Chapter 6 Go For The Heart
Go For The Heart
Desdemona
W
hen I open my eyes, all I see is red. Maybe this is what the afterlife looks like, just the blood of all the people I’ve killed.
I sit up. It’s not just red—I’m in a room. The walls gleam as if they were just painted.
In the distance, voices whisper. I look for them, spotting Mial.
This isn’t the afterlife. I’m still in The Void. I was sure he’d killed me.
I reach for my ankle, feeling for the silver wolf I keep in my sock. It’s still there. I tell myself I’d be better off without it—no ties, no proof of who I was, nothing left for anyone to rip away.
But I’m so glad it’s still mine.
Mial speaks to someone in the corner, a man I recognize. He’s the Arcane that brought me here when I left Visnatus to save Lucian’s life. To save all their lives.
On Visnatus, the Arcane seemed ancient, otherworldly. Here, the burns look more man than monster, covering half his face—not all of it.
He tips his head. Light brown hair, threaded with gray, sits unevenly above the ruined side of his face.
“There were countless ways I would have preferred to meet you, Desdemona,” he says. “I am Icarthus.”
It’s not our first meeting. But when he brought me here, he quickly handed me off to Mial.
I nod to Icarthus, then turn my gaze to Mial, awaiting instructions. He doesn’t give any.
Icarthus settles a hand on Mial’s shoulder, murmurs something low, and exits. I count every step he takes.
Once he’s gone, Mial’s attention is on me. “Do you know what happened?”
I reach for my chest. Moments ago, the pain was so intense I thought I’d died. It was moments ago, wasn’t it? When I dropped to the ground. I lost control of my body. And my heart—it… I don’t know.
My palm presses flat against my chest, wondering if my heart is still in there at all.
Reluctantly, I answer, “No.”
“It was not something I wished to do. It was only needed for your training.” Mial steps forward, away from the wall. “I first clotted the blood in your heart, and then it burst.”
I clutch my chest without thinking, gripping the fabric tight. My heart is still beating—I’m alive. My heart is intact. I survived the worst he could do.
But the same thing happened once before, on the night I left Visnatus, when Lucian was hunting me.
It was Icarthus himself who attacked my heart.
When his magic turned to Lucian, I knew he wouldn’t survive.
I chose to go with the Arcanes. Now I know exactly why.
Death touched me, held me, had me. I’ve felt its cold hands slide down my back every day.
“I must emphasize that this was not my desire. Yet it is the best way to learn. We may rupture any organ with enough precision,” Mial says. Goosebumps rise on my arms—as if death is in the room with me now. “Tis almost an instant death. Painful though, yes?”
I glance up at him. Yes, painful. But how can I care about that right now? I died.
This man killed me with ease. I can’t imagine what he could do to my mom—or what he’s already done.
It’s for her that I play along, answering, “It’s very painful.”
He exploded my heart. It’s almost as if it’s racing now, just as fast as it had before I died. The taste of iron is on my tongue—I can’t tell if it’s real or fake, if my heart is actually racing, or if I can no longer distinguish between past and present.
Freyr told me there was no way to kill the Arcanes.
Immortality wasn’t a metaphor. I can’t die. I wasted so much time and resources to ensure I wouldn’t. I think of the village Mom and I left when I was fourteen—the last time she stole my memories. What I did to those people… If there was ever hope of saving me, it ended there.
“We shall attend to your training in due time,” Mial says. “For now, I only sought to teach the fundamentals.” He turns his back on me. How dismissive—how authoritarian. My training. He wants me to learn to kill people the same way he just killed me.
He wants me to do the very thing that stripped me of my humanity.
My nails dig into my palms as Mial moves toward the exit. I’ve been playing by his rules this entire time—but he needs me for something. That’s the only reason I’m here. Which means I must have some leverage.
“Are the fundamentals me dying?” I call.
Mial stops. “The best way to inflict pain is to have known it.”
“That’s what you want me to do?”
Slowly, he turns in my direction, every small movement of his limbs exact, like they were rehearsed. He meets my gaze, his mouth tight as he says, “I wish for you to wield your true power and employ it as you see fit.”
