Chapter 43
Chapter
Forty-Three
FINLEY
I was not alone.
Brenton stood to my right, Alastor on my other side, their presence more notable against the constant shimmering of the astral realm.
Eiran’s voice echoed across it, his shadows brushing the edges of my boots.
“I was not permitted to walk beside your life,” he said. “You are here now. If you allow it, I would like you to keep returning.”
An offering, so simple it made my chest feel whole.
“I think I’d like that.”
“After this is all done, then?” he asked, his magic starting to rise.
I nodded. “After it’s done.”
The threads of his magic trembled until they spun in a silver blur in front of us.
“Zaicha,” he called out, her name coming out like a command written across existence.
The hairs on my arm stood, but I kept my position between Brenton and Alastor.
Eiran’s magic shimmered into a rift, streams of silver and red whirling through a tunnel of black. The wind howled, tugging on my hair, but I barely felt it.
Then she stepped through, sword already in hand as if she’d been waiting for us.
“Little sister,” Zaicha said, those same silver eyes I’d once thought kind, narrowed in taunting. “I truly hoped we could come to an agreement without involving our father.”
Brenton’s smoke curled at my feet, restless and ready. Alastor stood still, the green threads of his magic pulsing like a live wire. And behind us, Eiran’s magic gathered. I tasted the threads of his death magic as if it waited to see which of his daughters it would claim.
But he’d said we were both under his protection.
Zaicha lunged.
The clash of her blade against mine split through the realm.
Sparks scattered around the shimmering grass.
I barely caught her second swing, twisting my wrist to parry, but she was already gone.
Vanished and reappeared behind Brenton. His sword met hers in a burst of gray smoke that singed the air.
Alastor came behind her, dagger and sword in tandem, but she spun with predatory ease.
Zaicha moved like lightning. Every strike sang with power, every breath she drew distorted the air in this realm. Her magic poured from her fingers like ribbons, latching onto the threads of Brenton’s and my bond. Intrusive tug after another, insistent and merciless.
Her next blow caught my blade mid-strike and flung me back. The shock jolted me through my trembling arms. While I bit down on a cry, she didn’t stop.
A flick of her wrist sent a lash of shadow to Brenton. He blocked it, but the smoke that guarded and fought evaporated as her magic tangled with his. Twisting, tasting, draining him.
Through the bond, his strain slammed into me. Don’t break, I thought. Don’t you dare break.
Rage burned through my fear. My hand rose, fingers splayed as I dragged death from the pit of my stomach. It tore through my veins, and I threw it at her. The air crackled. A wave of my red threads rushed toward her.
It lashed across Zaicha’s shoulder. She staggered, her concentration faltering as my magic seized and ate at the fabric of her shirt. But even as she hissed, her gaze sharpened.
This time, when she tugged on my magic, I slipped before I closed it. Her threads slid into the gap I’d opened. It felt like claws digging into the center of my chest, ripping the warmth out of Brenton’s and my bond.
I gasped and stumbled back, clawing at my fighting leathers as if I could rip her magic from me. The death magic I’d been able to control only a few beats ago now wavered. Half mine, the other half hers.
My vision blurred with black spots.
“Finley,” Brenton said as he moved toward me.
“So much power,” Zaicha said, her hands tightened around the invisible threads. “You barely know what you hold.”
Pain flared behind my ribs. I slammed my foot against the ground, forcing my magic to snap shut while I breathed with the same control Alastor had taught us.
The connection broke. My heart hammered in my chest, and I could still taste the sourness of her magic on my tongue.
Alastor cut through the haze, his every strike meant to pull Zaicha’s attention away.
For a few beats, it worked until she dissolved into nothing and reappeared behind him.
With her hands glowing with death, she slammed her palms against his chest. The impact sent him sprawling while his shadows sliced into her.
Her magic coiled around them, suffocating them until they fled back to their master.
Brenton lunged again, his smoke trailing him. He swung low, forcing her to block. I joined with my blades colliding so fast the sounds blurred to a single metallic shriek.
But Zaicha’s strength was unnatural.
Each impact threw us back. Her magic pulsed through every strike.
She twisted, and her blade caught Brenton’s shoulder. She pivoted and dragged it across my stomach. Heat seared through the leathers and flesh. I gasped, the sting cutting through everything but the will to stand. To fight. To win.
Zaicha thrust her hand toward the ground. The shimmering soil split apart with a shock wave rippling out. Magic burst. Brenton raised a shield, but it cracked instantly. The wave hit all three of us, knocking us once again to the ground.
Brenton landed first, rolling into a crouch. Alastor caught himself mid-fall, his dagger dissolving before it reappeared in his grip. I landed last, my knees sinking into the scorched grass that no longer shimmered.
“Enough.” Eiran’s voice echoed and trembled.
His shadows wrapped around Zaicha, tightening around her. She angled her head in response, a smirk lifting the edges of her lips.
“Lolli . . .” Brenton’s voice cracked through the bond, his physical voice too ragged to carry.
Although he was still upright, blood darkened his fighting leathers where blood bloomed at his chest.
The sight tore through me.
Zaicha blurred. One moment, Eiran held her with his magic, the next her sword clanged against Brenton’s with a force that pushed him back. His guard broke. The blade slid through his chest, deep enough that I could hear the leathers tear, followed by a wet gasp.
Smoke flared, then thinned. Even as his body healed itself, I felt how lethal the wound would’ve been outside the astral realm where Eiran held dominion over life and death.
“Brent!” My cry ripped free, and pain tore down the bond, doubling me over.
