throat. And with a voice that belonged to someone else, she breathed, “I offer a blood oath.”
The words were barely a whisper, and yet they seemed to carry across the din of battle as Maloch turned, his blade poised to cleave Valea in half where she covered Karro’s body with her own.
“No—” Nira hissed.
The Wraith Commander cut through another demon as she fought toward Aurelia, but she only offered her friend, her sister, a parting glance as her gaze lifted to Maloch's ruthless face.
The sharp edge of her dagger bit into her palm. “I’ll go to your king willingly,” she uttered, “if you spare their lives.”
Maloch raised his gruesome weapon higher, and Valea’s eyes blazed with grim resolve as she waited for death.
The demon prince brought down the sharp edge of his blade, halting a foot above Valea's head as he sliced his hand, black blood welling up in his palm as his voice ripped through the night.
I accept.
Threads of black mingled with scarlet as their blood joined, clashing and churning in the air. Not the beautiful union that her blood oath had been with Ven, but something that spoke of possession and submission. Something wrong .
Triumph whispered across Maloch's expression, but it was tinged with something that resembled pity as the blood oath settled onto her skin, searing and burning as black bands wound across her wrists.
One by one, the demons flooding the battered remains of the courtyard disappeared—until they were nothing more than clouds of gray ash floating away in the winter wind.
Maloch stretched out a hand the color of obsidian. And the shallow rise of Ven’s chest was the last thing Aurelia saw as she was plunged into endless night.