Chapter 72
Live.
The world sung the word.
And my body moved before I even knew what I was doing. I spun. My grip shifted, my wrist snapped—
The dagger flew.
It sliced through the air, a silver blur aimed straight for Xyliria’s throat.
For a single, frozen heartbeat, I saw her eyes widen, saw her lips part in shock.
Real, genuine shock.
I didn’t wait to see if the blade would find its mark. Instinct took over. There was no time for hesitation, no time for second-guessing.
I lunged, driving my elbow into Merrick’s ribs with all the strength I had left. Bone snapped beneath the force of the blow. He doubled over, and I was already moving.
I wrenched my moonsilver blade from his hand. He made no move to stop me, didn’t even try to dodge or block, and that should have set off every alarm I had.
But there was no time to wonder why the bastard wasn’t putting up a fight.
The moonsilver keened against my palms, a sound of pure recognition.
They knew me. Remembered me. Had been waiting for this moment when they could sing their deadly song in my hands again.
Merrick straightened, dodging backward just as I slashed at his throat, the edge missing by a hair’s breadth.
Not fast enough.
I reversed my grip and drove the pommel of my dagger straight into his temple. The impact was solid, satisfying, a meaty crack that meant bone meeting metal with considerable force. His eyes rolled back, knees buckling, and he dropped like a stone. I bent and grabbed the second blade from his hip.
I didn’t pause. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t waste a single second checking if he was truly down.
My hand found the collar around my throat, fingers scrabbling for the mechanism, for any weakness in the obsidian surface.
The moonsilver screamed in my grip. They wanted blood, wanted to taste the magic that had been stolen from me, wanted to carve their way through everything that stood between me and freedom.
I didn’t hesitate.
With a vicious jerk, I shoved one blade beneath the collar at my throat.
The metal bit back, resisting, and pain bloomed, hot and searing, as the dagger sliced into my skin. Blood welled instantly, thick and warm, trailing down my collarbone, but I didn’t stop.
I pressed harder.
The burn of metal against flesh was nothing—nothing—compared to the sheer rage building inside me, the fury screaming through my blade and blood.
The collar held.
I twisted the dagger, forcing it deeper, teeth grinding against the sheer agony of it. Blood flowed freely now, dripping onto the stone floor in dark, sluggish streaks. I didn’t stop.
The metal groaned.
It bent.
The pressure broke open, the familiar hiss of strained magic filling the air as the collar’s hold weakened.
One more push. One more desperate wrench of the blade.
The collar shattered with a crack like every bone breaking at once.
It clattered uselessly to the floor.
Behind my ear, the mark burned.
Not the surface burn of flame or blade, something deeper. Visceral. Like a chain snapping inside my skull, something that had been wound so tight around my magic it had become part of me.
And then it broke.
The world ignited.
Power, no longer caged, no longer contained, coursed through me in a violent, intoxicating rush.
It was everywhere. In my blood, in my bones, in the marrow of my soul. The force of it nearly knocked me breathless, slamming into me, the air itself alive inside my skin.
For a single, shuddering heartbeat everything stilled.
Then—
Chaos.
Xyliria’s shriek of rage ripped through the chamber. She’d deflected the blade, and clouds of crimson poured from her.
A thunderous roar filled the space as Varyth surged forward, breaking free of his shock, his fury unleashed. He barrelled into the nearest guards, sending them flying, the raw power in his strikes shaking the ground beneath us.
I spun, blade flashing.
Slashing at the chains binding Linc.
The steel sparked, once—twice—before the links snapped.
He staggered, sucking in a gasping breath as he tore himself free.
“The others!” I shouted, already pivoting.
Linc was already moving.
Power thrummed through me, raw and electric, my veins pulsing with the sheer force of my magic finally roaring back to life.
But when I unleashed it—
It wasn’t fire.
It was smoke.
No. Not smoke.
Shadows.
Darkness, wild and untethered, poured from my skin. It slithered outward—a force that was both a part of me and something else entirely. They were rage and memory and a power infinitely older. But somehow, they had always been there. Waiting.
They swept across the stone floor in a violent tide, ripping through the nearest guards with a merciless hunger, swallowing them whole. Their shouts barely formed before the darkness devoured them.
Xyliria stumbled back.
I heard someone scream my name, whether in awe or terror, I didn’t know. I didn’t look around to find out.
Because for the first time, I saw a crack through that perfect, cruel mask Xyliria always wore. Her lips parted, ready to speak, to order, to demand. But no words came. There were none.
Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.
I wasn’t supposed to happen.