35. Chapter 35
Chapter thirty-five
The lights inside the octagon flicker and steady, much like my heart sputtering about in my chest, a butterfly with clipped wings.
Micah still stands in the center of the room, his sword glinting with such clarity it seems as if sunshine splays against the blade, and I wonder if it will burn a path through to my heart.
Perhaps that’s what the news Silas brought has told him—that there’s no option but to kill me, to sharpen his blade on my flesh and blood.
And still, illogically perhaps, I’m not afraid of Micah.
If my future is to die before I can become something dark and destructive, I’m quite clear on the fact that I’ll find my ending in this land, never allowed to leave.
Fighting it is a worthless effort, and as my grandfather used to say, acceptance of what is already lost is sometimes the only way forward.
But maybe, just maybe, if I accept this life is not for me, there will be another.
If I don’t, perhaps all that will exist is dirt, or worse, the flames of Hell.
The lights are flickering again, as if responding to the rush of my adrenaline, but I crush my nerves and close the space separating me from the king of this land.
I stop in front of him. Light unfurls over his strong features, the essence of his power in his male beauty and dominance stealing my breath.
His magic hums in the air, circling me, and I reach for it, sending little tentacles of myself out to touch it, and it doesn’t push back.
It doesn’t hold me captive. It doesn’t threaten me.
And even though Micah grips the sword snugly in his palm, even knowing one flick of his wrist could easily kill me, I stand tall and strong.
Silence pulses between us, thick and filled with implications, and it’s me that pierces the depths of the wall it creates. “I’ve said it, but I’ll say it again: I’d rather die than become like Jeremy.”
“But you’d rather live?”
“Of course I would. All living beings fight for life.”
A sword appears in my hand, and he softly commands, “Then fight.”
My disbelief and anger are a whip snapping and cracking around us, my own magic shoving his away, freeing my personal space—a show of my power, the power I’m coming to know and shelter inside.
I’ve never held a sword in my hand in all my life, and he’d have me fight for my life with one now?
He wants me to fight. Why? So he can feel better about killing me?
That’s the kind of bullshit I will not die beneath.
I throw the sword and spellcast it away. “You want to kill me, just do it.”
“Just do it?” he challenges. “I thought you were fighting for your life and what’s right.
” He starts swinging the blade with the swoosh and sway of expert experience, walking around me as he does.
I whip his direction as he reaches my back, but he keeps moving.
I track him until we’ve completed a full circle.
And when his blade is suddenly at my throat and the sword has magically reappeared in my hand, I’m not sure if it’s me or him that’s made it happen.
Cold steel presses to my skin, and I can feel the tiny tear in my flesh, feel a trickle of blood trailing down my throat.
“Should I kill you, or do you want to fight now, Ember? Because one thing I know for certain is if you’re too weak to fight me, you’re too weak to have ever welcomed the light.
The darkness would have always owned you. It already does.”
There’s a burn in my chest mimicked by the burn in my palm where the hilt of the sword rests.
I step backward and lift the weapon in my hand, and I’m not sure how it happens, but I’m clanging the blade against his with skills I should not possess.
I can feel the magic dancing along my skin, igniting my muscles and my movements.
We battle.
Our well-strategized steps cover the expanse of one side of the octagon, swords dodging, diving, and grinding against the other.
But when I grow a bit too confident in my skills, I pay the price.
My back and shoulders crash into the wall behind me, and his blade is once again pinching my throat.
My heart lurches, and I rift away, appearing behind him, my blade in the center of his back.
His laughter is deep and rough, and I blink, and he’s rifted. He’s standing in front of me all over again, his sword crossing my sword, his eyes alight with a mix of mischief and approval. “That’s the way to win. Keep going.”
I hate how much I crave his compliments when my throat drips of the blood his sword has drawn, and I smash my weapon into his—anger, frustration, and magic exploding from someplace deep and enraged.
The wolf inside me roars to life, and it’s invigorating and powerful.
Micah is all about secrets, secrets related to me and my life.
I have a right to know what he knows. But beating him is apparently above my skill set, magic or not.
I end up against yet another wall, and before I can react, he’s flung away my sword, retrieved my blade, and pressed it to my throat.
I try to rift away, but I can’t seem to move, and I can hear the wolf inside me whine and retreat.
“You can’t rift with the blade of Elysium against your throat.
” He pulls the steel back and slides the knife into the sheath snugly against my leg.
“And I’m not trying to kill you. I’m trying to save you.
And us with you.” He rotates away from me and flattens on the wall before sliding down to rest on the floor.
There’s an air of defeat in him that gives me pause and seems to contrast the way he pushed me to fight.
I sit down next to him. “You didn’t like what Silas had to say.
” I rotate to face him, and I remember the truck bed we’d ridden in, sitting much like this: close, intimate, and yet so far away. “Why?”
“We need a way to purge the serpent. I sent three of my men to seek answers from those who might actually have them.”
“Which would be who?”
“There are three Knowledge Keepers, all unique and ancient Nephilim.”
I’m intrigued and sit up straighter, rotating to my knees. “What knowledge?”
“There was a time when our library of knowledge was in one central location. There was a demon infiltration. They accessed information they should never have possessed, which led to a lot of bloodshed. That’s when we split the libraries, and certain books, the most critical and dangerous of all, were planted in the Knowledge Keepers’ heads and then destroyed. ”
“What if that person goes rogue or dies? Or what if the knowledge is magically extracted?”
“Powerful magic protects the Knowledge Keepers. Should someone try to extract the information, the Keeper will perish. Should the Keeper perish, their knowledge will be cast into an heir, and no one, not even the Keeper, knows who that is.”
“What if the Keeper goes rogue?” I press.
“Once a month, the Keeper visits the Tree of Life in the Kingdom of Nephilim, also known as the Judgement Tree. It’s where our criminals and traitors are sent for judgement.
The tree will decide if the visitor is innocent or guilty.
You are either punished by the tree or gifted as the tree sees fit as penance for being forced into judgement. ”
“Do I want to know what the punishment might be?”
“No, you really don’t, and it doesn’t matter. The Keepers are loyal to their duties.”
“And you asked one of them about me?”
“All of them. And yes, I did through my men. But it’s better we keep your location under wraps until we solve the problem at hand. If anyone knows you have the serpent inside you and that I know this but I’m sheltering you, we’re both dead.”
We’re dead.
Not just me.
“How can you ask about me and not expose us both?”
“I instructed my men to tell the Keepers that I’ve been reading about the Aza, and there are references to the serpent that gravely concern me.”
It’s a smart way to approach this, but I’m not sure it won’t alert the Keepers to my presence here in Elysium. Several of the Eagles were at the courthouse and at least one tried to kill me. Word of me and Micah coming together has to be out. “Why are you risking yourself for me?”
“Sweetheart, as long as you fight, I’ll fight with you, and you just showed me you’re willing to fight. Did you feel the wolf?”
“Yes. Yes, I did. But, Micah, I do not want to take you down with me.”
He pushes to his feet and offers me his hand, and I don’t hesitate to accept, expecting our connection in the touch, almost craving it. He pulls me to my feet, and once we’re toe-to-toe, he says, “Then don’t, Ember.”