Chapter 50 Wolfe
Wolfe
“The Sting of Truth”
The library smelled of old parchment and beeswax candles.
Dust floated in shafts of pale light from the high windows. The hearth was unlit. The air still. Quiet enough that I could hear the faint, unnatural hum beneath my skin.
I stood before the long oak table where Father once mapped battle lines and trade routes. Instead of strategies, I’d spread open tomes on Fae essence.
This was my father’s special library where he’d kept books on rare things.
I had not stepped inside here since he died.
I didn’t want to, and there’d been no need, until now.
I’d spent the morning looking through old books Father collected on essence restoration. He’d gotten them for my mother when she had the Sliver Shade Blight. He’d made restoration tonics that would keep the disease from consuming her.
My situation was different but the end result would be the same.
The brew Sirril made me was from one of my Father’s books. It had dulled the edges of my transformation. But that was all it could do.
Now I was looking for something that would buy me more time.
The problem was Deathwalker curses were rare. Those afflicted didn’t live long enough to document survival, and what they did to stave off the change.
I flipped another page and I thought of Elariya.
She was home today. I could have been spending the time with her, but I didn’t think I could see her yet.
I’d told Bastian to tell Alaric and Garrick I’d be in here, but to let everyone else I’d be away for the day.
I hated lying but pretending I was fine when I wasn’t was worse. That was lying on a different level.
Her family had deceived her at the start of the reset. I was no better. I was simply doing it by omission, and I refused to make it worse.
I was hoping to have some clarity by nightfall. I probably wouldn’t, but of all the things that could harm me, hope wasn’t one of them.
Footsteps echoed beyond the door, then it pushed open and Alaric came in.
From his expression, I guessed he’d just heard the news.
He closed the door behind him and rushed up to the table.
“I heard,” he said. “Just now.”
I straightened and sighed.
“Talk to me, tell me what the plan is.” He looked frantic. “What are we doing to fix it? Research?”
“There’s nothing we can do to fix it. My only hope is the ring. And that is not certain.”
His skin drained of color. “What do you mean? That sounds like you’re giving up.”
“I’m not giving up. I’m being realistic. I could change any day and I may not be able to change back. We can’t rely on finding the ring.”
He shook his head. “No, you’re right we can’t rely on the fucking ring.”
“Alaric calm down.”
“How the fuck can a sacrifice do this?” He ignored my request and got even more agitated. “What is a hundred years in the life of the Fae when we live for thousands of years?”
I’d thought the same thing but Bastian set me straight. “It’s about our essence. Mine was already impaired from the curse. Taking a hundred years from my life meant taking parts of my essence that would enable me to live that long.”
He stared back at me, speechless, and a faraway look entered his eyes. “We have to find a way.”
I waved my hand over the books. “I’m looking through the old books Father got to help Mother.”
“We need strong magic.”
“There is no magic for this. And if it progresses…” I said calmly, “I need you to take care of it.”
Alaric’s breath stilled. “What the fuck do you mean by that? Take care of it?”
“Alaric, I need you to kill me.” I said the words easily, although nothing about the request was easy. I’d wrestled with the damning solution since Bastian dropped the bomb on me.
My brother stepped closer, eyes wide, shaking his head. “You fucking asshole. How dare you?”
“You will do it.”
“We will find another way.”
“There is no other way if I lose control. You see what I become when I use death magic. The difference between that and me being a soulless creature is I will kill everyone and everything in my path without thought. You won’t be able to reason with me.”
His jaw clenched and a pained look filled his eyes. “You cannot ask me to do this.”
“Weeks ago, on the ship, you offered to help. This is what I need you to do.”
“Killing my brother is not what I meant.”
“I will not roam my own kingdom harvesting souls,” I said evenly. “I will not become the thing that cursed us.”
“You are not your curse, Wolfe.”
“If I fully transform, I will be.”
The thought of not being around cut me deep, but the worry of becoming my curse was worse.
“Do not let Bastian do it,” I added. “He would never forgive himself. And Garrick—” I exhaled slowly. “Garrick still carries light. He’s the guy who balances bad with good. Do not stain him with this.”
Alaric’s eyes darkened.
“And me?” he asked quietly. “You don’t think I’ll feel guilty?”
“Do not speak to me of guilt.” I couldn’t restrain the heavy emotion in my voice. “I had to kill our sister. Me. I killed Zyrra. And then I had to throw her body into the mouth of Mount Luuienaire.”
