29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
WILDER
T he chains scrape along the cave floor, their rattle adding to the agonized shouts from the rest of Morte’s mates. The cold bites at my skin, the bindings gnaw at my broken wrists, and my muscles ache, but none of it matters. What matters is her. My eyes shift to Morte—her figure bare, lying before the king, her face held in his grasp. My anchor—held down onto the bed by that fucking monster, her expression hollow, eyes devoid of the fire I know. Pulsing through our bond is a grief and sorrow so deep, it could fill all the rivers, lakes, and seas. She’s out of reach, and I’m chained, useless.
But there’s a path I see clearly. One that I’ve always seen. I’ve thought about it over and over—every time I felt that tug toward her.
I knew my fate months ago. If she’s staying in the Underworld when we’re out of here, that’s where I belong. Beside her. Protecting her.
Never again will I allow chains or realms to separate us.
There’s no more time. Everything inside me roars against this moment. I need to act. Now.
Her other mates’ voices tear through the chamber, pleading, threatening, making promises to the king they can never keep, their desperation a haunting melody I feel in my bones and through the bond to Morte. Each of their shouts rises, raw and frantic, but they’re shackled, powerless. As am I—except for one truth I hold close. One certainty.
This was always my end.
I swallow, breath ragged, steeling myself. It needs to be quick. It needs to count. The only way to bring the reapers is my death, and they’ll take us all back to the Underworld. Back to where we have the chance to end the king for good.
Ollin’s voice drones, the opening incantations spilling out of his mouth like poison, each word tightening the urgency in my veins. Morte’s face tilts, her eyes distant, all hollow compliance as tears spill down her temples.
He might not be able to siphon our magic anymore now that the conduit—Azazel—is dead, but he can still siphon all of hers.
I turn my hands, pressing the shattered bones of my wrists against the harsh edge of the cave wall. It’s a brutal movement, one that sends a sickening shock through my entire arm, but I press harder. Faster. My own breaths grind out between my teeth, stifling any cries of pain as agony surges in my veins. I can’t let the guards hear. The heat of my blood begins to soak the wall, dripping to the ground as I push, feeling the skin tear, the bones splintering further.
My vision swims, the edges blurring with red, and the king’s voice grows louder, more triumphant. He thinks he’s won. He thinks he’s going to claim her.
Never .
I jerk my head back, yanking my arms with all my might. I slam it against the stone behind me for leverage, forcing the last bit of my strength through my wrists. The chains bite deeper, then give way, the edges slicing clean, hot, severing my arteries.
Blood spurts across the cavern floor, a crimson fountain splattering against the walls in pulsing streams. A rush of warmth spills down my arms, pooling around me, the world tipping sideways. My breath catches, the taste of metal flooding my tongue, and I close my eyes .
The cold wraps around me, the sensation hollowing out my chest, but it’s not fear. It’s certainty. It’s love.
For a brief moment as my heartbeat falters, time slows, each thud distant. My thoughts turn to my parents, to the grief I know they'll face, knowing their son is no longer in the fae realm, but dead. Before I lose myself to darkness, my mind is pulled toward light. Toward memories of happier times.
Swimming on a warm, sunlit day in the shores of Convectus, just after a summer storm.
The tide pulls gently at the sand, the salty spray tangling in my hair as I swim beside my father. His deep laugh rumbles, his tail slicing through the turquoise waves like liquid silver. "You'll never catch me, boy!" he shouts, his grin wide, teasing. My chest burns with the joy of the chase, my arms cutting through the spray, eager to prove him wrong.
Behind us, Mom's melodic call drifts over the waves. "First one to the shore gets kelp pudding!" She floats in the shallows, her green eyes glittering with affection, her silver hair fanning out like a halo in the current.
Later that day, as I bask in the victory of the race, Mom smiles down at me from the shore, a tender expression that reaches her eyes as she holds out something precious toward me. "A shell bracelet. It's more than a gift, Wilder—it’s a vow." She leans closer, conspiratorially. "In our tradition, a shell like this is given to someone who holds a piece of your heart, even if you don’t yet know if they’re your anchor."
I blink at her, the meaning sinking in. "But anchors are fated. What if they aren’t mine?"
Her smile remains. "That’s the beauty of this vow. It’s a promise, a declaration of devotion and patience. Merfae don’t give themselves to anyone except their anchor, but sometimes, you meet someone who feels important, even if fate hasn’t marked them yet. This bracelet says, ‘I see you. I honor you. And even if you're not my anchor, I'm yours.'"
I run a finger over the smooth curve of the shell, the significance dawning on me. "But why are you giving this to me?"
Her gaze grows thoughtful, her fingers brushing against the bracelet. "Because one day, you’ll meet someone, Wilder. Someone who changes everything. When you do, you’ll know. And when that day comes, you’ll need this. "
And I did. It was for Morte. Everything was for her.
The memory shifts, the warmth of their touch replaced by the cold, waning tide of the present. My chest tightens, grief pooling in the hollow they’ve left behind. I’ll likely never see them again, never hear their laughter or feel their arms around me. The pain of it is acute, cutting deeper than the darkness closing in on me now.
Still, I hold onto the memory, letting it buoy me, even as the world slips further away. For them, for Morte, for all of it—I’ll endure. I’ll make this sacrifice mean something.
And perhaps in the future, we’ll be able to visit Bedlam to see them.
A ripple passes through the room, the air itself thickening, shifting. I hear the first whisper of it—their arrival.
The reapers.
Their presence sucks the warmth from the space, a cold no fire could chase away, and I smile, my lips barely curling at the edges as my body slumps against the wall.
“Release them,” I whisper, my words meant for the cloaked figures gathering around us, shrouded in the darkness that even the king cannot command. “Please.”
The last of my strength drains, the world fading to black, but I know, in my final moments, that I’ve done what I must. I’ve brought them back to her. I’ve brought us home.
The silence takes me, and in it, I hear the shuffle of cloaks, the whispered promises of beings that exist beyond life itself. The chains around her mates’ wrists shatter, the sudden freedom followed by a roar—Aggonid’s rage shaking the cavern, magic flooding back into his veins.