Chapter Sixty-Three
What would you be capable of doing if you knew there would be no consequences?
Tabitha Wysteria
Ylva had managed to sleep, though it had been an awkward and restless sort of rest. Even bound to the rough bark of a tree, she had somehow found a few hours of uneasy peace. That fragile calm shattered when two warlocks seized her and dragged her roughly to her feet.
She cried out, her first thought that they meant to tear her away from Arden, but the panic eased when she saw him being hauled along as well.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
No one answered.
They shoved her to the ground and overturned buckets of freezing water across her body. The icy shock stole the breath from her lungs. Rough hands stripped away the clothes she wore, and shivering violently, she tried to cover herself as best she could.
They treated Arden no more gently. He endured the same rough washing, his jaw clenched tight with barely restrained fury.
‘Look at me, little wolf,’ he said quietly. ‘Do not look anywhere else. Just focus on me.’
So she did.
Ylva locked her gaze onto his deep green eyes and held it there as the warlocks scrubbed her skin with harsh soap.
She kept her eyes on him as they dressed her in one of the absurd gowns that Hagan seemed so fond of.
A witch stepped forward and dried her silver hair with magic before weaving fresh roses into the strands.
They did the same to Arden—washing him, dressing him in clean clothes.
‘Now,’ she mouthed silently.
This was their moment.
Their chance to fight. To strike back and run before the opportunity vanished. They had no idea where they were being taken or what fate waited for them, but they could not simply walk into it without resistance.
The camp around them seemed strangely empty, as though most of the witches had already departed elsewhere. If they were ever going to try, this was the moment.
Arden struck first.
He lunged at the two witches without hesitation, catching them off guard. At the same moment, Ylva twisted free, driving her elbow hard into the ribs of the nearest warlock before kicking the other squarely in the stomach.
The witches had not been using blood magic while washing and dressing them. It had been the perfect moment to strike.
Arden seized Ylva’s hand, pressed a quick, tender kiss to her knuckles, and then pulled her away from the camp.
They barely managed a few desperate steps before Arden stumbled.
His body convulsed violently, twisting in ways no body should ever bend.
Ylva screamed.
She spun around just in time to see Eris approaching. The goddess tilted her head slightly, her purple eyes narrowed with mild boredom, as though this entire scene were little more than a tedious interruption.
She glanced down at the witches and warlocks sprawled on the ground, then casually kicked one in the stomach before letting out a weary sigh.
‘If you want something done properly,’ she muttered, ‘you have to do it yourself.’
Her attention shifted to Arden, who writhed helplessly on the ground as the invisible force of blood magic twisted through him.
‘Stop it! Please!’ Ylva cried.
‘Have you finally understood?’ Eris asked, resting one hand lazily on her hip. ‘You belong to me now, dog. And if you don’t want something far worse to happen to him, you will do exactly as I say.’
Ylva nodded helplessly as tears streamed down her face.
Eris stepped closer still, until her lips hovered only inches from Ylva’s ear.
‘I don’t know what you said to Hagan,’ she said softly, ‘or what you did. But I know it was you. And I do not trust the hold you seem to have over him.’ Her voice lowered further, edged with cold warning.
‘You will soon learn that playing games with gods comes with consequences.’ Then she straightened and turned sharply on her heel, calling the witches and warlocks back to their duties.
The injured ones groaned as they pushed themselves upright, rubbing their necks and backs where Ylva and Arden had struck them, before hurrying forward to bind their prisoners again with fresh threads of magic.
Ylva exhaled shakily with relief when Arden’s body finally stopped twisting in pain. Yet the tears refused to stop falling.
‘Don’t cry for me, little wolf,’ Arden said quietly from where he still lay on the ground.
Ylva sniffed and wiped at her face with the back of her hand.
‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ she said between uneven breaths. ‘I was scared for myself.’
‘Of course you were.’
He smiled up at her.
And despite everything, Ylva found herself smiling back.
…
Hagan frowned the moment Eris appeared beside him.
He knew she was plotting something. He could feel it in the subtle tension that followed her presence, but he could not yet see the shape of it.
A part of him wanted to summon Ylva to his side, if only to ensure she was unharmed.
Yet he forced himself to remain still. Any sign of interest in the prisoner might provoke Eris into doing something far worse.
The witches and warlocks had left the jungle behind hours earlier. Now they stood arranged in disciplined ranks across the barren stretch of land that separated the forest from the mountain rising ahead, where Velunthar lay carved into the stone like an ancient crown.
And then they had begun their march.
It had taken them hours to cross the empty expanse, but at last they halted close enough for the Fae upon the mountain to hear them.
Eris had insisted they pause there. She wanted to put on a show for the defenders of Velunthar before the assault began, and Hagan knew better than to defy a goddess when she had already made up her mind.
Meanwhile, he had sent a large contingent of witches back towards the witchlands to guard their territory. Eris had warned him that the wyverians would soon be marching there.
Hagan had no intention of leaving their homeland undefended.
The front of Velunthar opened into an enormous entrance carved into the mountain itself—two vast doors as tall as towers, framed by colossal pillars of pale stone.
High above them stretched a wide balcony, and upon it now appeared the Fae queen, her daughter, and several others, stepping forward to observe the disturbance gathering below.
Eris clapped her hands together, her laughter ringing bright and delighted.
‘My dear Fae,’ she called, her voice carried effortlessly across the distance by magic so that every ear could hear. ‘We have come bearing gifts for you. We do not wish to harm you. Quite the contrary, we wish to make this world better. Not worse.’
From the balcony came nothing but wary, sceptical expressions. Confusion rippled across the watching faces.