His expression shifted.
“All these years and you’ve never said anything to me about it. Not one way or the other.” I hardened my stare. “So please don’t speak to me about guilt when I suffered alone.”
“I couldn’t talk about it.” He gave his head a shake.
“I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to make you feel better without making you feel worse.
Or myself.” He blew out a ragged breath.
“Part of me… hated you. I understood why you had to do it—why you had to kill her—and I forgave you even though you weren’t in the wrong. But still… I couldn’t help myself.”
I’d been right. All these long years I knew my suspicions were right. I just loathed the confirmation. “I wish I could take it back. I wish I could have found a cure. I would have sat by Zyrra’s side for all eternity if I could and took care of her. Anything but death. Death at my hand.”
“I know.” Alaric nodded slowly and there was a newfound respect in his eyes for me. “You loved her dearly. She loved you the same. And I think that whatever was left of her mind and heart would have thanked you for the mercy you gave her.”
“I don’t know.” My vulnerability was speaking now. “I will never know. The look in her eyes when I ended her… it wasn’t gratitude. It was shock. Maybe that’s why she haunts me. I know that thing isn’t her, but it’s her to me. And this all feels like my comeuppance.”
“That’s not possible.” He gave me a long stare and shook his head.
I held his gaze. “Why?”
“Because you’ve done enough good in this world, and there’s more for you to do,” He spoke with a fervency I hadn’t seen in him before. “The kingdom still needs you—its king. We all still need you, Wolfe. I need you. Your mate needs you. This cannot be the end for you.”
Of all the things he’s ever said to me, that carried the most sentiment. And I deeply appreciated it.
“Thank you. It means a lot.” I leaned onto the table and paused for a beat. “This Deathwalker thing…it’s out of my hands, Alaric. I don’t think I have a choice in the matter. Whatever will be will be. But I’m not going to give up just like that.”
“At least that’s something to hold on to.” He dipped his head and offered a soft smile.
“Promise you’ll do what needs to be done if everything falls apart.”
“Wolfe—”
“I mean it.” I intensified my stare. “You end me. With father’s sword. End me. And take care of Elariya. She’s a Nightblade now. If anything happens to me, you must do those things.”
With reluctance, he nodded.
The silence that followed was thick with grief, and I couldn’t say anything more that would change it.
Anything I could have said was interrupted when a flash of bright luminous blue light shimmered in front of us and swirled around the air.
Kaem stepped from the swirling light, clad in thick leather armor, his broadsword lifted high.
In his other hand, he dragged something behind him.
At first, I thought it was a body.
Then I realized it was.
It was one of the rebels. Bloodied and broken, his neck bent at an unnatural angle.
Dead.
Dead except—
Fuck.
The corpse jerked upright and the rebel’s eyes snapped open, but they were empty voids filled with darkness. A sign the soul had long left the body.
Zombified.
He’d been zombified—his body reanimated by corrupted death magic, will and soul stripped away, leaving only a shell of meat and bone. And Kaem commanded what remained of him.
A rope made of bone pierced through the rebel’s spine, emerging from the base of its skull like a grotesque handle. Dark magic coiled around it, thin and smoky.
Alaric and I exchanged shocked stares.
“Kaem, what in the hells is going on?” I asked, moving forward.
“We’re about to find out, young Nightblade. This one is one of their generals. And the snake is bound by an unbreakable oath. They all are.” Kaem kicked the rebel in the gut and he howled, the sound unnatural and eerie.
Unbreakable oath. Fuck. That is exactly what I’d been thinking all along, from the way the prisoners had all held their silence. I’d thought the same thing about Thayden too. There was a vibe about all of them. Something that felt similar to me though I didn’t know for certain what it was.
“How are we going to get him to talk if he’s bound by an oath?” Alaric asked. He was at my side again, staring down at the zombified rebel with the same disgust I felt.
Kaem grinned faintly. “That’s where I come in.
I figured it out. Death loosens certain bindings.
Not fully, but enough. Reanimating a freshly dead person allows access to what’s left of their memories.
And their deeds. Through my special methods he’ll talk.
” He yanked on the rope and it made a crunching sound.
“But we need to be fast, he’ll lose what’s left of his essence in about five minutes, then he’ll be no good to us.
Until then, he’ll tell us whatever we need to know. ”