Chapter 25
Water.
My lips are dry. My tongue’s glued to the roof of my mouth. What the fuck? How much did I drink?
I stretch out my arm, blindly groping for the glass on my bedside table, not fully awake.
“Sels,” a voice murmurs, hoarse, broken, then bellows, “She’s awake!”
Jestin. ”
I blink against the light, flinching as it is searing my vision. He is sitting at the end of my bed, shirt unbuttoned, his hair a tousled mess.
“Hi, handsome,” I croak, wincing at the burn in my throat.
He must’ve ridden it hard. Ha.
“Easy,” he says, holding a straw to my lips.
The water is cold, nearly as divine as Fae wine. I drain the glass, then take a deep breath.
“I was afraid,” Jestin whispers. “You almost didn’t come back.”
“That much of a party?” I tease, but he doesn’t smile. His lips press together, hard.
Someone else… has someone else ridden my throat?
I take in his bruised, hollow eyes, hair wild, but not from sex.
“You look awful,” I rasp.
He laughs softly. “That’s exactly what you would say after almost dying.”
“You underestimate my ability to hold that liquid, Juice. Come here and I’ll show you how alive I still am,” I tease, but he doesn’t crack a smile.
What the fuck is wrong?
“What happened?” My voice rises, high-pitched.
He looks around and I follow his gaze.
This isn’t Santorili. Not my room in Tricity. Not Uncle Filip’s. Not home.
It’s the most hideous place I’ve ever seen.
“Where are we?” I jerk up, but my muscles won’t obey. Jestin catches me in time and helps me sit.
The covers peel back, and my nostrils flare.
Disgusting.
The mattress is soaked.
Piss? Wine?
I inhale again.
No. My sweat.
“We’re at the Peaked Mountains. Do you remember?” He asks, his gaze searching mine, fingers nervously tapping the bedspread.
Peaked Mountains. Yes. The Trials. We’re at the last stage before the coronation.
“You won the Sword Trial.”
“Of course I did,” I joke.
He doesn’t smile. Instead, he runs a hand through his hair, struggling for the right words. “Do you remember anything else?”
I remember. The arena. The fury. The fire in my blood. How I acted.
I clap my hands over my head to block out the images from surfacing, but to no avail.
Guilt and shame burn a pit in my chest, and I pull back on the mattress, hitting the bedframe.
“Yes,” he says, offering me more water, but I refuse.
“I’m sorry,” my voice breaks, and the realisation hits. “You know about the balm.”
“I know,” he confirms. “But you’re back. That’s all that matters.”
Fuck, I’ve messed up.
The door creaks open and Baba Yaga steps in. Her stare cuts straight through me, appraising me inch by inch.
I raise a brow, but she only shakes her head.
“I deserve it,” I mutter.
“She’s awake,” she says, like it’s a bad thing. Jestin shifts uncomfortably on the bed while she lowers herself into one of the empty chairs.
“Have you told her?” She asks Jestin.
“I was getting there,” he mutters.
“Then hurry.”
I’m right here. Hello?
He sighs, then grabs my hand and squeezes it hard, like he’s holding for dear life. “You need to promise me… don’t blame yourself.”
My heart stutters. Where are Aidon and Riven?
“Tell her, or I will,” Baba Yaga snaps.
Jestin looks at me, haunted and broken. Not like him at all.
“Santorili has fallen.”
The world freezes.
“Say that again,” I demand, refusing to believe what I’ve just heard.
He averts his gaze, staring out the open window.
“Samira made a deal with Chief Gerald. She surrendered the city. The Elementals burned… the city.” His voice breaks on the last word, and I squeeze his hand tighter.
“Bane flew with the news while you were unconscious. He and Riven took off immediately to summon their army and help however they could.”
Riven…
“She wouldn’t betray us.” I refuse to believe our friend would do something like that. She loves that city as much as Jestin. As much as I do.
Jestin’s jaw clenches, and his expression stiffens. “She did. And I can’t even be mad at her. If I lost you, I’d burn the world too.” Then, quieter, almost to himself, he adds, “I shouldn’t have separated them. It’s my fault.”
“No!” I choke out, trying to hold back tears. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. If I had just…”
“Stop,” he cuts me off, voice sharper than ever. “I was in charge. It was my decision. My failure.”
“But there’s more,” Baba Yaga says.
I’ve forgotten she is here. My chest tightens. What else? Isn’t it bad enough?
“Can’t you give me a minute with her?” Jestin turns to Margorate, but she shakes her head, fixing me with a look of pure anger, no sympathy in sight.
“You overdosed on the Argorian root. Your heart stopped. The shapeshifter drank it from your veins. Siphoned it out to save you.”
He did what?
“Where is he?” I cry, panic clawing at my chest. I jerk up, but my damn muscles refuse to cooperate.
Jestin grabs my wrist, holding me in place, and forces me to look into his green eyes. “He took the backlash. Your magic attacked him. His body’s… his magic’s burning itself out.”
Margorate pins me with a look worthy of a Queen, shattering my heart. “He’s turning mortal.”
I stop breathing. My eyes shoot to my left wrist in a desperate search for the bond mark.
It is there, faded almost beyond recognition.
“Take me to him,” I demand, my voice faltering because of the giant lump in my throat.
Jestin nods solemnly and scoops me up. I want to run, but I need his help.
The whole walk to the other room, my heart feels frozen. I don’t want it to beat. Panic claws at me — the terror that I may wake up in a world without my Simon.
Hinges croak as Jestin cracks the door open.
As soon as we slip inside, I find Aidon sitting on the bed in the second bedroom, arms wrapped around himself.
He doesn’t move or acknowledge us in any manner.
“Aidon,” I choke out, but there’s no response. He is still staring out the window at a group of kids playing tails.
Hey! I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I send it to him mentally.
But only when Jestin sets me gently on the edge of Aidon’s bed and I nudge his leg, does he finally look at me.
His beautiful face, normally a sight that steals my breath, looks terrifying now, shadowed by dark bruises under his eyes, and the fine stupor that makes him look utterly weak.
He looks like Jestin—broken.
“You got your wish,” he says aloud, bitterness coating each word.
“What? I never wanted any of you to get hurt. I would have never taken it if I’d known you’d get hurt.”
His scarlet eyes drill into mine, heavy with anger and something fractured, something too raw to name.
It feels like he’s searching my soul, as if every answer is buried in that moment.
I want to speak, to reach for him, but my voice catches in my throat.
And then I notice.
The hum at the edge of my mind is gone.
No pull. No invasion. No tether between us.
My mind is my own.