CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The lingering scent of ozone and scorched spirit lingered on the obsidian, a bitter perfume that struggled to fade.
Xylos stood a few paces away, his frame taut and his gaze never leaving Talon.
My own eyes were fixed on the leaking wound beneath my hands.
The dagger jutted from inches below his ribs, a fragment of silver steel that pulsed with a gross light. From the wound, tendrils of smoke unfurled in sluggish, unceasing wisps that smelled of ruin and dissolving spirit.
It was not just blood he was losing, the blade was unravelling the very essence of what he was.
Panic seized me, but I anchored myself in his expression. Even now, with his life leaking onto the stone, Talon’s face was a mask of controlled frost. He would not show weakness, not to his kin, and not even to me.
His eyes flicked to Xylos, the movement causing his jaw to tighten. “You fought well for a captive.”
Xylos inclined his head, but he did not move. His gaze lingered on Talon’s unnatural pallor and the silver hilt that continued to drink his light.
“Leave us,” Talon ordered. His hand tightened against the wall, his knuckles white against the dark stone.
Xylos gave a brief nod, his eyes shifting to mine before he turned and slipped soundlessly through the archway.
I swallowed against the fear rising up my throat, the stench of the smoke rising from his wound making my stomach turn. I lifted one hand from the wound and braced my fingers on the side of his head, caging him with my body as if I could shield him from the death blooming in his side.
The dagger hummed with a consuming energy. It had no business inside him, yet it remained in his flesh like a parasite. The tendrils of smoke coiled higher, carrying the foul scent of his fading power.
“Do not remove it,” he ordered, his voice breaking.
I ignored him, my fingers moving to hover near the hilt. The frost radiating from the metal was absolute, a chill that leached the heat from the room.
“It is leaching you dry,” I whispered, my voice trembling as the first hot tear traced a path down my cheek.
“Yes.” He took a ragged breath that stalled halfway in his chest, his eyes flickering.
A sob fought its way up my throat. I wanted to scream, to rip the world apart for allowing this.
I reached up and touched his jaw, finding his skin—usually a furnace of heat—to be tepid and clammy.
He was fading.
“This is my fault,” I choked out.
His hand lifted with a visible struggle, his fingers closing weakly around my sleeve to pull me closer. “No. You sparked the flame, yes. But their wood was already piled high. I would have faced them eventually. With or without you.”
“But it was me,” I pressed, my vision blurring as the tears fell faster. “I am the reason you are dying.”
His grip tightened, dragging me down until our foreheads rested against one another. “You are not the first to betray me, little flame. But you are the first I cannot find the will to condemn.”
I leaned forward, my hand trembling as my index finger drew soft circles across his jaw.
“How can I help you?”
“You cannot.”
“There must be a way,” I pleaded, my thumb digging into his sunken cheek.
“No, Kaelia,” he gritted out. “There is not.”
“Then Leona will help. You cannot leave me,” I cried out, my tears falling onto the bridge of his nose.
Talon hissed, his hand moving between us to press down against mine. His fingers were now freshly slick with that iridescent black blood.
My eyes screwed shut and I leaned in to press a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose, my lips collecting my own tears. “I love you. With every twisted, terrified cell of my body. I am sorry I waited until the world was ending to say it.”
He drew a shuddering breath, his lips seeking mine. “I love you, my Kaelia. I never meant for a human to be my undoing. But for you, I allow the ruin.”
A watery laugh escaped me and I lurched forward, kissing him with every ounce of energy I had left. My lips moved eagerly against his, our tongues meeting in a dance that tasted of salt and smoke. But as a wisp of that foul smoke brushed my arm, I pulled back with a gasp.
“Talon,” I whimpered, looking up to see his eyelids fluttering closed. I tapped his clammy cheek twice, urging those icy eyes to open. “Talon!”
He sputtered, a thick tendril of black spilling from his mouth. It trailed down his chin and traced a path down his neck until it got lost beneath the black cotton that stretched across his unmoving chest.
“Talon!” I screamed, slamming my other palm over the edge of the wound. My fingers collected the hot liquid pulsing from his side, the darkness of it a sickening contrast to the way the color was draining from his face.
I looked around the courtyard, my heart hammering against my ribs.
It was empty.
The Veythar had scattered into the gloom, vanishing at his command like ghosts returning to the ether. The stillness pressed into my lungs until I was gasping for air.
