Chapter 42
AMAIA
The night that we broke Samryn’s curse, it was clear and quiet, the moonlight and stars reflecting off the glass-smooth lake, a place we’d been before.
We’d been chipping away at the curse more and more, nearly every night, after my parents had arrived in the Arsadia.
The illa’rosh would begin soon, the choosing for the acolytes, and I was convinced that we could end this tonight, before all of Grymia would make the journey to the Tharken cliffs in a few days’ time.
I felt it, had thought of nothing else nearly all day, practically bounding with energy when Alaryk returned from his patrol.
The only thing that had broken me from my determination was witnessing Kyr take flight this morning.
I’d known that today would come all too soon.
I’d known that I would feel the chipping of sadness, deep within my breast, to watch Kyr’s uncertainty, his fear at being presented to the elder Elthika.
Another Rythback, one belonging to one of Alaryk’s own riders, had chosen to take Kyr under his wing.
It had been a beautiful thing to witness, to watch them take their first flight together, Kyr clumsy but growing stronger with every passing second.
I’d anticipated the sadness. But I didn’t anticipate the pride.
Tarkosh had reached over to squeeze my hand afterward. I’d been surprised, but she’d only inclined her head, looking at the tears dripping from my cheeks. You did well with him, Amaia, she’d said.
The first words of praise she’d said to me since I’d taken the eggs from the hatchery.
And I’d known then that everything would be okay. I’d watched Kyr until he’d disappeared into Ny’am with the elder. I missed him…I was proud of him…but I also knew there was much more work to be done. He would be one of many that I would watch take flight over Grymia.
At least I hoped.
Feeling that love for Kyr helped my own determination when it came to Samryn, the Elthika that Alaryk loved and respected. And now that I knew the depth of a bonded pairing and how much it would hurt Alaryk to lose him, I knew that I would do anything to break the Vyrin from the curse.
And so, on that night, I was determined to do just that.
Alaryk felt it within me. We’d been strangely quiet as we rode on Elthika-back to the lakeside. We didn’t know what we’d find at the center of the curse, so we got as far away from Grymia as possible.
Alaryk pulled me to him, pressing his forehead against mine, before we started. I felt everything roiling within him: his fear for me, his uncertainty over the curse, but also his love, his support. He’d be the pillar that I needed, and he would pick me up when I, inevitably, fell.
And as the night drew on, I needed to lean on him more and more.
The curse grew in power the closer I got to its core, a tangled ball of rot and muck and dark magic. Being near it, strangely, made me feel like I was in the forest again with Ryak. My feet getting weighed down by mud, my body aching, cold from the icy sheets of rain and fear.
Stop this, Alaryk told me across the bond. I could feel his own rising panic. The more I hacked away at the curse, the more it took from me.
Once the Karath of Grym would’ve used up every fragment of my heartstone magic if it meant saving Samryn’s life.
Now I could feel the choice looming in his mind. My safety…or Samryn’s life.
I refused to make him choose…though I knew which he’d pick.
He’d told me so himself a few nights prior.
That if worse came to worst…it would be me.
It had been a terrible thing, hearing that confession fall from his lips, whispered in the reprieve and quiet of our bed after lovemaking, because I knew how much he loved Samryn. Yet he would choose me.
But I couldn’t allow that to happen. It would tear him in two. I could do this. I would do this. Not just for Samryn, but for the Karath I’d come to love.
Trust in me, I told Alaryk, feeling the wiggle of Samryn’s own heartstone magic, inherent and wild in all Elthika.
It had been so diminished, so weakened by the curse that when I brushed my own against it, I was amazed at the raw power I felt.
It was breaking through, becoming stronger as I held the curse down.
I do, mariss, Alaryk told me, frustration lining the bond. Then determination. Let’s finish this. So you’ll never be in danger again.
With the tendrils of Samryn’s magic, with Alaryk, strong and stable and certain at my back, I imagined a blade, sharp as slivered glass, feeling the last of the curse wiggle in my grasp.
