Chapter 23 #2
Finley’s eyes searched my face, wide and unblinking. She tipped her chin up, not just in defiance but as a warrior bracing for impact. Beneath the steel, I saw her, the hint of her unwavering trust. She wanted it from me. Whatever the blow was, she trusted me to deliver it.
“You tell me,” she said, her tone quiet but sure.
The world narrowed to us. To her trust in me. I’d raze every realm before I let that trust fracture.
I held her gaze, trying to soften words I knew would hurt her. “Eiran is your father.” The truth of those words left me raw, but I gave them to her simply, openly. Because she deserved nothing less.
For a breath, she only stared at me. Then a small laugh slipped from her lips, sharp and dismissive.
“No, my father is the male who raised me. The male who bargained me away for a better life for himself and my mother.” Her words were cut from steel, but I felt the faint tremble in her hand that still held mine.
Eiran’s features softened, the white in his eyes dimming back to silver. “That male may have raised you,” he said, his voice too calm, “but he did not give you your blood.”
The air grew taut.
Finley stiffened. “What are you saying?”
“It is as your mate said. I am your father.” His gaze never left hers. “Your mother knew whose child she carried.”
Finley’s fingers tightened painfully around mine. “She chose this? You chose this?”
“I chose strength,” he said. “She chose legacy.”
A bitter laugh broke from her. “I don’t—or did you choose for her?”
A flicker passed through his features. Offense, maybe. “I approached her,” he said evenly. “I saw such potential. In her. In you. The bloodline I carry is ancient. I do not squander it. She understood the gift I offered.”
The ego in it made my teeth grind.
“So I was what?” she demanded. “An investment?”
“You were inevitable.”
Finley’s chest rose and fell in sharp motions. “And my father—the male who raised me?”
“He knew he was not your blood.” Eiran’s shadows slithered forward, brushing the tips of her boots before retreating. “Your magic was never his to bargain away. It is older than him. Older than your mother. It was born in you because it was born in me.”
Finley stepped closer to me, her eyes flashing. “My magic.” She gave another short, brittle laugh. “It must be true. You are my father because you speak only of my magic, the way my mother and the male who raised me do. None of you sees the female behind it.”
I leaned into her. “I see her,” I whispered, my words rough with the truth. “You are not measured by your magic. Not to me.”
For a few beats, her eyes fluttered closed, as if she was pulling the words to the hollow places no one else had ever reached. When she opened them, they locked on me. “Never to you.”
“I have watched you since birth,” Eiran said, voice still calm despite the storm brewing in his eyes. “Do not doubt that I see you, Finley.”
She shook her head, a merciless laugh falling from her lips. “If you are indeed my father, you are as useless to me as the rest of my family.” Her chin lifted, my beautifully defiant goddess. “It’s fine, though. I’ve forged my own family with those who actually show up. With those who stay.”
Pride swelled at her words. Her family had bartered and betrayed her, yet she still stood. Unflinching even in the face of Death.
Before Eiran or I could respond, Finley cut in. “Enough. We can pick apart bloodlines later. Right now, we need to discuss Zaicha. Why does she want my magic? What is it she wants?”
“Is Zaicha the one who came to you?” Alastor asked.
Finley nodded, rubbing a hand over her chest as if to hold herself together.
Eiran’s shadows slinked forward. When they curled at her feet, she withdrew. I almost expected a hint of hurt to flash across Eiran’s features, but he was stoic as he straightened, jaw tight.
“You summoned us here,” Finley said with the same defiant lift of her chin. “You said you wanted to tell us of the wielder. So far, you’ve told us close to nothing.”
Power emanated from him, a current of something fierce and dangerous. I shifted to step between them, but before I could, Eiran called it back.
“She wants to return to the astral realm,” he said. “I cast her out thousands of years ago, after the mages were massacred. Their deaths were at her hands, so I punished her to roam the realms alone.”
Finley huffed, the sound sharp. “Stellar parenting,” she muttered under her breath.
Eiran crossed his thick arms, silver light flooding brighter through his veins. “She deserved to be punished.”
“If the punishment meant to teach her something, all you taught her was to hate you,” Finley said, her eyes whitening, the color bleeding out as her emotions surged.
Not trusting Eiran with her anger, I trailed my fingers across her arm, wanting to ease her.
