8. Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Gray
G ray barely spoke. Barely looked anywhere other than his fallen mate’s face. With quick, demanding sentences, he ordered Erik to gather the moonflower petals and bring them to the battlefield. He couldn’t focus on anything else. There was no fire, or wind, or rain. There was no air in his lungs or stars overhead. There was nothing but grief and pain.
Gone.
She was gone .
She had deceived him. Fooled him. And now she waited beyond the veil, trapped and suffering beneath the weight of her own power.
Save their people, and return to Lea. That was all Gray could think about. He wouldn’t let her sacrifice be for nothing—refused to let that sacrifice be in vain.
Forcing his feet forward, Gray kept his eyes on Lea’s face. Her beautiful blue eyes—closed forever. Blood splattered through her hair. Her cheeks gaunt and sunken in.
The agony at seeing her this way was all-consuming, and so deep, he was sure it was tattooing itself on his bones.His heart felt heavy and dead, his soul in tatters, and every breath was like swallowing down shards of glass. Each inhale felt like a betrayal, because he shouldn't be breathing. Not when Lea wasn't.
One foot in front of the other. That was all he could do. Save his people. Find Alaric, and kill him. Slowly and agonizingly.
The battlefield appeared beyond the hill, and he forced his eyes from Lea’s face to assess the damage. He needed to compartmentalize. Shut off the part of himself yearning to give in and burn down the world, and focus on saving his kingdom.
His soldiers went silent as he approached, turning one by one as they became aware of his presence. He stepped over the line of burned grass spanning the entire field, the evidence of the shield of fire Lea had placed around their army as they’d left to face Alaric.
He wished he’d made her stay behind, far away from Alaric and his crusade of death.
Painstakingly slowly, Gray knelt, lying his mate’s body on the soft, unburned ground. He tenderly brushed her hair from her face, then tugged her shirt down to cover the sliver of midriff showing. His shadows floated around her, weeping as they brushed her skin, begging her to come back to them.
Gray lifted his chin, meeting Vincent’s eyes for a long moment. His sorrow was palpable, despair hanging thickly in the air like a dense fog. Gray rose, taking a deep inhale and nodding to Janelle, who began handing out the petals. One for each soldier. His sacrifice, his mate's sacrifice, to heal and protect them.
In their tear-filled eyes and shaking hands, Gray could see they recognized what had been given in order to save them. What he had lost. It was clear in the way their throats bobbed and their gazes remained downcast. In the sniffles and red-rimmed eyes.
Minutes passed as Janelle finished handing out the cure to the Lonely Death—to the injuries for those who had survived. The field remained silent as every rebel ate their petal, whether injured or not. Color returned to cheeks and wounds disappeared from throats and arms and chests, lacerations closing over, broken limbs healing. It didn't cure what ailed them past the physical. Their hearts were scarred—would be forever. But his? It was eviscerated.
And nothing would ever be able to heal it.
Swallowing down the pain threatening to drag him back inside himself, he cleared his throat.
"Alaric is alive."
Sharp inhales and muttered curses spread throughout the soldiers.
"He’s been weakened. Many of his soldiers slaughtered." And they had been. Nearly every one of them who had not fled in time now laid decimated throughout the streets of Bearswillow. As they’d walked from Lea's burned-down house, Gray had stepped over at least a hundred dead royal soldiers, their eyes wide and mouths open with black lines spider webbing from the bloody orifices. Gray wasn't sure exactly what Lea had done to them, or how she had done it. But whatever it was, it had been horrific, as if she had sent her darkness to eat them alive from the inside out.
"Your queen—" Gray's voice cracked, and he stopped speaking, closing his eyes and begging his body to hold it together. Just for now. Just until he was alone.
"Your queen sacrificed herself for the cure," Erik said, stepping forward. A rush of gratitude wrapped around Gray's tattered heart.
"We will not let that sacrifice be in vain," Gray found his voice again, a deep rumble brimming with rage and sorrow. "From this moment forward, every breath we take, every beat of our heart will be dedicated to one singular purpose. To defeat Alaric."
A battle cry sounded from a group of rebels to his left, raw and powerful.
"We will take back our kingdom. Take back your magic. We will lay down our lives, if that is what’s required of us, as your queen did, to ensure a world free of terror and evil. We do not rest. We do not falter."
