Chapter 46
Mercy
EZRA
Elio hits the floor hard.
A painful gasp tears from his chest. Another follows. Then another. He rolls onto his side, coughing up water as though his lungs are trying to expel an ocean. Gagging. Choking.
His fingers claw frantically at the marble beneath him, and his eyes dart wildly around the room. Unfocused. Terrified.
Blind.
“Ezra?” The word barely sounds human, his chest heaving in agony.
I take a step forward, the pounding inside my skull unbearable.
“Elio.”
The memories are there within reach, but they don’t form a complete puzzle yet. I still need to piece them together.
My brother throws his arms up in warning, his face twisting with pure hatred. “Don't touch me! Or I’ll turn you to solid ice!”
He scrambles backward. Bursts of ice spread around him, freezing the water at our feet, and a nearby pillar cracks with a deafening snap.
“All this time…” A hollow laugh escapes him. “All this fucking time, I couldn't find a trace of you in any world, and yet you're still alive.”
Elio struggles to his feet, swaying dangerously. Frost flakes off his hair and skin, and his entire body shakes as he takes an unsteady step forward. “You should have left me in there.” Another wave of ice ripples outward. “I’m going to kill you.”
“Stop!” Max shouts from behind me.
Elio jolts backward, visibly spooked, and squints at us as though we're nothing more than blotches of shadow. “Who’s there?”
Max plants herself between us.
I sidestep, unwilling to let her act as a shield, but she motions for me to stay put.
“Your brother was cursed and exiled to the new world. He couldn’t touch anyone. He forgot who he was, forgot his family, his life. Everything.”
Her voice softens.
“He didn’t mean to abandon you here.”
For a moment, something flickers across my baby brother’s face.
Pity. Then it vanishes.
“I should kill you regardless,” he says.
Max lifts her chin.
“If you attack, I’ll have to kill you.”
Elio scoffs. “You couldn’t kill me if you tried.”
Max raises a brow, looking equally defiant and insulted. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Max mistakes his statement as a belittling jab, assuming Elio doesn't believe she could possibly be a threat, when in reality, he's speaking from the perspective of someone who can't be killed by most natural or supernatural means.
Though the irony isn't lost on me that, if anyone in Faerie could prove him wrong, it's probably her.
I clear my throat. “How about no one gets killed?”
There are things even an end-all blade cannot kill, like Death itself.
No wonder Ethan was so gleeful to see me waltz back in here with no memories. I had no recollection of his abuse, of my hatred for him, and I was carrying the very weapon he needed to silence Elio once and for all.
Elio’s shoulders sag, his aggressive stance wavering. “You got out. After all the devastation you left in your wake, you got out. You escaped Ethan, the Sun Court, all of it.”
His voice quiets. “You even escaped yourself.”
The cruel snarl lifts from his face until all that remains is exhaustion.
“Do you have any idea what I would have given to forget?” Elio presses his fingertips to his temple. “I would've happily traded in my powers and my crown for a single day without his voice in my head.”
Elio blinks rapidly, looking around the chamber, and I get the sense his vision is slowly returning.
“You should never have come back here. You got a second chance, and you ruined it. As far as mistakes go, that's a pretty spectacular one.”
There’s no mockery in his voice, only sadness.
“Ethan must have been thrilled to get you back without your memories.” Elio snickers, the corners of his mouth flattening. “But then again, you were always his favorite. His precious little prince.”
My insides shrivel in revulsion at the nickname.
I was my father’s heir all right, which he loved to remind me as he tortured me.
As a young child, he’d offer to reduce the length or intensity of Elio’s beatings if I agreed to take his place.
To make me stronger, he’d say. But I wasn’t always brave enough to agree.
After I joined the Royal Academy, my beatings were confined to the few patches of skin I never had to show. Ethan traded broken bones for broken spirits, but he always made sure I suffered.
I know he doubled down on Elio’s punishments during those times, but I was just so relieved to be out…
“I wasn't spared, and you know that. I was simply broken differently. In a way no one could see,” I say quietly.
Max slips her small hand into mine.
“Devi told me you were alive, but I—” My brother rubs a hand over his jaw. “I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around it. Now I find out that you got the peace of mind you always wanted, and that you blew it. For what?”
A sad smile curls my lips. “Don’t envy me for the life I lived in exile. My existence was empty. Max saved me.”
I squeeze her hand.
“Elio, this is Max. She’s Devi’s goddaughter, so before you get any ideas about killing her to get back at me” —I shoot him a dark look— “don’t.”
Max crushes my hand in hers, and I caress her knuckles with my thumb.
Elio’s brows pull together. “How did it happen? How did you end up in the new world with no memories in the first place?” he asks.
“Devi ran up to the tower after Iris fell. She was heartbroken. Livid, really.” My gaze drifts to somewhere far away.