“She had thousands of years for that resentment to fester,” she said.
Eiran studied her, running his fingers across his chin as though cataloging each emotion that filtered across her features.
“I believe you are correct,” he finally said, tone unreadable.
Finley shook her head, her arms folding across her chest. “What does she gain by returning?”
“The same as you,” he said. “Death’s heir can only grow more powerful in their own domain. With the orb, she’ll only be that much stronger.”
“So that’s what all of this is about?” Finley asked, her tone thick with disbelief. “Power?”
He remained quiet, eyes intent on his shadows coiling at his feet, gliding over the shimmering ground as if they wanted to reach her again but didn’t dare.
But in the silence, in that stillness, I saw his recognition as if he saw himself in her. The same hunger for control, the same grief at what their power had cost them.
I saw the difference too. Even though Finley had immense, possibly untapped power, she didn’t want to rule. She wanted to protect. Despite her experiences as a youngling, which could have made her bitter and angry, her instinct was to shield and serve. It’s what makes her an exceptional warrior.
For all his divinity, all his infinite years, I wasn’t sure Eiran could understand that. Zaicha certainly didn’t.
“Fine,” she ground out. “Then at least tell me, how can I block her?” Determination laced through each word. “I need to know how to block her so she can’t use my magic to kill others.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, but it wasn’t from fear. It was fury sharpened by grief.
But then her eyes lifted, wide and pleading, the vulnerability there stirring every instinct in me to destroy anyone who threatened her.
But she didn’t aim it at me. It was meant for Eiran, the male she had just learned was her father.
I felt her plea like a blow splitting me in half. Finley didn’t show weakness, not like this, not to anyone. Yet here she stood, stripped bare, letting him see it.
Eiran’s gaze held Finley’s. “Hunger forged Zaicha’s orb. She anchored it to the magic of others, leeching their energy to make the mages more powerful. To block her, you must do the opposite. Anchor your magic in yourself. Bind it to what she cannot touch. Your breath. Your will. Your bond.”
Finley held her hand to her chest, her worried gaze moving across my face before she peered back at Eiran. “Anchor it?” It came out low and uncertain. “To my breath or will or . . . bond. That doesn’t make sense. How can I anchor anything to that?”
When Eiran remained silent, Alastor stepped forward.
“Every breath you take is yours alone. No god or orb can take that from you. Every inhale claims the life within you. With each exhale, you choose what you release. If you bind your magic to that rhythm, it answers to nothing else but you.” He paused, his brows pulling together while his fingers twitched at his sides.
Another headache was surfacing, probably from forcing his way into the astral realm.
“The strongest anchors are not in self. They are in what you will fight until your last breath to protect. Your bond is more than affection. It is carved into your very soul. If you bind your magic to it, for Zaicha to steal it, she will have to tear apart what fate sealed. Even with the orb, she cannot do that.”
“Then how did Teddy and Elias lose their soul-mate bond when they sacrificed their magic?” I asked.
“It was not taken but given freely,” Alastor said. “It was theirs to give and theirs to take back. Even when rejected, the bond lingers because fate will not be ignored. It is why Teddy was able to restore it.”
“While the bond is stronger,” Eiran said, “it binds you to another in ways deeper than a simple soulmate does. To anchor your magic there is to lace your power to another’s being. If he falters, you falter. If he endures, you endure. The power is unparalleled, but so is the cost.”
Finley’s reply was quiet, but it echoed inside me. “You said you’ve watched me since birth. Did you see me the day Brenton died?”
A muscle beneath Eiran’s eye twitched, another small fracture in his composure.
“I did. You didn’t understand it then, only that something inside you was unraveling, as if a part of your soul was dying.
I wanted to reach out to let you know it would not last. That I would not permit his death when it would cost you your life as well. I would not have taken him from you.”
Her breath shuddered. “Then you already know. If he falters, so do I.”
Her words struck me. Not with pain but with a devotion so raw it nearly dropped me to my knees. To hear her claim me like that . . . it wrecked me, stitched me back together.
I pulled her into my arms, holding her in desperation and reverence all at once. Still, I needed her closer until her heartbeat thudded against mine. The bond thrummed so fiercely it rattled my bones.
I’d rip the stars from the sky before I let her fall because of me.