Chapter 25 #2
Rotted roots slithered across the marble, leading to the decaying remains of a once-mighty tree. Similar to the corpses in the hall, fractured branches littered the floor like broken bones. The air was thick with the musk of decay, the silence so absolute it pressed against my skull.
At the center, the only surviving remnant stood, a hollowed-out shell of what was once a glorious trunk.
Brittle twigs shattered under my feet, and I strode deeper into the alcove. Moved into the eviscerated cavity of the empty stump. Pressed my palm against the charred walls.
“Pyrrhus’s sacred arbor.” Tears welled in my eyes. Unlike the bodies I’d grown immune to, this death I felt as though it were fresh, raw, and bleeding. The loss tore through me, cutting me open, ripping out my heart.
Instead of what should have been an awe-inspiring fountain of magic, what rested before me was the collapse of life. All that was missing was a headstone and grave.
A magical presence tugged at my center, the symbol on my neck heating. I glanced up to find that mysterious glowing orb hovering close. “This is it, isn’t it? The reason you sent me here.”
“Yes,” the voice answered. Hathor—answered. Something deep inside insisted that it was her. At long last, she’d heard me and responded. Only to bring me here.
“But why? What is it you want me to do?”
The orb drew further away, flying up into the domed ceiling. “No, stop. Come back. Don’t leave me again. I don’t know what to do!”
Ignoring my desperate pleas, the light faded, growing dimmer. Panic clawed up my throat. “Wait!” I cried out.
“Sera,” a voice called, this one deep and masculine.
I whirled, breath catching. Thorne strode down the aisle like a phantom rising from the ruins. The sight of him cracked something inside of me.
“What are you doing?” His question landed with authority, but his eyes flickered with hidden emotions. Pained. Tormented. “You shouldn’t be here.”
He jogged up the steps, and I spun to confront him, fists clenched, voice tight with tears. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
The reprisal on his face faltered, shadows pooling. He looked older at that moment, haunted by ghosts only he could see. “There’s much you don’t know.”
“Because you and Alaric cling to your secrets.” I stepped toward him, fists trembling at my sides. “Neither of you has been honest since I got here.”
He didn’t flinch, but he didn’t fight back either. He only stepped closer, slow and deliberate, hand outstretched. “Come. I’ll tell you everything. But not here.”
I stared at his hand, heart thundering. Would he give me the truth, or another carefully crafted lie meant to keep me docile?
The intensity of his gaze held me, stormy and bare in a way I’d never seen.
With a frustrated sigh, I placed my palm in his.
Wordlessly, we left the throne room, slipping through a narrow door off the dais I hadn’t noticed before.
My shoulders remained pinched, every step I took beside him a battle between anger and sanity.
His grip on my hand was firm but not forceful, as if he feared I might bolt if he held on too tight.
I wanted to demand answers. To yell and punish him for all the secrets and half-truths.
But the sight of Thorne’s taut shoulders and clenching jaw silenced me.
He looked like one of Pyrrhus’s shattered statues, once perfectly carved, now broken with regret.
For the first time, I wondered if the truth would break us both.
Finally, we reached a door untouched by ruin. Thorne pushed it open, the low creak loud in the silence that had fallen.
“Where are we?” My voice was raspy from shouting, pleading with a goddess who would not answer.
He glanced over his shoulder, eyes dark and weary. “My private wing.”
Something in me faltered. His private wing. It felt like stepping into his chest, into the part of him he never allowed anyone else to see. And yet here I was, hand in his, as though I had a right.
I hesitated on the threshold, head filled with flashes of memory. “I’ve been here before.”
His gaze flicked toward me, a ghost of a smile curving his lips. “Yes, you have, little spy. The night you watched me from the secret tunnels.”
My eyes swept the chamber. The once ransacked space was now neat and orderly, the damaged furniture replaced. Fresh linens covered the mattress. And yet, if you looked closely, scars remained. A scorch mark across the stone near the hearth. Gouges clawed into the wooden doorframe.
“You cleaned,” I said, voice unsteady.
He poured himself a drink, a surprising tremor in his hand. “Myrna refused to do it. Said since I wrecked the place, I should set it to rights.” He angled the bottle in my direction, his brows arched in question. I shook my head.
“So, it was you who…” Smashed everything. I swallowed. “It wasn’t easy, was it? Coming back here.”
