27. Leah #4
I think of that and endure the bite of incinerating heat through gritted teeth, the muscles in my forearms cording with pain.
I’m aware, distantly, of a sound rising from my throat—a deep, lowing noise that escapes even as I swallow down a much louder scream.
I’m concentrating so hard on Leah that I almost miss that same feeling of release as the runes’ magic leaves, catching only the tail end of it as it rushes from me.
She drops her hands and the lightning retreats, leaving only the acrid scent of burning flesh. I relish it, staring at the raw, seared patches of skin where the runes used to be. I hear a sniff, and when I look up, I see Leah kneeling there with a few quiet tears dripping down her face.
The tips of my fingers are on her cheek in an instant, wiping them away. “Oh, my darling,” I say, the words coming before I can think about them.
“I’m fine,” she says, furiously wiping her face with the heel of her hand. “I just hated that…putting you through so much pain. Not fun. Felt almost like I was hurting myself.”
She admits the last part sheepishly, not meeting my gaze.
It doesn’t escape me that hours ago we separated from each other, breaking a connection that had tied us together in the most intimate ways.
That was meant to be the end. If all had gone according to plan, we’d have parted after that for good.
And yet—I understand what she means. The thought of causing Leah pain feels like taking a blade to myself.
Which is why her upset now must be banished.
“Leah, you’ve given me the greatest gift,” I say. “What’s a few burns next to that?”
I can’t keep the awe out of my voice, and I don’t want to. All this time, I thought I would be Leah’s savior, shielding her from the violence of Aradis, or Infernum, or even on the plains of Strata. But in fact, she was always coming to save me.
An ephilium with a demon heart—a unique, impossible set of circumstances that make her precisely equipped to break the spell that’s haunted me for three centuries.
“Look,” I say, my smile so wide it feels like it’ll swallow up everything else, as I show her my wrists. The burns are already starting to fade, raw flesh being replaced with fresh skin, unmarked and runeless.
She stares at them, surprised, which makes me want to laugh, given how confident she was before she started barbequing me.
Is fate really setting me up to fail, or has it maybe perfectly aligned things to deliver this woman into my arms? And if the prophecy is not all one terrible trap, then could I possibly have the thing I’d convinced myself I had to give up?
Darkness, in this moment I want to tell her everything. Because if she can do this, surely she can’t be dangerous to me or my realm—a trigger waiting to be pulled, a weapon ready to be wielded—like I’d feared. How could she possibly be anything but a blessing?
I open my mouth, but before the words can come, there’s footsteps on the stairs. I slip the Morphos-given disguise back into place and pull my shirt back on as Ghola ducks into the cellar. Her face is wan, eyes darting around the space like she expects to find it filled with a dangerous horde.
“Change of plan,” she says, voice tight with panic.
“You have to go now. I just got a messenger from the Gradises. The seraphim are sending soldiers to the family members of those involved in the Seraph Seat attack. They want to find out who knew. They won’t come here for you, but that’s only because they think you’re in Strata.
They certainly won’t hesitate to capture you if they find you here. ”
It takes Leah and me one glance to know we agree. It’s time to test out my new, liberated state.
“Don’t worry, we’re going,” Leah says. “But I want to thank you—”
The end of her sentence is cut off by noise upstairs—the hammering of heavy fists on a door and the hurried patter of feet. Ghola’s head jerks up toward the ceiling, then back to us.
“That must be them. Leave—quick!”
“Syrus, here. I’ll get Viz.” Leah pulls the knife from her boot and tosses it to me.
I start carving runes into the cellar doorframe.
This time, they don’t speak of Infernum and dark mountains beneath a purple sky, but the cluttered, heaving streets of Pax.
This Cyrax is simpler, and I’ve seen Viz do it many times, so I’m confident as I snap a flame into my fingers and light the runes.
“I’ll check in on Filippa,” Leah says to her aunt, adjusting Viz easily in her arms, reminding me just how strong she’s gotten.
The rift shimmers at the edges and splits open, solid and sure, revealing an empty street beyond, shadowy in Stratan twilight.
“Don’t let her come back until we know it’s safe,” Ghola says, scanning the ceiling, listening to the muffled voices. “Who knows what the seraphim will do with us,” she says ominously.
I grab Leah and nod to Ghola. My heart leaps in my chest as I take a step through the rift.
My foot moves, smooth and certain, and comes down on the other side—unbarred and unblocked by Ajax’s magic. Then I feel the welcoming pull of the aether and let it carry me through to another realm.