Chapter Forty-Four #2
She throws out a hand, and Will’s knees collide with the black stone with a nauseating crack.
I turn on instinct, forgetting for just a moment that the monster writhing in agony is not the same boy who once made me a crown of flowers—who kissed me under the starlight and spoke to me with sprigs of blue salvia.
He clenches his teeth, but he doesn’t cry out, and I hate that there’s a part of me that wants her to hurt him. To make him pay for what he did to Jack and Owen and so many others. But worse, there’s a part of me that wants to intervene—to distract her from him. To make her stop.
“This isn’t about him,” I say, my voice firm. “You want my power?” I throw my arms out to the side. “Take it.”
Her eyes flash as she flicks her wrist, snapping Will’s arm.
“Oh, but he made this about him the moment he bit you all those years ago.” She grins like a child with a secret as she makes a fist, and Will’s shoulder is ripped from its socket.
“Azeron followed me during the Fall. Swore an oath to me in exchange for power, forsaking his life as a Nightweaver to become a Shifter. He was so obedient. So bloodthirsty.” She sighs, shaking her head, and the bones in Will’s fingers seem to implode.
“Then you came along. When he pleaded with me to become a Changeling, he acted as if it were in service of me, but I knew what he was doing—I always knew. He regretted what he did from the moment he joined my ranks. He wanted to forget the centuries of bloodshed, wanted the chance to live his life as a Nightweaver. To have a family—to be loved.”
She sneers, and Will’s spine releases a violent pop.
Morana continues. “He promised me that if I allowed him to become a Changeling, he would one day bring me the heir of Hildegarde, a willing sacrifice.” Another shrug, her smile sinister.
“If only you had embraced the gift he’d given you with his venom, you might have actually stood a chance against me.
” She tsks, as if genuinely disappointed. “If only you’d waited until tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
My eighteenth birthday. With everything that’s happened, I almost forgot.
It seemed like such a small thing—too trivial to celebrate in the midst of a war.
But Henry once told me that all Nightweavers receive a surge of Manan on their eighteenth birthday.
Some believe the increase comes from the True King himself.
Others think it’s a curse, because it’s the one day in every Nightweaver’s life where their bloodlust is most difficult to control.
Either way, it doesn’t matter. After tonight, I will be forever seventeen.
Morana releases Will from her hold, and he falls forward, his body trembling, his forehead slick with sweat. Slowly, his bones regenerate, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as his spine cracks, straightening once more—powerful healing magic unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
If only Will had used his powers for good, rather than in service of the Underlings.
Morana draws a knife, points it at the altar. “Oh well, it’s too late for that now.”
I will my feet to carry me forward as I say a silent prayer to the Stars.
Morana follows me onto the altar as the Underlings begin to cheer, the noise roiling my stomach. My ears ring, my breath coming in shallow gasps, but I continue to hold my chin high.
I meet Morana’s gaze as I kneel before her, my throat bared, and shout, loud enough for all to hear, “The True King sees.”
A promise. An oath.
My final oath.
Morana shrieks with laughter. “The True King sees?” she says, and I don’t miss the way her voice shakes. “Good,” she adds, lifting the dagger to my cheek. “Let him watch.”
The blade rips my flesh, and I’m blinded by white light.
I think about the day my forearm was branded in the Ink Haven town square, marking me forevermore as a pirate. Then, I told myself I would not scream. Today will be no different.
My vision focuses as Morana presses a goblet to my cheek, the cool metal stinging my face. She collects my blood just as I saw Calantha do with Titus that night in the dungeon.
“I think you’re going to enjoy being a Shifter,” she croons, sickly sweet. “Your brother certainly did.”
The next cut is more painful than the last. She slices my shoulder, ripping through the fabric of my shirt with ease.
“You’re lucky Azeron made his claim on you,” she whispers as she presses the goblet to my wound once more, letting my blood spill out, filling the cup. “Many of my generals are not as well-mannered as your sweet Changeling.”
The blade cuts across my stomach, and I lurch forward, my hand coming up to press against the gash.
“Now, that won’t do,” Morana says, prying my hand away. The press of the goblet against my skin makes me cry out. “Azeron?”
I feel the moment Will’s magic takes hold of me, rendering my body immobile, and I’m almost grateful. If he hadn’t, I might have tried to run.
When Morana slices my thigh, a scream rips from my throat, but it’s cut short by Will’s invisible grasp on my vocal cords. His magic clamps my jaw shut.
Lifts my chin.
Straightens my spine.
Another cut. Another slice. Another press of the goblet.
Suddenly, warmth floods my veins, soothing the pain, easing the ache in my chest.
My vision fades. I feel the power of the Lightbringer leeched from my blood, my bones, my very soul.
Teeth sink into my neck and I sag with relief.
One moment, I am kneeling on an altar of obsidian, and the next, I am standing beneath the stars on the main deck of the Lightbringer.
A boy no older than Albert stands in front of me, his brow furrowed with determination, and I recognize him instantly.
Titus.
“I don’t want you to go,” I tell him, and at the sound of my own childlike voice, I realize this isn’t a dream, but a memory. “Please, don’t leave me!”
“I have to,” Titus says, his bottom lip wobbling even as he sets his jaw. He climbs into the jolly boat, tears streaming down his young face.
“Promise me?” I ask, my voice a whisper lost to the crash of the waves as they lap at the hull of the ship. “Promise me we’ll find our way back to each other.”
The jolly boat drops a few feet, but he looks up at me, his eyes glistening in the starlight—as blue as my beloved ocean. “Nothing could stop me from finding my way back to you.”
He holds out his hand to me, and I reach for him, but the instant my fingers brush his, the world bursts, silver light exploding like a shattered mirror.
And then everything is golden. Gilded starlight envelops me, the dust swirling, warm and bright, tender and sweet.
But I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave him.
“Titus!” I scream, but my voice is not my own. It is the song of waves lapping at the shore for an eternity, meeting only where two worlds collide.
Let go, the Stars whisper. You’re safe now.
But I can’t forget him. Can’t forget his touch. His laughter. His voice, telling me I have to live. I won’t let go. Not again. Not ever again.
I reach out, fighting against the cool, inviting grasp of Death, and take hold of Titus’s hand.