His wince was sharp, fleeting. He took a long swallow from the glass before answering. “No. It wasn’t easy.” His gaze drifted to the bed, to the walls, but didn’t linger. As though he couldn’t bear to look too closely at his own past.
He sank into a wing-backed chair while I settled at the foot of his bed. “Tell me, Thorne. If you’ve set this room to rights, why won’t you do the same with the truth? Don’t you think it’s time someone heard the full story?”
“I’m afraid it isn’t a happy tale, and not entirely mine alone to tell.
” He twirled the liquid in his glass, troubled eyes staring into the mini vortex.
“Over a millennium ago, Pyrrhus was one of but a handful of kingdoms Hathor entrusted with a sacred tree. In exchange for this gift, those touched by the gods would form a covenant with the arbor. To rule was to serve—each king seated on the throne was joined to the tree. Every ruler left something behind, a fragment of themselves, so the next could inherit more than a crown.”
I found myself watching his hands instead of the words. How his grip tightened on the crystal, knuckles whitening as if tormented by that oath, centuries later.
“What happened to your arbor?” I asked, though part of me already knew. The weight in his tone said it all.
He finally lifted his gaze, and his haunted expression made my stomach twist. “The Dark One happened.”
The words cracked the air between us.
“In his quest for power, he targeted the trees. Pyrrhus was the first he destroyed, our tree falling victim to The Dark One’s unquenchable thirst.” Thorne’s countenance darkened, flames dancing behind his eyes.
I pressed my fingers to my throat, sickened by the loss. “So not only did he ravage your kingdom, he devoured its heart.”
Thorne drained his glass then dropped it onto the table, letting it clank. “Hathor was enraged. As punishment for breaking our oath to protect her gift, she cursed Alaric to remain in his beast form.”
My breath stuttered, the missing pieces of Pyrrhus’s puzzle falling into place. “So, it was Hathor who cursed him.”
“That was why he believed you could set him free.”
“Because I’m her handmaiden,” I grated.
“Thing is,” Thorne added, voice thick with emotion.
“Alaric wasn’t the one who failed the kingdom that day.
It was me. Hathor, for all her wisdom, had punished the wrong royal.
Had I been here, things may have been different.
Once I realized what had happened, I swore to remain at Alaric’s side until he was whole again. ”
“That’s why you basically enslaved yourself to him.”
“It was my fault. If I had been here...”
I clenched my fists in my lap. “You forget I’ve seen what The Dark One can do.
He’s a plague of locust infiltrating every crack and corner.
It’s unlikely you could have done anything to defeat him once he was inside.
” And from what Alaric said, some traitor had basically given the invading monsters the keys to the kingdom.
“Guess we’ll never know,” Thorne said, tone despondent.
I’d never seen him like this. With his confident swagger tossed aside, arrogance scattered like ash. Fractured. Vulnerable.
Something inside me clenched hard. The flame he’d given me writhed beneath my breastbone, pressing outward until it hurt to breathe. The distance between us became intolerable.
Before I could second-guess it, I slid from the bed and dropped to my knees before him. My palms found his thighs, solid, warm, trembling with the tension coiled in him.
“Tell me something. If given the chance, would you have laid down your life for your kingdom? For your brother?”
“A million times. Yes.” The word bled from him like a confession, drowning in a pool of regret so deep I thought it might drag him under.
I sank my fingers into his thighs, forcing his stormy blue gaze to connect with mine. “Listen here, Thorne Blackwing, and listen good. Fate had other plans for you. You were not meant to die with the others that night. Besides, who would have looked after Alaric if you had?”
Who would have looked after Speck? If my life had been different.
I’d failed him so many times. Yet even through the guilt, a fragile hope stirred—that somehow, together, Thorne and I might still find a way to save the ones we loved.
It couldn’t be a coincidence that the goddess brought us here to this place. At this time. Just as The Dark One resurfaced. But in that moment, none of it mattered.
All I saw was him.
My chest ached, my mind catching on the truth neither of us dared speak. We were both drowning, and the only way to stay afloat was to cling to each other.
I let my forehead dip against his, my voice a hushed plea. “What if we stopped fighting ghosts? Just for tonight. No past. No future. Only this.”
His breath hitched, hot against my lips. Slowly, dangerously, one brow arched, though the shadows in his eyes didn’t vanish. “And what,” he murmured, voice rough, “do you propose?”