Chapter 32 #2
“Do you think we stand a chance at unraveling the threads of Zaicha’s magic?” I asked, the word otherness sitting heavy on my tongue. “With whatever this thing is inside me?”
“To protect Finley? I’m certain you can.”
Alastor’s faith in me meant more than I could say.
“The way Zaicha siphons Finley’s magic is similar to the way my sister once drained me of mine.”
A chill rose across the sand, imperceptible at first until the next wave washed across the shore in a thin sheet of water. Frost webbed across its surface before it cracked and splintered away.
Though thin and frayed, his shadows flickered at his heels. Not lashing but twitching.
Alastor didn’t seem to notice, or maybe this was him trying not to notice. But his breath fogged in front of him just as mine did.
“She didn’t just take my power,” he continued, voice as cold as the sudden chill in the air.
“She hoarded it for her future purpose.” His attention moved away from me as if looking too long risked too much.
His shadows dragged behind him, where they stuttered as if ready to strike but lacked the strength.
“Zaicha’s approach is different. She’s pulling Finley’s magic and .
. .” His jaw clenched, and the temperature dipped further.
“Dragons died instantly from Finley’s power.
Zaicha used Finley and stole generations of magic in a single beat.
And Finley . . . Finley holds more power than any of us can quantify.
If Zaicha were to take what’s inside her, if she were to empty her the way Leanora emptied me, she’d be unstoppable. ”
The frost on the tide crept up before the wave shattered it again. Alastor’s shadows wrapped tight around his ankles.
“Being drained of magic,” he said, his words like jagged glass, “feels like having your soul unmade. Having it used against you, weaponized and twisted into something ugly . . .” He gave his head a sharp shake.
“That is a betrayal that cuts deeper than any blade. And when it’s done by someone you thought you could trust, Brenton, it’s not something you come back from unchanged. ”
The words landed like blows.
Alastor, still pale, tried to pretend he wasn’t barely holding himself together.
And Finley, my Lolli, who had walked toward a goddess with her heart exposed and hope bleeding from her veins.
My stomach turned, and anger coiled in my chest, my fear forging into something feral.
No one would ever use my mate, my equal, my everything, like that again. Not some god. Not the realms themselves.
And Alastor. I didn’t let my attention linger on him long. He should never have had to speak those words. Shouldn’t have had to remember what it was like to have someone who should have loved him, twist and ravage from him.
They both deserved better.
A slow breath quaked through my chest.
I wasn’t a king. I didn’t hold any titles or carry centuries of power. But I protected what was mine.
Alastor stumbled a step, and his shadows jerked with him.
I cupped his elbow, steadying him, and he leaned into me for a beat before he straightened and continued walking.
He took another step, and with it, the temperature shifted.
The cold that had wrapped around us, biting and laced with the echo of his anger and grief, left all at once while his shadows retreated to faint whispers circling his heels.
Seeing the cold leave him, and how fragile he looked even as it disappeared, struck harder than he probably would’ve liked.
Alastor caught my attention and snorted. “Don’t look at me like I’m dying,” he said, his dry humor threading through each word.
I shook my head. “Wouldn’t dream of it. If anyone here is going to fall apart, it’s going to be me.”
“Finley’s damsel.” Then, with the faintest curve of a smile, he said, “I can’t train with you just yet, but I can teach you to focus. Meditation would do you well.”
“Yet you call me an asshole? I’m the very definition of calm and focus,” I said, biting back a smirk.
Alastor gave me a fleeting but unimpressed look. “You’re the definition of chaos. There’s a difference.”
I patted my chest. “But I come in a charming package.”
Alastor huffed, taking another faltering step. Without a word, I caught his arm again, only letting go when he was steadier on his feet.
“A charmingly infuriating package,” he grumbled.
Keeping a watchful eye on him, I breathed in the humid air, letting the wind drag its fingers across my skin.
Otherness. Whatever it was coiled around my ribs, drumming like a beast that only needed a reason to tear through the world.
And Zaicha was my sole target.
I’d burn through every thread she wove, tearing her apart from the inside. All to keep Finley safe.
But when I looked at Alastor, at the shadows slinking low around his boots, at the weight pressing his shoulders down, that fury in my chest only sharpened. Death circled him, and I didn’t have a blade sharp enough to cut it away.
For Finley, I’d go to war.
But how could I protect Alastor from something I couldn’t see or touch? Something he not only accepted but seemed to welcome?