I was stronger than it now. Once it had seemed insurmountable.
Overwhelming. A forest of violence and betrayal and cold vengeance meant to kill.
But with Alaryk, with Samryn, its death and demise was a certain thing. We had worked hard for this moment. Weeks of pain, of struggle, of grief…and it would all end tonight.
And so, with the peaceful lake glittering with starlight nearby, not even the hint of a breeze threatening to disrupt its calm, I plunged the last of the magic I’d built, spearing the curse straight through.
Like a beating heart, I felt it spasm. I felt it wiggle like an animal, a wild beast against me, trying to escape, trying to survive.
I twisted. Just as Alaryk had twisted the blade in Ryak.
A deafening sound exploded in my ears, but I thought to an onlooker it might’ve been silent. My eardrums popped and crackled, pressure rising in my temples.
An unseen force rippled out from the heart of the curse, physically knocking me back, sending me straight into Alaryk as my magic overflowed from me like a flooding river, glowing and seeping.
“I have you,” he growled into my ear as the sounds grew louder and louder, all around us.
A violent wind was rushing, twining my hair up around my head like it was caught in a tornado, whipping against my cheeks, harsh enough to sting.
Alaryk huddled me closer, protecting me, his hand cupping the back of my head, pushing me into his chest.
A roar, booming and ground-shaking, cracked open my very soul, filling it with hope.
No, not a roar. An assured victory.
And with Samryn’s final attack on the curse, banishing it with his own unearthed and undiminished heartstone magic…the world went silent. The wind died. The quiet of the night returned as if it had never been interrupted.
I sucked in a breath, my ears sounding stuffed with cloth, but I hesitantly looked up at Alaryk. Immediately, I felt him drifting over my skin, feeding me his own strength, letting it fill all the places that the curse had eaten away.
I closed my eyes as he healed me, my hand winding down to wrap around his wrist, holding him tight. When it was done, I nearly sagged in appreciative relief.
“Did we…?” I whispered.
Alaryk’s gaze was bright and warm. I felt the answer reverberate across the bond.
That was when I heard something different. A whispering sound. Familiar. At first I thought it was a heartstone, the energy near like it’d been in Ny’am.
But when I turned, I saw Samryn’s red eyes in the darkness. He was still lying down on the earth, but his head was raised as he regarded the both of us. His scales were thrumming, creating a song of his own. A beautiful one, haunting and hushed. One I thought I could listen to forever.
“What is that?” I whispered, not wanting to break the spell.
Alaryk’s hand wrapped around my hip as he moved into place beside me.
“His sy’asha,” he said, the quiet reverence in his voice unmistakable. “An Elthika’s song.”
A deep breath fell from him, one of relief. Pure and beautiful.
“It’s gone,” he told me. “This is his thanks. His blessing. Meant for you and you alone, Amaia.”
“His blessing?”
Alaryk turned me toward me. “He knows I’ve chosen you as my mate. He knows I intend to take you as my wife. To be mine. For the rest of our days.”
My heart gave a little throb, a swooping in my belly accompanying it. I tried to fight against the grin that threatened to crack my face open. I felt like I was floating, light as air after what we’d accomplished. “Oh? You do? And do I have a say in this decision?”
Alaryk grinned. “You do. And you’ll undoubtedly give me your strong opinion about the matter.”
“And you’ll just be bossy about it regardless,” I breathed, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“You do like that,” he whispered, the words drifting across my lips when he leaned down.
The kiss was soft, bordering on sweet.
“Thank you, Amaia,” he breathed against me, as Samryn’s sy’asha wrapped around us like a veil. “Thank you.”
“Alaryk.”
He dragged his lips across my cheekbone, across the bridge of my nose.
“I want you to be mine too,” I told him. An answer to his unspoken question, one I felt thrumming within him.
I felt his grin more than saw it.
Across the bond, he replied, I already am, mariss.