If he expects me to believe that, he’s dumber than I thought. But I want the power for myself—maybe then I’ll get away before he gets what he wants.
“I tried,” I say, pressing my lips together. It’s honest. I reached for the fire, but it wasn’t there. Something else was in its place—something smooth, almost like liquid.
“There’s no fire magic here,” I whisper. “Is there?”
Mial nods, clearly approving. I hate that my heart picks up, satisfied, but his approval means I’m doing the right thing.
“There is no sun,” he says.
“I noticed.”
“You’re wise. I expected no less.” He steps toward me. “Our magic in your universe—Elysia—was bound to the sun. The Solar Flame,” he spits, as if the words are both grand and bitter on his tongue.
“What about the Fire Folk?” I ask, thinking of my power. “The Flame?”
“It’s nothing in comparison,” he says. “It could never be. Anything more potent than the pitiful Flame would slay those Folk before they drew breath.”
His words feel like a punch to the gut. I don’t know why.
Mial raises his hand, the wound he gave himself earlier to demonstrate his magic ripping open again on command. Blood trickles down his arm as he watches it, his gaze following the stream.
No, guiding it.
“Such power does not traverse universes without being the mightiest of its kind,” Mial says.
If the fire magic didn’t follow them to The Void, how did any magic?
The extent of a magic-wielder’s power depends on their home worlds. The further we are from them, the weaker we become—except here. Something else fuels their power.
“There’s not just a different power source here?” I ask.
Mial meets my gaze, but there’s a flicker in his. It matches his smile. I’m asking the right questions. I bite back my smile.
“We Phoenicians are descended from Ayan. Where we stand now is not under his command—his domain begins and ends in Elysia.”
My mind catches further back.
“Phoenicians?” I ask.
Mial lifts a shoulder. “You did not believe we called ourselves the Arcanes?”
I glance down, pressing my lips together. He didn’t like that comment. I should think more before speaking. “I didn’t think about it.”
“Don’t worry, child,” he says, and I look back up. “They keep much from you in Eysia. Arcane is the name they gave us to hide what we were. To answer your question, there is no different power source here. To reach the Solar Flame, we must call upon the sun. But blood calls upon only itself.”
That means they did use blood magic in the ballroom—they killed me, and they almost killed Lucian, too.
“We shall have a rematch soon.” Mial smiles. “Here’s hoping you win.”
Great. He’s a sadistic bastard.
?
I wait until the dead of night, when everyone should be asleep. Silently, I press my feet to the floor, the cool marble forcing me to alertness. I walk on the tips of my toes, creaking open the door and stepping into the hall. As always, it’s dark.
I’m silent as I search for the only thing I care about here: my mom. I have no idea what I’ll do when I find her. Or after. Or ever.
Every step feels like treachery, carrying me deeper into the memories she stole.
In most of them, I killed people because I didn’t know how to control my power.
But I did know once. It was easy. All I had to do was want the Flame.
She stole from me, and I did terrible things because of it, and still, I want her back.
But before I make it far in my search, a door opens.
Trying to hide, I duck against the wall.
A figure steps into the hall—a man. Icarthus.
“You can come out,” he says.
I step forward. It feels better than being hunted.
Icarthus looks me up and down, his body uncomfortably still. “It’s pleasant to see you again.”
There’s something in the way he says it that suggests he doesn’t just mean from earlier today.
“How are you adapting?” he asks.
“Adapting?” My eyebrows furrow. “Everyone I love forgot me except one person, and you’re hiding her from me.”
Icarthus nods, as if he’s consoling me. “Sometimes loss is better than love, but it takes time to see that.”
His words strike me, reminding me of something else—the end of the prophecy Wendy delivered: Love will be your demise. I thought it was about my mom, but she’s the one person I haven’t fully lost yet.
Icarthus steps past me without another look. “Have a good night—”
“What do you mean by that?” I call.
He doesn’t stop walking. “What do you believe I meant?”
I shake my head. Lucian comes to mind, but it could be anyone—or at least a handful of people. Leiholan. Aralia...
My voice is tight. “Whose loss?”
Finally, he pauses. His back remains turned, but his head shifts just enough for one eye to find me. “Both of yours.”