He staggered but didn’t fall. His sword clattered once against hers before he regained his grip. Blood soaked his side in a way that made my heart tremble.
I surged forward, fury eclipsing fear. My blade met hers in a storm of sparks, my body driven by the need to put distance between her and Brenton. But she met every desperate strike with elegant ease.
She was art in motion, and I was a tremor trying to chase it. We were outmatched. Three of us against her. How was that possible? How was she so strong?
Alastor reappeared behind her, ready to plunge his dagger into her throat. She caught it, her other hand releasing a burst of magic that sent him skidding back.
Eiran’s presence loomed in my periphery, unmoving while his magic continued to try to subdue her.
Zaicha’s attention cut to Brenton. “I could end him right now. His heart beats because I allow it.”
With blood roaring in my veins, I took a step forward. “You will not touch him.”
“Sweet Finley.” Her tone softened, almost pitying. “I’ll give him back to you. Unharmed and whole. If only you give me what I seek.”
My grip on my sword tightened until my fingers burned. “You want my magic?”
“Surrender it, and you can both walk away.”
I stared at Brenton, still standing through ragged breaths. He shook his head, his eyes still determined but dimming. His fingers trembled as he pressed his hand against his wound. Our bond frayed, bleeding but still humming.
“You’ll know peace,” she continued. “You can finally stop fighting against something you never asked for. Never wanted.”
I felt the tremble in my chest, the pull of her offer. To let go. To rest. To stop. With Brenton at my side.
Eiran’s voice came low in my mind. “You cannot cage what was born of death, daughter. You must become it.”
Zaicha smirked. “What did he tell you?”
For years, I had spent my life giving of myself to others. To my parents, to my kingdom. I had poured out every part of me until I thought there was nothing left in me to claim.
But I still had my magic. I still had my bond.
I tilted my chin up and set my lips in a determined line. “I am a dragon.”
Zaicha’s eyes narrowed. “You think you can keep it?”
Her magic snaked around Brenton’s neck, lifting him off the ground. His boots scraped uselessly against the blackened grass.
“No.” The word tore out of me, raw and instinctive. I reached through our bond, pouring everything I had into him. Life and death and the breath between both. It threaded through my veins, twining with his smoke until my blood thrummed with it. It hummed with the ending becoming a beginning.
Where she was fury, we were balance. The current moved inside Brenton, red and gray weaving together.
Healing. Strengthening. His smoke flared bright again as a stream of red surged from my fingertips, burning through the cords she held around his throat.
One by one, they unraveled, turning to ash before they hit the ground.
Zaicha screamed, cutting her blade toward me. I caught it with my bare hand, and metal seared my flesh. I didn’t flinch.
In the moment after I felt my magic heal Brenton, I called our joined magic back. It rose through me, and light spilled from my palms. It was our bond made visible. Not a weapon but an extension of everything I was.
Everything we were.
The magic in the astral realm bent. Every ribbon Zaicha had used to drain us now coiled back, rushing to me. I sent them around her wrists, her chest, her neck. I turned her own magic against her.
Beside me, his hand now clasping mine, Brenton’s smoke surged, ready to strike at my command.
Eiran clapped a hand to my shoulder, his voice filled with pride. “You were never made to surrender life, but to command it.”
Zaicha screamed, fury pitching her voice. “You can’t—”
“I already did.”
Zaicha struggled behind the bindings. The tip of her sword’s edge dug into the once shimmering grass. She hissed between her teeth, fury warping her beautiful face.
I stood over her, chest heaving. Every breath tasted of smoke and death. The power that had poured through me still vibrated in my veins. Restless and wanting.
“Enough.” Eiran’s voice rumbled.
I turned toward him, blinking sweat from my eyes. The shadows that clung to him seemed denser now.
He peered at Zaicha. “It is decided.”
I hesitated. The threads of my magic coiled tightly inside me, my magic responding to the ache that still burned in my chest. I could end this. I could make sure she never hurt Brenton again.
I could still feel the searing heat of her sword cutting through his flesh. The way our bond had gone silent for two beats too long. The terror of losing him.
My magic flared at my fingertips.
“She stands defeated,” Eiran said, his tone infuriatingly composed. “Her will no longer governs her fate. It is mine.”
My jaw tightened. “I’m not finished.”
“You are,” he replied.
The words lashed across my chest.
“She harmed Brent,” I said, my voice breaking. “You permitted that.” I turned to face him. “You permitted her to harm me.”
His expression didn’t change, but I felt it. Something dark slunk beneath my skin. The weight of his magic pulled on the threads of mine.
Wanting me to claim the moment when he’d barely helped.
“Finley,” he said. “There are things you do not yet under—”
Whatever he meant to say died on his tongue.
The astral realm went still in a way I’d never felt.
The wind froze mid-breath. The rippling shimmer that lived here turned to glass. The light fractured.
Then the cold hit, too sharp. My breath came out in a billow of smoke. Beside me, Brenton’s did the same. Alastor swore softly under his breath, stepping in front of us as if he wanted to shield us from whatever was coming for us.
Zaicha’s lips curved in a slow, knowing smile. Her bindings flickered, my hold on them loosening.
No.
I sent a stronger wave, forcing the bindings to tighten and hold. They snaked around her again.
Frost crawled across the ground in perfect silence. The light dimmed, splitting the brightness further. Above us, a void split.
“Eiran?” I breathed out.
His face contorted into something unrecognizable. His shadows writhed.
“This cannot be,” he murmured to himself.
Alastor stretched his hands out, drawing us a step back when something moved from the other side of the void. For the first time, there was fear in his eyes.
He knew exactly what was coming.