Chapter 51
Elorie
Wilder’s eyes are wicked and bright. Around us, the night sky darkens even more. Or maybe it’s the sudden cloud cover overhead, blocking out the moon and stars. A brisk wind whips my hair around my shoulders.
“What did you do?” My words are drowned out by King Malachi, who bursts into a fit of laughter when there’s nothing funny about this.
Tightening my hand on the staff, I think maybe it’s a mistake. I chose the king. At his side, I’ll save my people. But the harder I grip the Staff of Sarrow, the stronger the pull toward Wilder.
My gaze moves to Malachi, who is no longer touching the staff. His hands are at his sides while he watches us with dark amusement. Wilder steps forward, meeting me at the altar, but I don’t dare look at him. No matter how strong this thread that binds us together is, I refuse to.
Wilder reaches past me, planting his hand over mine on the staff, and I almost lose the strength in my knees as something so strong surges through me that I can’t think.
I can’t see.
I can’t breathe.
There’s nothing but a blast of white light as my magic burns so hot in my veins it might be boiling me alive.
It screams between my temples and rakes at the inside of my ribs.
My heart hammers, shoving magic through the fibers of my being.
There’s nowhere for it to go, so I drink it in large gulps, forcing myself to take it in.
At the center of the pain, there is a tie that binds me to myself, and that’s all that stops me from tearing apart entirely. One thread. One light. One other heart beating in the twisted, wicked madness coursing in my blood.
There is Wilder from birth to death to rebirth. A thunderstorm of emotion. An onslaught of magic. His heart binds with mine, and only then do I once again feel whole.
As quickly as the tidal wave rose, it crashes.
Wilder removes his hand, and I stumble back.
His markings glow on his skin, and when I look down, I see a small symbol seared into the center of my chest. It’s a four-pointed star with four crescent moons seated inside each of the curves.
Each one faces a different direction. The mark is familiar, but I can’t quite place it.
“A hanging heart,” Wilder answers in my mind.
I thought I’d closed the thread, but when I look within, there are even more now. They’re endless. Like he’s woven through me.
A hanging heart.
My memory searches for why that sounds familiar. It’s mentioned in one of the stories I read back on Alyssium. A god’s mark—a tie between two souls. Where one goes, the other follows. Through life and death.
Glancing at Wilder’s chest, a new mark matching mine appears on him as well.
“A soul bind,” King Malachi says.
I shake my head. “But I chose you. My soul is bound to you.”
“It isn’t.”
My heart races as I try to make sense of what’s happening. The whole point of the Rite is to create a soul bind, to tie the magic of us to the realm and each other. So how did it tie me to Wilder?
“In promise. In blood. In soul,” Malachi says, almost maniacally as he steps off the altar and leaves me alone with Wilder. “If you can’t steal the magic. Steal the heart, right?”
“But I chose him.” I look from Wilder to King Malachi. “I chose you.”
“Did you?” The king glances from Wilder to me. “Were you choosing me when you offered him your blood? How about when you drank from him? I’m assuming you did, or this couldn’t have rooted.”
My heart thunders as I remember last night. Drinking from Wilder sealed some part of the Rite. And he was the one to offer it to me. He was the one who started me down that path in Ruse Village.
Was that my idea or his? He’s been in my head so much lately, I can’t tell the difference. Did he really manipulate this entire situation to steal the soul bind so it wouldn’t matter who I chose when it came down to it?
Was anything between us real, or was it all fabricated?
He played into my weakness—into my trust. He fought at my side, pretending to protect me and my friends. Did I ever know him at all, or has this simply all been part of Wilder’s game?
I was warned against trusting him, and I didn’t listen.
“I didn’t know.” I shake my head. “You didn’t tell me. I thought the rituals could only take place in the Rite. I didn’t even know that offering him my blood was a form of me choosing him.” I look at Wilder. “I don’t choose you.”
It feels like a lie, no matter how angry I am right now. And it severs nothing. This bond burns stronger with every passing moment. There is no longer any tie to King Malachi. It’s only him.
“I refuse to help you destroy this kingdom. You won’t use my magic to destroy my home.”
His head tilts as he assesses me, his expression devoid of emotion. He’s not the male I shared last night with; he’s the Fae from the prison. Ruthless, like the queen of Vaelier trained him to be.
King Malachi laughs again, while Selia and Hazel look ready to unleash the After on Wilder for what he’s done. Nothing about this is amusing, so I can’t figure out why King Malachi continues to grin.
“It’s a brilliant plan, really.” The king straightens his crown, pressing his shoulders back.
“You couldn’t steal her magic, so you stole her heart.
It was a valiant effort on your part, King Riven.
Although, the human girl struck me as a little too plain for blood sharing.
I suppose it is always the quiet ones who surprise us. ”
His dark eyes meet mine, and my fists clench.
“The promise. The blood. I understand how you got her to offer you her heart, but what of her soul? The only way for the soul bind to form outside the Rite is for her to offer her everlife to you.”
“I didn’t.” I step forward. “I never offered it.”
King Malachi’s eyes narrow, considering what I’ve said. “She doesn’t realize she did. Which means there’s something else. Something…” His dark smile falls, and his eyes dart between us. “Ah, I see. You’ve been keeping secrets.”
I have no idea what King Malachi is referring to as he looks between us.