“Someone help!” I shrieked, the sound bouncing off the towering obsidian spires. My vision went hazy, the world blurring into a smear of black and gray. A numbing sensation crawled up my spine, a hollow frost that threatened to swallow me whole. “Please! Someone!”
A scuffle sounded to my right, the friction of boots against stone. I blinked rapidly, clearing the salt from my eyes just as a head of graying hair materialized against the dark backdrop.
Leona was running, her face a mask of focus, a basket of herbs clutched to her chest.
“Kaelia, child,” she panted, her voice thin from the exertion. She skidded to her knees beside us, the basket spilling dried leaves and vials onto the ground. “Keep pressure on the wound. Do not let go.”
I sniffled. “H-he’s not conscious.”
Her trembling hands moved with a frantic speed, ruffling through the mess of her supplies until she produced a gray sheet. It hummed with a light so vibrant it was almost blinding, a cobalt glow that made me wince.
She nudged me aside with a firm gentleness, laying the shimmering fabric across his abdomen.
My hands tightened around the dagger hilt. The metal was a leech, drinking the light from his skin, and the lack of reaction from him—the way his body remained limp and quiet—made my stomach cramp.
“He cannot feel it,” I hiccuped, a sob breaking through. “Is he alive? Tell me he is alive.”
“It is okay,” Leona shushed, though her own fingers were shaking. “I need you to move your hand. I must cover the opening.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, my face scrunching in a grimace as I slowly withdrew my hands. The blackish blood dripped from my fingertips, thick and oily, blending into the dark floor until it was impossible to tell where his life ended and the stone began.
Leona tugged the cobalt sheet lower, draping it over the silver hilt, before she took my wrist and settled my palm atop the fabric.
“Close your eyes,” she instructed. “You must envision sealing a gap. You must call to the spirits, Kaelia.”
I obeyed, dragging a shaky breath into my lungs. I reached out with my mind, searching for the humming energy that usually lived in the corners of the keep.
Only a vast, yawning void greeted me.
My thoughts were scattered like leaves in a gale, my panic making it impossible to find a single thread of energy.
My eyes flew open, darting to Leona in a frenzy. “I cannot! There is nothing there!”
She lifted a hand and patted my shoulder. “You can. And you must. His life is relying on it, child. Look at him.”
The words had me looking toward the wounded man.
His skin had turned a sickly, translucent white, and deep violet bruises had blossomed beneath his eyes and nose.
The thought of never seeing those eyes pinned on mine again, of never feeling those inked hands steadying me, or those lips against my own, was a terror more potent than any shadow.
I would not let him go. I could not.
I slammed my eyes shut again, pressing down on the wound through the glowing cloth.
I imagined a thick layer of black wisps, a lattice of shadow weaving together. I did not know why the image came to me, but my heart burned with the necessity of it.
A cold rush shot down my arm, and my arms snapped open to find inky streaks pooling at my fingertips.
The shadows entangled, tails wrapping around each other in a frenzied dance. Their bulbous heads tapped against each other until they formed a grid-like structure, with open squares evenly spaced out.
I guided the mass to the dagger, and a chorus of tiny, ethereal squeals filled the air. They moved with a blurring speed, the hilt slotting into a gap in the lattice.
As the structure lowered, the squares began to contract. Smaller and smaller they grew, tightening with a relentless force until they encased the silver entirely.
I scrunched my fingers together and the spirits shrieked. With a blinding blue glow pulsing in time to the squealing chorus, the dagger was wrenched violently from his flesh, soaring through the air to clatter against the far wall.
Using my left hand, I summoned a new surge of shadow, dragging the wisps toward the leaking hole in his side. They settled atop the glowing sheet and melted through the fabric.
The blob of shadow sank further down, until it slipped into the open space of his stomach and wiggled around the wound.
The smell of burning flesh filled the air, the shadowed mass sizzling against Talon’s skin with a heat that made my own palms sting. The wound fused shut with a zap of blue bright enough to light up the courtyard, the flesh knitting together until the bleeding ceased.
Where the silver had once been, a new, glowing mark remained—a tattoo of shadow and light that pulsed with the rhythm of his recovering heart.
I slumped forward, my forehead resting against his chest, listening for the first steady breath to break the silence.
“You are alive,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Come back to me.”
A hand gently tapped twice between my shoulder blades and I lifted my head to meet Leona’s gaze.