Chapter Forty-Four
As I soar over the Western Sea, I wonder if this is what it’s like to be a Star, looking down on our world from the realm above.
To my left, the stormy, fog-laden skies of the Dire rise up like a dark wave.
But to my right, the ocean is endless, stretching beyond the horizon, beyond the Known World.
Emrys crosses the Western Sea in less than a day.
When my muscles ache and the sun scorches my face, I remind myself that this will all be worth it.
By nightfall, the coast of Hellion comes into view.
It’s not long before we pass over the wall, and Emrys weaves through the towering flames that shoot into the sky.
I can turn back, Emrys says. If you choose.
“No,” I say aloud. “No turning back.”
We round the charred mountain. There, atop the precipice overlooking the fiery chasm that split the earth six hundred years ago, the Underlings gather.
And in their center, Morana stands in front of an obsidian altar, her black gown pooling at her feet like spilled ink.
No need to hide in Havok any longer. Not when she and her armies have conquered most of the Known World.
Not when I’m walking willingly into the fires of the Burning Lands to deliver myself to her.
Will leans against the altar, his hands in his pockets, expression neutral all but for the amusement glittering in his eyes.
Emrys lands ten feet from the altar. The Underlings back away, giving the Myth a wide berth. Some shriek, scrambling to get out of range. But Morana tilts her head, a slow smile curling her lips.
“Emrys,” she croons. “You’re supposed to be dead, like the rest of your traitorous breed.”
A low growl rumbles in the dragon’s chest as I dismount. I place a hand on Emrys’s cheek, and he nuzzles against my palm, reminding me of Caligo. His sapphire eyes soften, and for a moment, he looks as if he doesn’t want to leave.
“Go,” I whisper.
Emrys snarls at the Underlings as he beats his wings, rising into the air. I watch the dragon disappear around the mountain, obscured by the thick clouds of smoke.
“I thought I told you to bring the Relics,” Will drawls.
I shrug off my coat, letting it fall to the charred earth as I take a step toward the altar.
“This is what you truly want, isn’t it?” I look only at Morana, even as I feel Will’s gaze burning the side of my face—even as I slip the band of braided leather from my wrist and toss it at his feet.
“With the power of the Lightbringer, it should be easy for you to acquire the Helm and the Sword. My people will be defenseless against you. You can take the Elysian Navigator, and with it, you can find the final Key.”
“That wasn’t the deal,” Will says, his voice taut.
Morana looks past me to Will, her smile widening.
“Ah, you came here for love,” she says, her voice a smoky, seductive whisper.
“Did he promise to save your precious little king?” She laughs, the sound grating against my eardrums. “You would be willing to give up power for love?” She tuts, shaking her head.
“Power is the only thing that could have saved him—that could have saved all of them.”
I think of my mother and siblings discovering that I’ve gone.
I wish I could have told them about our plan.
Because I know something Morana doesn’t.
I’ve felt it in every embrace my father has ever given me, every time Lewis has squeezed my hand to let me know he’s there, every time Margaret and Charlie and I shared a laugh.
I felt it in my mother’s grin, Elsie’s laugh, Albert’s loyalty. I felt it in Owen’s sacrifice.
“Someone once told me that love is the only thing more powerful than fear.”
I think I see Will tense.
Something flickers in Morana’s red eyes. “There was a time I believed that to be true,” she says, a sharp, bitter edge to her voice. “When I was human.”
Human. It’s hard to imagine Morana was ever human.
She cocks her head, her gaze assessing—not pitying, but almost… sympathetic? “There is so much more than just this place—this world. Beyond the heavens—beyond Elysia.”
I clench my hands into fists at my side to keep them from shaking, maintaining a carefully neutral expression.
Beyond Elysia?
I grit my teeth. She’s trying to get in my head one last time. But I won’t let her.
“Where I come from,” Morana continues, “there was always war—always suffering. I thought I could save the people I loved.” She spits, baring her teeth in a sneer.
“When the True King plucked me from the ashes of my former life, I thought it was my chance to change things. If I couldn’t save my home, maybe I could make a better one.
But it was the same everywhere we went. More wars.
More suffering. And you know what I realized?
