Chapter 29
VANN
After I left Arlet’s room, destroyed and smelling like her, I got another message from Liana. The timing was almost too perfect.
They were just outside the city, and Mrath was still planning another attack during the wedding. I was instructed to hide and wait for her entrance. Then I would be able to take Arlet away to safety.
When I’d gone to her room, she’d refused me again. But if she could see that Mrath was coming, that she intended to make good on her promise to kill Arion, she might finally abandon this place.
It’s my last hope.
Just before the ceremony began, I snuck into one of the corners of Nicnevin’s temple. Perched high and wedged between a series of columns, I stare at the king of the Elven Dominion as he stands over my mate.
All I see is her tear-streaked face as I told her I love her. The hurt in her eyes.
I have a long way to go if I am to win her back.
“Before the eyes of the ancients and the bloodlines that shaped our people,” the holy man intones, “we gather to witness the binding of King Arion to the woman brought forth to serve his house.”
Each word falls like a hammer, driving nails into my flesh. This is not marriage. It’s consecrated ownership.
The crowd, filled with dozens of elven lords and few women, echoes the responses in unison: As it was in the first age, so shall it be now.
Where the hell is Mrath?
I can’t move until she arrives, and even then, I will need to find a way to get to that stupid throne. The attack will be an ample distraction, but bringing Arlet with me might complicate things.
Leaning slightly over the edge, I grab onto a marble railing to keep myself steady.
I wonder what the women think. Most of them look on, without any hint of disgust, but my gut churns.
It reminds me of a time before, when my people also treated women as something more akin to products than people.
I mean, we didn’t hide our women. But there were rules—strict ones.
Our rebirth cured us of that. Hard not to see the value in women when there were so few of us left.
As I watch my mate getting married to another man, I back away, and my fingers curl around the hilt of my cleaver. Fucking fool I have been. If I had not been so stubborn, so resistant, so stuck in a life that hadn’t existed in a very long time, we wouldn’t be here right now.
“Come on, Mrath,” I growl.
A white-hot rage, coupled with all the feelings that pump through my veins thanks to the heart that once again inhabits my body, scalds my muscles and bones from the inside out. It cooks me alive.
Is she planning to wait until the ceremony is complete? Dread spreads through me at the thought
When the priest speaks again, his voice takes on the rhythm of prophecy.
“Through her, his blood may endure. Through him, she is granted purpose.”
My hand tightens around the railing until I hear the smallest cracking noise.
Fucking purpose. She had purpose—a whole damned life before she came here.
Arion extends his hand. “Kneel.”
She does.
His fingers move along the silver lace studded with green gems at her throat. Then the collar flares gold.
Her body arches as the spell strikes. She gasps and folds, catching herself on trembling palms. The crowd almost seems to sigh in relief, entertained and reassured. Arion merely watches, lips curved in satisfaction.
I feel the Fuegorra surge inside me, a hot pulse demanding violence. The stone glows under my shirt.
Mrath is a bitch.
And then, finally, smoke billows across the crowd. Gasps of surprise turn to screams. Angry shouts fill the darkness as I begin to distinguish between those who were here before and new arrivals. Confused, soldiers swarm to Arion. The priest flees, book in hand, from the scene.
Coward.
One of the pillars breaks, cracks, and falls down. Relieved to finally be set into action, I hold my cleaver between both hands and leap from my hiding place among the columns.
I adjust my grip, as if I am able to wring magic from this old weapon, one that has assisted me in cutting down enemies for decades. A great wind picks up behind me, blowing me forward.
One of the elven soldiers spots me instantly.
“Stop!” he shouts, throwing his hand out. Magic hits me like a wave. I blink, digging my feet into the ground as the glamour shatters. Light floods outward, blue and raw. Gasps echo through the audience as my true form burns through illusion—silver hair and blue skin.
I feel like I am washed clean and stripped bare. Both the Elf King and Arlet turn to look at me.
When Arlet sees me, her mouth falls open. Her eyebrows draw together, and her skin goes paler than normal. Like she’s seen a ghost.
I march toward her.
“Lord Vann,” Arion says, almost laughing. “So it was you who has been—”
“I’m here for her.”
