Chapter Fifty-One
Beneath the waves, everything is peaceful. Quiet. The roar of the cannons distant, as if the battle rages on somewhere far, far away.
My feet touch the ocean floor, and the earth pulses, water surging in every direction.
I reach out in the direction of the Red Island, and I can see it—the corrupted threads of Manan, unraveling like a spool of crackling green thread as Morana rips apart the fabric of the island.
The water propels me swiftly forward, and I wonder if this is how Owen felt when he first mastered a vortex.
As I draw near, I grab hold of the strings.
Cursed magic pulses in my grasp, the green energy licking at my forearm like toxic flames.
But the glow of the Manan appears even brighter, the cloud of gold dust encapsulating me in its dazzling light.
Morana has taken everything from me. My home aboard the Lightbringer. My life at sea. My choices.
But she will never take me.
This light—this power—is mine.
With eyes unlike my own, I see the light in every stitch of the fabric of the Red Island.
And I begin to weave the dust of creation.
Magic burns in my veins like a holy fire, flowing through me, into the fabric of the island. The ocean floor glows gold, and distantly, I realize my skin does, too, growing brighter and brighter until both the island and I appear to be made of light.
The ocean surges again, lifting me up. In a blur of bubbles and light, I rise from the depths and set foot on the beach of the Red Island.
The stone remade. The jungle restored. The earth renewed.
Morana’s damage reversed.
The sun peeks out from behind the clouds of ash. And there, rising out of Samael, Emrys soars over the island toward Morana’s fleets, where he reigns down fire from above, torching the enemy’s ships.
Battle continues to rage all around me, most of the Underlings and the surviving people of Ember driven out of the jungles and onto the beaches during Morana’s attack.
But my senses, sharpened by my connection to the Manan in the island, detect the slightest shift of the grains of sand nearby as Morana halts about ten feet away.
I turn, ready to face her.
She cocks her head, but when she smiles, I note the fear in her eyes. “Aster Oberon,” she croons. “The Shadowslayer.” She laughs, bending slightly in a mock bow, motioning to the battle raging all around us. “Do you still believe that love can save us all?”
I glance over my shoulder, just long enough to see jolly boats carrying droves of Morana’s armies onto the beach.
But my family is here, too: Mother and Father, Killian and Lady Isabelle.
Elatha leads the Myths, Bronmir and Grendwin.
Even Tollith wears a knight’s helm, his dagger raised in defiance.
My siblings and our friends push forward, and I spot Henry, his face pale, but his hands lifted as he sets fire to a Gore—healed of the wound in his stomach—and while the sight of him gives me fresh hope, I can’t help but wonder if Will’s bonewielding is to thank for Henry’s miraculous recovery.
The crew of the Starchaser storms the beaches, and even though they’re outnumbered, they charge into the fray, a battle cry on their lips—prepared to fight until the end.
Titus fights alongside Gabriel, Rook, and Diana, but when a Shifter aims an arrow at Titus’s back, it’s Margaret’s expert aim that lodges a throwing knife in the Shifter’s throat before they have the chance to fire.
Will is nowhere to be seen.
Shlink. Morana unsheathes a long, curved blade.
I draw Cursebreaker, my hands trembling.
“You could have wished for anything,” Morana says, stalking toward me as we begin to circle each other. “You could have saved them.”
She lunges forward, but I evade, our blades clashing with a resounding clang.
“I should never have been able to make a wish in the first place,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “I don’t need to steal someone else’s power to save anyone.”
“Oh?” She flashes her sharp canines in a biting smile. “What about Owen? Surely you could have brought him back?”
My stomach twists with guilt. Could I have brought him back? If I had, Elsie would still be alive. But she wouldn’t be here—she wouldn’t be home, with all of us.
I set my jaw and strike, but Morana dodges my blow.
“I know you, Aster,” she says, twirling her sword.
“I was you.” She slices at my arm, drawing blood.
“Did he tell you there was a plan?” Another slash of her blade, stinging my thigh.
She laughs, and the sound grates against my eardrums. “You have no purpose. It doesn’t matter what you do or who you save.
In the end, you will always choose wrong, and people will die, and it will be all your fault.
And what will you do? How will you live with yourself? ”
She sneers. Takes a step back. Sheathes her blade.
“You can’t.” The fire in her eyes flickers.
“You won’t. You can only fight for justice so long before you realize you’re just feeding that insatiable craving for revenge.
I’ve already seen it—how the rage has twisted you.
How it’s forged you. I could have used that pain.
I could have made you someone to be feared. Powerful, like you always wanted.”
My fists clench around the hilt of Cursebreaker, my arms trembling. I can see it in her eyes—that spark of victory. And I let her feel everything as it sweeps through me—the rage and the grief, the guilt and the shame. I don’t fight them. I don’t bury them. They are a part of me.
And I’m not hiding any longer.
“You can be free of this pain, Aster,” she says, her voice soft. “You just have to let go of the idea that you could ever be loved—that love will ever be enough to keep you safe. Fear will. Power will. Once you accept that, you can be truly free.”
I lower Cursebreaker. “I am free.”
Cruel laughter curves her lips. “Wrong choice.”
Pop. Morana disappears in a whirl of black smoke.
In an instant, she stands before me, the Elysian dagger she’d stolen from me all those months ago in her grasp, now crackling with cursed energy.
As she thrusts the blade toward my heart, all I can think is that this can’t be the end. Not after everything I’ve done—everything I’ve lost. I lift Cursebreaker, but I’m not fast enough.
The dagger pierces flesh.
But not mine.
Will’s green eyes meet mine as he gasps, and at once, he’s no longer Azeron—no longer the Underling who betrayed me. He’s the boy who brought me flowers. The boy who loved his family. The boy who made sure that Titus was never alone.
He drops to his knees as Morana shrieks, her face contorting with fury.
She tries to run. I see the moment her body twists, her feet lifting.
But she isn’t fast enough.
I swing Cursebreaker, gleaming with heavenly golden light.
And Morana’s head rolls at my feet.