When you give people a choice, they will always choose themselves. ”
“You’re wrong,” I say, my lip curling on a snarl.
I think of Jol and Darius, who risked their lives to help us escape the Underling regime.
I think of Orella, ready to die for her people.
Of Owen, willing to give his life for mine.
Of everyone fighting alongside the Order, risking everything for those who can’t defend themselves.
When I look back, it’s always there—the goodness.
The love. “I’ve seen it myself. I’ve seen people choose to be better. ”
Titus chooses to be better, despite having every reason to give in to the darkness. He tries, truly tries to be good.
And that’s enough. It has to be enough.
“You’re so much like her,” Morana says, huffing an icy laugh.
My eyes narrow. “Hildegarde?”
She rolls her tongue in her cheek, contemplating.
“We were friends, once—before the Fall.” There’s a twinkle in her eyes that looks far too much like sorrow.
“Did you know it was Hildegarde’s husband who created the Relics?
That would make him your ancestor, no?” She squints at me, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, and this time when she stares at me, when her gaze examines me from head to toe, it’s as if she were seeing someone else—seeing Hildegarde, I think.
Her eyes turn cold, her voice tainted with venom.
“He knew what your people seem to have forgotten. Underlings are born from the evil of humanity—our lust, our greed, our wickedness. Why should they be imprisoned for our choices when humans are allowed to roam free? He wanted to give them a choice—to see what they would choose. Of course,” she adds with a shrug, “they chose to indulge their own desires. After all, we Underlings represent the things humans hate the most about themselves—the things they try to hide, the lies they believe. That they can be good—that they can be different. Better.”
At this, the Underlings roar with laughter, and the sound nearly causes me to retch. But I stand up straighter. Hold my head higher.
Morana’s lip curls on a snarl, and I see it, then—the bitterness in her eyes. The heartbreak. “It was Hildegarde who killed him, her own child’s father. Slayed him with the power of the Lightbringer.”
My mouth parts on a sharp intake of breath, my chest aching, head spinning. I want to believe it’s all a lie, but there’s something about the way Morana looks at me now—something about the way her eyes flash when she speaks about Hildegarde—that makes me think she might be telling the truth.
A single tear rolls down Morana’s cheek, her eyes blazing like unholy fire.
“I could have used that power to make a difference on my world—on worlds like mine—but he gave it to her. For this wretched place!” She throws her arms out, her head tilted back to look at the black, starless skies above.
“But none of that matters now. It’s too late to change the past. I couldn’t save my home, but I am no longer that scared, useless human who needed to be rescued.
When I take possession of the Relics, I will show your King what true power looks like.
And when he lies dead at my feet, I will open the gates to all realms, and with my armies I will finally bring peace to all worlds. ”
“By taking away their choices?” My hand strays to my hip—to the empty sheath where my dagger would have been. “That isn’t freedom.”
“Peace is freedom.” Her expression turns gravely serious despite the manic gleam in her eyes. “I’m going to set you free, too. I might have set your family free as well if you had done what Azeron asked and brought me the Relics.”
My blood runs cold. I look over my shoulder, but Will is no longer looking at me. He holds my coat in his arms like a corpse as he stares past me at the altar, his jaw set, expression unreadable.
Morana follows my gaze, her lips pursing in a mock pout.
“He begged for the chance to make that deal with you. I told him he should have slaughtered them all himself and taken you and the Relics when he had the chance.” She lifts her shoulders in a careless shrug, examining her long black fingernails, glistening like oil in the firelight.
“I must admit, I’m rather glad you showed up empty-handed.
I will not show the mercy he so generously tried to offer you when I take back what should have been mine. ”
My heart thuds painfully against my rib cage. What if I’m wrong? What if I’ve made a mistake coming here?
No, I tell myself, refusing to let Morana see that her blow has landed. I trust myself to make the right choice. This is the right choice.
My refusal to break down—to plead for my family’s lives—must strike Morana, because she tilts her head, a cruel slant to her lips as her eyes flick to Will.
“Besides, I prefer it when Azeron disobeys,” she purrs, stepping toward me almost conspiratorially. “It gives me the opportunity to remind him whom he belongs to.”