‘Princess Willow Hawthorne,’ Eris continued, her hands slowly curling into fists. ‘I have been so eagerly waiting to meet you.’
Hagan caught the fear that crossed the princess’s face. He couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips.
‘Oh,’ Eris added lightly, her gaze drifting across the balcony. ‘And I see you have taken in a stray.’ Her finger lifted, pointing directly at Bryn Wynter. ‘I have brought you gifts.’
At her command, the witches and warlocks parted like a curtain being drawn aside.
A small group stepped forward, dragging two prisoners between them.
Hagan froze.
Ylva.
Her cheeks were streaked with dried tears, though fresh ones had already begun to replace them.
His gaze snapped to Eris, a cold knot tightening in his chest. She had said nothing about this, nothing about offering Ylva to them.
‘This,’ Eris said sweetly, ‘is a token of my appreciation.’
She gave a small nod.
The witches hauled Arden and Ylva further forward, dragging them into the open where those watching from Velunthar could see clearly. They forced both prisoners down onto their knees, facing one another, their hands bound tightly behind their backs.
A warlock stepped behind Ylva, while another took position behind Arden. Both raised their hands and conjured long blades of steel. Witches had summoned such weapons countless times in battle, blades forged from magic and fury alike.
But Hagan knew this was different.
These swords were not meant for war.
They were meant for spectacle.
For sacrifice.
He strode towards Eris and seized her arm, his grip tightening so fiercely he was almost surprised the bone did not crack beneath his fingers.
‘What is the meaning of this?’
Eris did not even flinch.
‘We must dispose of our prisoners, Hagan. Or did you intend to keep her?’
‘No, but—’
She arched a brow, studying him with mild amusement. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve grown fond of her. You, who so proudly claim not to possess a soul.’
‘I need her,’ he said sharply. ‘She is helping me with something.’
‘With those dusty old texts?’ Eris tilted her head, curious.
‘Yes.’
‘About the God-Killer.’
Hagan stiffened.
‘And tell me, Hagan,’ she went on softly, ‘why are you so eager to learn about the God-Killer?’
‘Knowledge may be useful someday.’
‘Perhaps.’ Eris nodded thoughtfully. ‘But you wouldn’t be planning to destroy me, would you?
Or any of the other gods?’ Her smile widened.
‘Surely not. After all, it was thanks to the gods that you have achieved… all of this.’ She spread her arms wide, gesturing towards the assembled army, the barren field, the looming mountain of Velunthar.
‘I arranged this final part for you,’ she continued. ‘A sacrifice to the gods, offered in your name. In gratitude for everything they have given you.’
Hagan turned just in time to see the two warlocks raise their swords high.
His breath caught.
Horror surged through him as the blades gleamed in the light.
Hagan stepped forward, his purple eyes wide.
Ylva screamed, tears streaming down her face.
‘I’m sorry,’ she sobbed.
‘For what, little wolf?’ Arden asked quietly.
‘For not remembering you.’
‘It’s all right,’ he replied gently. ‘You remembered in your own way.’
Ylva nodded, biting down hard on her lower lip to stop it from trembling.
‘I would do it all over again if it meant meeting you,’ Arden said softly. ‘Close your eyes, little wolf.’
Ylva straightened, drawing what little dignity she had left around herself like armour. She shook her head, though the tears continued to fall.
‘No. I shall die looking at you, Arden Briar. You will be the last thing I ever see.’
Hagan snatched Eris’ arm, his grip tight and lethal. ‘Stop this. Now.’
Eris chuckled. ‘No. I don’t think I will.’ Her purple eyes flicked towards him, shining with fury. ‘Watch, Hagan. Watch what going against me means.’
Hagan stopped breathing the moment the blade plunged into Ylva’s stomach.
Blood burst from the wound in a violent spray, splattering across Arden’s face. Ylva’s blue eyes widened in stunned disbelief, the pain not yet fully reaching her. She gasped, crimson spilling from her lips.
‘Tell me a story, Arden Briar,’ she whispered weakly.
Arden’s voice broke.
‘There was once a wolverian princess… she was so brave…’
Tears fell from his green eyes, his whole body trembling.
‘She fought for the people, for what was right.’
He shook.
‘She met a Fae, and changed his life…’
More blood spilt from Ylva’s mouth.
‘And he fell in love with her.’
Ylva smiled as more blood fell like crimson rivers down her chin.
‘I like your story,’ she said, her voice weak and strained.
‘I’ll tell you another, Arden Briar. There once was a wolverian who became valkyrian.
She met a Fae, who changed her life.’ Ylva’s chest rattled.
‘And even though she couldn’t remember him, he made her fall in love all over again.
’ Ylva coughed, and blood arched across the air, reaching Arden and creating a bloody map of constellations on his face.
But his attention never wavered from Ylva.
‘I’ll meet you in the afterlife, Wren.’
Ylva’s eyes fluttered shut, her smile growing as she nodded, her teeth red from the blood.
Ylva collapsed to one side and Arden screamed.
The sound tore from him like something ancient and wounded, a roar so raw and terrible it seemed to shake the very grey sky above them.
Hagan did not need to look to know that Ylva had stopped breathing.
Eris’ long pale fingers curled around Hagan’s wrist, her lips inches away from his ear. ‘How tragic, is it not? I almost expected you to intervene.’ She cackled. ‘I suppose not even love is strong enough.’ She stroked his head. ‘You really are rotten.’
Hagan ripped away from her hold, her laugh echoing across the land.
He turned on his heel and walked away just seconds before the second warlock’s blade came down and severed Arden’s head.