“I made an inappropriate joke—can’t even remember what it was.
Then I blacked out, and when I regained consciousness again, we were at her flat in the new world.
And I was—for lack of a better word—a ghost.”
“Devi cursed you?” Max gasps.
I run a hand through my hair, but for the life of me, that part of my past remains out of reach. “That’s the only explanation that makes sense.”
I can remember fragments of the first few days after the curse.
“But she didn’t erase my memories,” I breathe.
I plunge into the murky sea of those first few months, and scraps of conversation rise to the surface. Arguments. Self-loathing. Difficult, terrible thoughts. Nights during which I begged Devi to kill me.
The realization hits with sickening force.
“I think—I think I did that,” I stammer, shame cramping my gut. “I buried them because I couldn’t bear to live with myself anymore. I buried them so deep that even if I went looking, I’d never find them again. I didn’t want to live anymore.”
Max pats my back in a soothing rhythm, her hand moving up and down between my shoulders.
A muscle twitches in my jaw. “I’m sorry, kid. There’s no excuse for what I put you through. I was jealous because you were powerful enough to scare him. You were a Fae king, the strongest of them all, while I was his heir—still under his control.”
The confession hangs between us.
Raw. Ugly. Honest.
Of all the people I betrayed, Elio was the worst of them.
Seeing him unlocked my memories, but why? To what purpose?
Max’s green eyes are full of tears. I hate myself for putting them there, for dragging her into this mess in the first place. For letting her fall in love with a man like me.
A man so broken he carved out his own memories rather than face what he'd become. A coward who chose bitterness over justice. A ghost who turned away from the wreckage of his own life.
And still she looks at me with love.
Not fear or disappointment or disgust, but compassion.
Her kindness hurts more than any accusation could, and I lower my gaze, unable to bear the tears shining in her eyes.
My sins are beyond forgiveness, and Max deserves someone better than Ezra Lightbringer.
Someone who doesn't come with decades of bad choices attached to his name. Someone whose past isn't littered with betrayals and broken promises.
My little fox should be with a man who protects and supports her.
A good man.
“Where is Lori?” Elio finally growls, as though discussing my feelings further would be a waste of time.
My mind goes blank. “Who’s Lori?”
“Since Iris, you've missed a lot. Lori’s my wife. I came here to rescue her.” He shakes his head, his fists balling at his sides. “Which proves I’m a proud, overconfident idiot.”
A strange look clouds Max’s face. “Lori is upstairs. But she calls herself Iris.”
Elio goes very still, then exhales sharply through his nose.
I shoot Max a curious glance, and she adds, “Iris and Lori are the same person, right?”
Elio grimaces like nothing could be further from the truth, but he finally nods. “Lori is possessed by Iris’s dark soul, and I’m too weak—too weak to take them alone.”
He grabs the mallet off the floor. “We need backup.”
Elio staggers toward the wall and braces both palms against the nearest pane of glass, freezing it solid in an instant. With a single shove, the pane shatters. The pieces crunch under his weight, leaving bloody footprints in his wake as he crosses to the throne room.
Max and I follow him to the wall of mirrors on the other side—the only ones etched with tiny golden runes in their corners.
These are the real mirrors allowing travel to and from this castle, but they answer only to our blood. Good thing our father never managed to ward them against us.
How did I miss that before? How could I forget about my father’s torture chamber?
Elio summons an ice dagger from the ether and slices open his palm.
Blood wells immediately, and he draws a series of runes across the mirrors. The golden wards flare brightly, resisting at first, then begin to shimmer.
“Damian Morpheus Sombra, I pray to you,” he croaks.
His voice echoes through the throne room.
“Shadow King, I implore you.”
He drops to his knees, both his palms pressed against the glass, clearly winded and perilously close to passing out.
“Lori is in grave danger.” He bows his head. “I need your help, old friend. If only for one last time.”
I hold my breath, but sure enough, his prayer is answered.
A white-haired woman carrying a crossbow breaks out of the glass first, an emerald-and-white shadow mask protecting her eyes. Darkness drapes over her shoulders, and though I’ve never met her before, there’s no mistaking who she must be.
The Shadow Queen.
Then comes Devi, her masked gaze sweeping through the throne room with her usual confidence. Her bite of power is reminiscent of the time when she was Queen, and I realize she’s found her way back to her crown.
Damian is next, his onyx mask iridescent and freckled with polished glass. His hunting bow is already drawn, and the claw marks in his uniform reinforce the notion that the sceawere has become very dangerous indeed.
And finally—
I haven’t seen her since we faked her death, and the sight of her peels away what’s left of the veil that kept me from my memories.
I lived my life in fear. In agony.
She survived much worse.
Looking at her now, standing strong despite everything the world has taken from her, I finally understand the difference between suffering and sacrifice.
I was wrong before.
She’s the one I let down the most.
My wife.
My Willow.