The stomping of feet and clanging of shields made Gray's heart pump faster, pushing his pain deeper into his marrow, but he refused to give in to it. Lea's death would be the kindling to invigorate their people, to cause them to burn with the fervor needed to fight. To win. Lea had known that when she’d made her choice.
"For her sacrifice," Erik knelt before Lea, his voice shaking as he plunged his sword into the bloody earth. "May the gods hold her in the light of day and serenity of night." His voice broke, and Janelle appeared at his side, kneeling next to him. "May the magic of the wind carry her, the kiss of rain cleanse her," dozens of voices chimed in, kneeling one by one as they lowered their heads and delved their weapons into the ground. "And may the promise of eternity soothe her weary soul, until beyond the veil we follow."
Gray dropped to his knees. "Until beyond the veil we follow," he repeated, trailing his fingers along Lea's cold cheek.
Thumbs tucked into hands as soldiers covered their hearts, the clanging of shields and pounding of feet growing louder. Except, there should be no pounding of feet. Not when the entire army knelt before him. Before Lea.
Someone's coming. Gray's shadows exploded outward at the same moment Erik realized they were no longer alone. Leaping up from the ground, he pulled his sword from the soil, shoving Janelle behind him as the rest of the army followed suit.
"Commander!" Time froze, the world and rebel army going utterly still, all except for Gray. Henry appeared, only yards away, followed by hundreds, maybe thousands of men and women, makeshift weapons in their hands and determination etched into their faces .
"We came as fast— No." Henry’s eyes fell to Lea, and he dropped to his knees, his army faltering as he collapsed on the ground. "I saw the soldiers in the streets. I thought—" He bit his fist, trying and failing to hold back his sob.
White-hot anger boiled beneath Gray's skin. Thousands of rebels. Enough to have changed the tide of battle. And Henry's magic. Freezing time. He could have saved Lea. Could have saved them all.
He'd sent word, and they had not come. Not in time.
Henry’s sobs became wails as he scrambled toward his daughter, but Gray threw up a shield, cutting him off.
"You're too late," Gray hissed, his shadows begging to be set free, to wrap around Henry’s neck and squeeze until he begged for death. "She’s gone."
Rays of sun peeked over the horizon, but Gray didn’t move from where he still knelt next to Lea. Not when the rebels had slowly made their way back to the cavern, or when Erik had begged to let him help. He hadn't moved a muscle when Janelle had offered to sit with Lea while he made arrangements to prepare her body for burial, or to wash the blood from his tattered clothing.
He couldn’t leave her. Not even for a moment. It was unfathomable for anyone to think he could leave this place, this ground, this town she’d grown up in. Leaving was too final. Too earth shattering. Soul shattering. Somewhere deep inside, Gray held onto hope that if he could just wait a little longer, Lea would suddenly sit up and take a deep breath, ready to scold him for sacrificing himself. For cutting away the mate mark.
He couldn’t leave without being with her for a few more minutes. Not because he was too full of grief, but because she had to come back. He wasn’t sure he'd be able to find a way to move forward without her.
Gray was so lost in thought, his hand resting on top of Lea’s forehead and his eyes locked on her cold, still body, that his shadows exploded when someone placed a hand on his shoulder. His darkness wrapped around the arm, ripping it forward to his side and away from Lea.
Genevieve cried out in pain as she tried to pry herself away from the shadows.
Genevieve. His mother.
He released his hold immediately, guilt and shame pulsing in his chest alongside his agony.
"Mother, I’m so sorry."
"I’m fine," she said softly, absentmindedly rubbing her wrist as she looked upon Lea’s body with sad eyes.
"I thought I was alone," Gray said, the only explanation he could give. There wasn’t room in his head for more.
He hadn’t seen his mother since before .
Before the death and destruction. Before his world had been taken away from him. Genevieve had come once the battle ended, after having remained in the cavern during the worst of the fighting in hopes that the injured and wounded could be brought to her and Elise for healing. Her magic was powerful, and Gray had hoped that, if nothing else, she could hold the Lonely Death at bay until they were successful in harvesting the moonflower petals.
"Everything is fine back in the cavern. Your rebels are healed and resting. But… we have to move her, Evander." With slow, tentative steps, Genevieve walked toward him, once again placing her hand on his shoulder.
"I need more time," Gray's voice broke, his warrior exterior crumbling in the presence of his mother as if he were a child again.