My gaze moves to Wilder, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. “What secrets?”
“Aurora is not his mate,” the king answers for him. “You are. Your souls are already eternally bound.”
“But humans don’t have mates.”
“You’re half-Fae. Just enough, apparently.” Malachi’s eyes narrow.
I take a step back, nearly tumbling off the edge of the altar, but something stops me. A magical wall catches me, holding me in place.
I’m Wilder’s mate.
I can’t be.
Except, I feel it, beyond the soul bind. Beyond the ritual. I feel the connection that’s been there since the first time I stepped into his cell.
No—longer.
Since I first called for him on Alyssium, and he answered.
What snapped into place last night wasn’t pleasure. It was the mating bond. An unbreakable tie binding us together.
My eyes find Wilder’s, and I search his plain expression. A mask covering his lies. He wanted King Malachi to believe Aurora was his mate, not because of the war, but because of me. If the king suspected what we were to each other, he’d suspect Wilder’s plan to steal the soul bind.
“How long have you known?” I ask Wilder in my mind. Through this wide-open connection between us.
“Since the first time I heard you in my head.”
“At the prison.” My mind races. “From the beginning.”
He said it then; I just didn’t understand it at the time.
When the Fae chased me into the prison, he told them, “She isn’t yours.”
I’m his.
And he’s mine.
The marking at the center of my chest burns where the thread strung through me. But it isn’t my skin. It isn’t the mark itself. It’s deeper. It’s not the soul bind at all; what aches is the mark of my mate. The reason my magic woke. Because I couldn’t stand to let him die.
And now my home will perish.
Wilder’s gaze remains unreadable, which infuriates me more.
“They tricked us.” Selia steps forward, seething.
At my back, I notice Callum and Greer shift as well, but I can’t tell who they plan on protecting. I’m no longer promised to the king. I’m no longer the hope for their kingdom. I’ve become the enemy.
“Ah, my little storm cloud.” King Malachi glances up at the storm stirring overhead. Thunder echoes, and the back of my neck prickles. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
My attention moves to Hazel, who is calm.
Too calm.
The shadows that crept her arms are now small swirls at her fingertips. Her gaze drifts around the courtyard, assessing. It’s almost like she expected this.
King Malachi’s laugh rattles my nerves. He wasn’t angry either; he was thrilled. Disturbingly ecstatic. And when I glance around, I remember there is no audience, only the Crown Guard. As if he knew what was going to happen, and he was prepared for it.
My eyes snap to Wilder, and I read his blank expression again. It is not a lack of emotion on his face, but calculation. He’s seeing the same thing I am. This was all a trap. King Malachi knew Wilder would find a way to stop this, and he came prepared. He lured us to this altar.
Reaching out, I press my palm to the edge of the altar again, remembering how it caught me when I almost fell. In the haze of everything happening, I assumed it was Wilder protecting me from falling, but the webbing wasn’t warm. It wasn’t soothing like aether.
The barrier that meets my palm is icy. It bites. Stretching up at the edges of the stone and trapping us in this magic-void circle.
“See.” The king pets Selia’s cheek. “There is nothing to worry about.”
His amusement is met with a sadistic smile. She peers at Wilder, happy to see him trapped again.
Anger courses through me, heightened by Wilder’s own rage tangling with mine. I’m having trouble separating what’s my emotion and what’s his. But my heated glare lands on his sister, and I wish with all the stars in the sky I could rain my anger down on them.
The king’s smile falls like he’s reading my thoughts. “There’s no magic in the altar. And there’s no breaking out. You can thank your mate for giving me that idea after he locked you behind that annoying barrier these past few days.”
My mate.
Wilder shifts closer to me. His shoulders stiff and his jaw set, like he’s ready for battle. Although I doubt this is the battle he saw coming.
“It’s over, Malachi.” Wilder sets his sights on the king. “You can lock us in your cage and wait for it to slowly fall, but there is no fighting off the Well. Elorie bonded with Vaelier. Her magic is with us now. Lyrichia will die.”
My chest tightens, and when he reaches for my hand, I pull away because I can’t stand what he’s done, even if every part of me yearns to be near him.
He betrayed me. His own mate. What else is he capable of?
“You spent so much time playing warrior, you forgot that you should be learning how to be king,” King Malachi says to Wilder.
“I suppose that’s why your mother was willing to sacrifice you to save her kingdom.
The great aether wielder with the magic of one of the four gods themselves.
You might have bonded with Elorie, but it is not only Vaelier she is tied to. And now, I have you both.”
A heavy pulse makes my head throb between the temples.
“Your mate has many secrets that even she is not privy to.” King Malachi stares at me with no emotion in his eyes.
“The gods’ blessed star and the gods’ blessed destroyer.
There is not one key to the Well when there are two twined kingdoms.” His gaze drifts to the other end of the courtyard.
“I wouldn’t have believed you were right, but you are. ”
“Of course I’m right.” A voice comes from the edge of the courtyard, where a woman wearing a flowing red dress stands in front of two guards.
Her dark hair is bound by intricate silver pins, and a crown rests atop her head.
The sharp spikes are familiar, although more delicate in how this crown is crafted.
But there’s no mistaking the stones that rest on the peaks.
Round bits of obsidian like the crown Wilder wore.
The crown of the Quietus Court.
Queen Delayna.