Chapter 66 Death and All His Friends
Death and All His Friends
Lucian
T
he window behind me shatters, raining broken glass on the people scrambling through the room. The ceiling ahead collapses like a shower of stars.
The castle is breaking—just like Visnatus did.
I hold Lilac’s hand, with Calista and Kai on her other side. We’re close to the exit of the throne room, and I let go of Lilac, though I don’t follow her out.
She turns so fast she nearly stumbles, her face pale beneath the dust, her eyes wide. “You’re coming?”
A beam crashes behind me. “There are more people inside.”
“The guards!” Lilac shouts, her voice cracking as a tremor runs through the floor. “They’ll handle it—”
A scream cuts her off, and I take a step back.
“Desdemona’s inside,” I say.
Lilac makes a small, broken sound, and Calista tightens her grip on her. Kai steps toward me instead of Lilac, steady despite everything around us.
His voice carries through the noise. “Lucian,” he says. “I need to apologize.”
It startles me more than the destruction.
Before he can continue, I say, “No need. All’s forgiven, brother.” Kai opens his mouth. I rest a hand on his shoulder. “Get to safety,” I say.
To that, he nods. The three of them exit, Lilac looking over her shoulder at me as I step back into the room.
I run toward the thrones, pausing for another cluster of older people. Two men help the women up, one of whom limps as she stands. Blood drips down their arms, staining their clothes, with bits of glass embedded in their skin.
I offer my hand to the limping woman. She clutches me tightly as I turn toward the exit, walking toward a guard.
“Get them to the exit,” I instruct. “Then get out of here yourself.” The guard nods, taking the woman’s hand.
I move again, searching for Desdemona, but I can’t see her through the smoke and fire. Most people have exited.
Up ahead, a shadow takes shape through the smoke. As I draw closer, a man emerges—his face half-hidden by a mask that conceals everything but his mouth.
“Sir,” I call. “Do you need help?”
He coughs into his arm.
“The exit is the other way.” I walk forward, gently grabbing his shoulder—unsure where he might be wounded—trying to turn him around.
The man doesn’t budge.
From the corner of my eye, I catch the glint of metal in his hand, just by his waist. I release his shoulder and step back. I don’t have a sword of my own; my only weapon is the staff. Though, it seems no matter.
The man reaches for his mask, pulling it off to reveal his eyes—purple.
He steps closer, and as I try to move, I realize too late what he’s done—slipped into my mind. Draes have the power to steal all mental abilities, and now he’s stolen mine. He controls my brain, and with it, the movements of my body.
The man clutches his sword, placing one hand on my shoulder as if to keep me still, even though I’m unable to move.
Beneath his breath, he whispers, “May Draevia reign,” as he presses the sharp, cold steel into my stomach. The sword runs through me, and he twists his wrist before pulling it out and stepping away.
My body can’t even collapse to the ground while he controls it. I have no choice but to watch him drop five small, cubic bombs that spark as they bounce on the floor.
Moments later, the room explodes.
?
My ears ring. Distantly, I hear my name. The voice echoes, in one ear and out the other, like they’re yelling from across the room and into my eardrum at the same time.
My head lulls to the side, my vision blurring—the five exploding cubes sit across the floor, close together. From a distance, they look like a star, glinting in the dim light.
Pressing my palms into the floor, I push myself up. Blood leaks from the wound on my stomach, and stars press into my vision. Yet I find the strength to follow the direction of the voice. The room is empty now except for the bodies that litter the ground. I assume most of them are dead.
The windows have been blown out, moonlight shining in tall slants. As I move, I see the entire back wall is missing—not just the windows. The Great Sea sits open ahead, and I look over it when I should be looking over the thrones.
Then, from the corner, I see something hanging off the ledge. Stories above the sea is a teetering, chipped crown. A gust of wind could blow it right off the ridge.
“Lucian!” The shout echoes. I can hardly hear through the ringing in my ears.
I spot blood across the room, beneath the rubble. Clutching my wound tight, I hobble toward the voice, scared of who and what it is. I take only one step, just to see. The closer I get, the more distinct the red becomes—the exact color Desdemona wore today—until I can’t help but move faster.
She’s lying beneath a mess of rubble, blood coating her from head to toe.
“You’re all right,” I whisper, mostly to myself. There isn’t a word for the relief that eases my heart.
It’s stripped in a moment. Her hand rises from the rubble. Crimson drips from her fingers, the red trailing in thin, uneven threads from each nail as she reaches out to me. Begging for me.
I look at her. The woman I love. The one I’ll always love.
The one I was destined to fail.
What have I done?
I stop in my tracks, watching as Desdemona’s hand strains for mine, the veins bulging at her wrist. The room is already littered with bodies, and if I reach for her, there will be countless more.
I glance around, searching for one person still breathing to tell me I’m wrong. Each body my eyes fall on is still.
There isn’t a soul left alive in this room.
If I let Desdemona fall, then I will save the universe. Yet if Desdemona is the end, then so be it. If she is the way I betray the worlds, then perhaps I was truly fated to.
For I don’t want an ending without her.
As I take a step forward, the crown on the ledge shifts and tumbles into the sea—its fall sending a monstrous wave that towers over the crumbling castle, foam streaked crimson as it rises. We don’t have time.
Every warning, every fractured hand and shattered throne, every star and crown comes to this moment as her fingers meet mine.
And yet, without a doubt, I reach for her, even as the first bolt of red lightning flickers through the sky, cracking it open.
Darkness descends, the moon flickering from silver to rust as Desdemona rests her hand in mine.
She comes alive, and I pour that life into her, bleeding myself dry.
My veins flare red on impact, darkening to black as her presence floods through my hands.
But I will always reach for her.