"I know, my boy," she said. "There will never be enough time. There’s never enough time to say goodbye the way we are meant to. The way we deserve. But still, we have to move forward."
A sob burst from Gray’s throat, and Genevieve wrapped her arms around him, her small frame dwarfed by his broad shoulders, and yet he allowed her to cradle him like she was never able to as a child. "She’s not coming back," he whispered finally, the words shattering something inside him. His hope. His optimism.
"No. She’s not. But you are here. And you have to go on. Alaric will come to destroy everything you love. Dismantle everything that you and Lea built." His mother’s sorrow joined his own, adding another layer to the pain and suffering of this war. Here she was, helping him—no, begging him—to find a way to kill her other son.
Gray cursed the gods again for the lot they had given him in this life.
"I don’t know where to start," Gray said, allowing himself this moment of vulnerability. Later, in front of his soldiers, he would be strong. Confident and steadfast. A leader who could rally his army to lay down their lives, if that’s what it took, to defeat his brother. But right now, right here, with only his mother, he allowed himself to express his doubt.
"Lea said she weakened him. That he was hurt. Now would be the time to strike, but I don’t know where to even begin looking for him. He won’t return to the castle, I don’t think. He knows that will be the first place we go."
Genevieve nodded in understanding. "That’s why I’m going back."
"Back?" Gray snapped.
"You need information. I am Alaric's mother, and I am still Queen of Desia, if only in title. That holds weight with our court. Puts me in a position of respect." She raised her chin. "You send your scouts throughout the villages to collect any information they can give you. I will return to the heart of Auropera and see what I can learn from within."
"He’ll have you killed the second he finds out you’ve returned." Gray said, but the idea of having someone within the castle who could alert them immediately if Alaric did return, or if word came about where he was hiding, was tempting. It could change the tide of the war. Give them a huge advantage, if she could pull it off.
"I’ll tell him you've gone mad, that losing your mate sent you into a rampage, and that I realized you could never rule the kingdom like he could. I can feed him false information."
"And if he doesn’t believe you? If he kills you?" The thought made him sick. He’d just begun rebuilding his relationship with his mother. Had never really had a relationship with her at all, before now.
"Then I die knowing I helped my kingdom, and I will keep your mate company until you one day join us." She grabbed Gray's hand. "But I don’t think he will kill me. His pride won’t allow it. Not if I say I have abandoned your cause and wish to help him. He’s always wanted my approval, has always possessed a deep need for me to choose him over you. He didn’t get it from his father, and so he killed him. Stole his magic. But somewhere inside that wicked shell of a man is still a little boy who just wants to matter," Genevieve croaked, her voice as rough as sand.
Gray almost felt pity for his brother at that moment. Almost, but not quite. He would never be able to offer any emotion other than rage and hatred for the man who had taken so much from him. Gray knew that Genevieve had tried with Alaric, that she had shown them both love whenever possible, whenever their father hadn’t been watching, ready to punish her and them for any sign of weakness. But despite her best effort, evil had taken root somewhere deep inside her eldest son, too deeply ingrained into his DNA to ever be changed or eradicated.
"If you sense danger, return to the cavern and send word. You’ll be safe there." Gray paused, considering what his mother was offering. "It will be difficult, convincing him you have changed your mind. Even harder pretending to approve of what he does."
"We all must do hard things. Somehow, despite the odds, we find a way to survive."
Gray knew the meaning hiding beneath her words. There is a time to mourn, and a time to let your pain forge you into someone stronger. Into a weapon to be used for the greater good.
"It’s time," she said. Softly. Gentle as the brush of a feather.
Gray somehow found the strength to nod, unable to speak. Lea wasn't coming back. He had to move forward, even if it killed him. Silently, he hoped that it would.
The wind blew gently as he bent down to pick up his mate's lifeless body, the melody of swaying grass and chirping birds a reminder that even in our darkest times, the world continues on.
They didn’t speak, but Genevieve remained at Gray's side as he carried his mate back to the cavern to prepare for burial. To prepare for whatever comes after.
As he walked through the main corridor, his soldiers went silent, bowing their heads and whispering prayers as he carried Lea’s body to their room, the one they'd shared so recently. Tears streamed down his face, and he allowed himself those final moments of surrendering to his sorrow. Sorrow he would find once again, in another time and another place—once Alaric was rotting in the ground, and the kingdom found peace.