I raise my weapon and charge.
He moves like a ripple of light. I swing, and he’s already beside me. The cleaver cuts through the air. He catches my wrist, his grip iron-hard, and smiles.
“Vann! Stop, please,” Arlet calls, voice cracking. The sound of her voice is sweet. Her words ripple across my skin, like warm honey drizzled over my head.
“Don’t hurt him!” she shouts, grabbing Arion’s hand just as it begins to glow.
It makes Arion pause. He turns and looks at her with a flaring expression. I use the opportunity to break free from his grip, twisting away.
“You…” Arion begins, voice low and dangerous, looking between us as if putting together our connection.
“You would risk your life to save his, consort?” He has the gall to look betrayed.
It strikes me as odd. He had access to Thorne’s information.
How could he not have known that we are… what we are?
As they move, I grab onto Arlet’s hand. This is not my fight, but I will take advantage of the distraction.
As soon as our skin touches, a zap zings through me with perfect electrical force. She looks at me as if she would pull away. Gods, she’s so gaunt. She looks even more so up close, where I can observe the powders and creams rubbed onto her skin. She’s beautiful, but this is all wrong.
“Arlet,” is all I can manage as I scoop her into my arms and begin to run away. The sounds of fighting are behind us as we run through the garden. Somewhere, I hear one of them call for Arlet, but they continue to fight with the king.
“No. Let me stay!” Arlet twists against me as I move, her voice sharp and furious, cutting through the chaos like glass.
“Do you even know what you’ve done?” she shouts, her fists pounding weakly against my chest. “You’ve ruined everything! They’ll come for me now—they’ll kill everyone!”
The sting in her words burns worse than the pain in my side. That’s my mate. She is a woman concerned for those in her home. The smoke, the firelight, the screams—it’s all folding in around us, and still her voice is the only thing I can hear.
“I was trying to—”
“You were still trying to be a hero!” she spits, wiggling out of my grasp as we veer behind a marble column half shattered by magic. “And now they’ll die for it. You’ll die. Do you even care?”
Her tears cut through the paint on her cheeks. I press my back to the cold stone, trying to catch my breath, the taste of ash sharp on my tongue. “Enduvida will be all right. We will figure things out,” I manage. “I couldn’t stand there and—”
“And watch him bind me? That was my choice!” she says, voice trembling. “I had a plan, Vann. I could’ve survived this. I could’ve—”
“Survived?” The word drips with disdain. “You call that survival? You were about to lose yourself! You told me that you thought Mrath wouldn’t come. But she’s here.”
For a moment, neither of us moves. Her chest heaves, and mine feels ready to split. The distant clash of metal and the shouts of soldiers fill the garden, echoing against the domed walls. Somewhere beyond the smoke, Arion’s voice calls out a sharp command that makes my blood turn to ice.
“Mrath has a way to take power,” I say, taking out the seed. “We need to plant this on Arion’s throne. Do you know how to get there?”
Arlet’s eyes flick upward, wide and wild, then back to me. “I—” she starts. Then, as if deciding something, she grabs my wrist. “This way. We will wait for the guards to head to the temple, and then we will head inside.”
I follow her across the broken terrace, into the greenhouse beyond the gardens. The glass is fractured, and there are vines curling through gaps. The scent of wet soil and flowers clings to everything. We duck behind a cluster of overgrown ferns.
For the first time, the noise feels far away. All I can hear is the mating song, and I marvel. It is something I thought I would never hear. It is pretty, gentle. Quiet. Less like a massive orchestral explosion and more like the lazy sound of notes plucked out on a lyre, played near a cozy fire.
Arlet is still in her wedding gown. Gossamer layers with a light spark cover swathes of silk with faint patterns of leaves and vines. Her long, beautiful red hair flows down her back, tucked neatly under a veil.
In another life…she would be wearing such a gown for me. She would be healthy. Her stone would sing in time with mine. She would be smiling as bright as the sun.
Regret floods through me.
So much time wasted.
Arlet sinks to the ground, trembling. Then the veneer cracks, and I realize her gown is torn at the hem, streaked with dirt. Her fingers clutch the green collar still faintly glowing around her throat. “I can’t breathe.”
I kneel in front of her, every word I should’ve said that fucking night she left the island rising like shards in my throat. “I’m sorry,” I say. “For all of it. For being too late, too proud. For letting you go.”
Reaching behind her neck, I grasp onto the secured clasp of the collar and try to pull it apart. It holds tight, and she gasps.
It turns white-hot, burning my flesh. I hiss and back away.
Her eyes glisten, and she shakes her head. “Now is not the time. You don’t understand, Vann,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “You’ve doomed our home.”
“Arlet, please.” My braid falls over my shoulder.
I watch as her eyes track the movement and land on my neck. Recognition flashes as she sees my mating marks.
The tears start then, soundless at first, sliding down her cheeks. My hand moves on its own to brush the wetness away with my thumb. She looks at me, startled.
Something inside me breaks. I lean forward before I can stop myself, pressing my lips to hers.
For one heartbeat, she doesn’t pull away.
Her tear-streaked cheeks are warm against my mouth, and her lips, sweet as berries, are soft against mine.
The world narrows to the sound of our joined pulse, the faint hum of the crystal at my chest trying and failing to find its partner in her missing stone.
The world around us spins, and a million memories turn through my head. The quips, the kisses, the trust. This kiss is hot, hot enough to make my bones remember what it is to be near her. To lie with her. To move within her, with the only desire that we be one for the rest of eternity.
Then a crash shatters the moment.
The greenhouse doors burst inward, splintering under force. Light floods the space around us as Arlet flings herself away.
Dozens of soldiers swarm in, blades drawn. The air stinks of iron and smoke. Arlet gasps as I pull her behind me, but there’s nowhere to run.
“What is this?!” Arion demands.
Magic presses against us. I hate elven magic and how it bends to the will of its owner, changing its shape to fit their needs. It’s crushing my lungs. I try to stand, and fail. Arlet is beside me, shaking. Arion steps forward, fury etched into his angular face. His eyes burn when he looks at her.
“You’ve betrayed me,” he says, each word dripping with poison. “And you”—he turns to me—“have defiled a sacred bond.”
“My king, please forgive me,” Arlet begins, still trying to salvage this. To save everyone, including me.
“You didn’t seal your vows. She doesn’t belong to you,” I interject.
The king’s expression twists. He raises his hand, and pain lashes through the air, striking like lightning. Arlet cries out.
“Doesn’t belong to me?” he says, laughing. “She will obey me forever.”
I snarl, fighting against invisible chains that drag me down to the ground.
An explosion like the one I heard the night of the masked ball crashes through the place.
Arion pauses.
The ground shakes.
And then I hear another voice—clear and furious—cutting through the storm.
“ARION!” It’s a female voice I have heard before. Mrath. “This isn’t over!”
Arion’s gaze flickers toward the sound, fury flashing across his features. “Take them,” he snarls to his guards. “Lock them below. I’ll deal with them after I’ve dealt with her.”
The soldiers surge forward. I twist, swinging my elbow into the first one’s jaw.
His bone cracks, and he stumbles back with a cry.
I catch another by the throat and slam him into the wall.
His helmet hits marble with a dull thud.
A blade whistles past my ribs. I pivot, cleaver flashing.
The weapon hums with heat, slicing through a guard’s armor like fat on a sizzling pan.
Arlet screams my name as another wave of magic ripples through the air. It hits me square in the chest—a crushing force that throws me backward. I crash into the glass and stone. Several of the shards bite into my arms. My muscles seize.
“Vann, stop!” she cries, but I can’t.
The next spell slams into me like a hammer. The world fractures into light and ringing silence. I hit the ground hard, tasting blood. My cleaver slips from my fingers, dully hitting the floor.
Two soldiers grab my arms. I fight them even as the magic tightens, but my strength bleeds out like sand through my fingers. The chains they throw around my wrists glow red-hot, sealing with a hiss that burns into my skin.
“Bind the beast before he breaks something else,” someone says.
I need to protect Arlet. I need to hide the seed.
I roar, trying to break free again, but another burst of magic slams into the back of my skull. The world tilts sideways. The last thing I see is Arlet struggling against her captors, screaming my name through tears.
Then blackness swallows everything.