30. Chapter 30 #2
I’m fine. Emmaline tried to say it, but her jaw hung useless, mouth flooded with blood and broken teeth.
Behind Aeren, shadows swarmed the air, thick as oil.
They poured from Ursula’s chest, twisting around Caelith like hungry serpents.
Blood lifted with them—his blood—ripped straight from the raw gash down his face, from every split knuckle, every scrape, unraveling in shimmering crimson threads.
They coiled tight, wrapping his throat, wrists, and ankles, holding him spread wide like a sacrifice on invisible chains.
Lightning crackled uselessly between his hands, sparks fizzing out as darkness smothered each one before it could fully form. His mouth stretched in a silent scream, eyes wide with the sharp-edged panic of a man who’d never truly felt fear until now.
Ursula stepped forward through the swirling magic, her eyes black from corner to corner. “Die.” The darkness yanked harder, twisting Caelith’s own blood like a garrote around his neck, every pulse sending a fresh spray into the air for her to command.
“Hang on, Emmaline!” Aeren’s voice broke through. “Your healer friend’s on the way!”
Emmaline blinked, the edges of her vision flickering, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from Ursula—a queen crowned in blood and shadows.
“Stop—” Emmaline tried to shout, but the word barely made it past her ruined throat, thin and broken.
“Don’t talk.” Aeren eased her onto her back. “Don’t move. You could kill yourself after that hit.”
“No.” She tried to shake her head, but Aeren pinned her shoulders, keeping her still.
Across the room, Ursula examined her nails.
“It’s been a while since I killed a Lord of the Vale.
” Her shadows tightened, twisting the blood chains until Caelith’s neck bent at a sharp, unnatural angle.
Skin bulged under the pressure, veins darkening, one more pull away from snapping his head clean off.
“Ursula!” Emmaline’s body bucked as the cry tore free, ripping her throat raw.
Ursula’s head snapped around, her shadows faltering just enough for Caelith to gasp like a fish dragged onto land. “Ems?” Her voice faltered. “Shite—you’re alive.”
Emmaline forced a weak, rasping, “Yes.”
Relief flooded Ursula’s face. “It's almost over. Just hang on till Cassidy gets here.”
Without waiting for an answer, Ursula turned back to Caelith, shadows flexing tighter like a fist closing around his throat.
“No!”
Dark eyes flashed over Ursula’s shoulder. “He’s got to die, Emmaline. You know that.”
“Yeah.” She tried to push herself up, arms shaking so badly they barely held her weight. “Me… me.” She could barely form the words. Not like this. Not fast. Not clean. He stole too much for that.
Aeren’s gaze met hers, then she turned to Ursula. “Can you hold him without the sedative? Long enough to get him downstairs and into the bindings?”
Ursula snorted, shaking loose hair from her face. “She really told you the whole plan, huh?”
“Do it,” Emmaline rasped. It was little more than a croak.
“She’s right,” Aeren said, following Emmaline’s train of thought without missing a beat. “We… we need to take back what he stole from us.”
Ursula’s mouth curved, fingers itching like she was brushing dust from her sleeve—except this time, the gesture sent fresh pain ripping through Caelith, his choked scream scraping over stone and echoing back on itself.
“All right, my Lord.” Her voice dripped with mock formality. “You heard the ladies. Time to go.”
“Sluts!” Caelith spat, blood flecking his lips.
“I think that’s enough out of you.” Ursula crossed the room, stopping so close that her tall boots nudged his bent knees.
She reached down, her thumb brushing his lower lip—almost gentle, almost tender.
And where she touched, the skin rippled and stretched, lips sealing shut like his body had never needed a mouth at all.
Flesh swallowed flesh, leaving behind nothing but smooth skin, a perfect blank where his voice had lived.
Caelith’s whole body seized, eyes bulging as his breath snarled through flaring nostrils. His chest heaved, ribs bucking against his expensive shirt, and the sounds that tried to escape—guttural, wet, frantic—never made it past his throat. They had nowhere to go.
Ursula smiled, and for a heartbeat, Emmaline swore the shadows themselves leaned closer, eager to see what else their queen could take away.
“If my friends decide they want to hear you scream later,” Ursula purred, “we’ll just cut you a new hole.”
Emmaline couldn’t stop the grin spreading across her face as she fell back to the floor, exhaustion tugging at her limbs.
Ursula lifted one hand, palm up, and Caelith’s body lurched off the ground, still bound in his own blood. His arms hung limp, feet dragging slightly as Ursula floated him toward the hall, his head banging once against the doorframe on the way out. She didn’t slow.
Aeren slid next to Emmaline, resting her back against the wall as she pulled out her speak-easy, the soft chime of an incoming call cutting through the fading ring in Emmaline’s ears.
“I’m fine,” Aeren said into the device. “It’s over. I’ll explain everything. Just—”
Whoever was on the other end hung up mid-sentence. Aeren stared at the speak-easy, then snorted. “Typical.” She rolled her eyes and shoved it back into her pocket.
“Who—” Emmaline started, but movement beside her stole the rest of the question. Margo stirred, and a fleeting sensation skimmed Emmaline’s hip.
Great goddess. That worked? A laugh tore loose, half-strangled, half-sob.
Sprawled on the cold floor, smoke still rising from her scorched jacket, she could feel herself drifting. Her body was useless, numb and trembling, but Margo was breathing. Heart still beating.
Aeren’s hand closed around hers, warm and solid. “We got him.”
She tried to focus, but the room tilted, edges smearing like wet paint sliding down glass.
The outer door creaked open.
“That was fast.” Aeren’s voice.
Light flared—green, bright as broken glass, clear enough to sting her eyes even through the blur. Not light. Hair. That exact impossible shade of green she knew by heart, catching every flicker of candlelight like it had a will of its own.
Footsteps followed, heavy and deliberate. Boots. Leather boots, scuffed and worn, trailing dirt and blood across the floor.
Her heart stuttered, trying to catch up, trying to understand why he was here, why every piece of him still hit her senses like a hammer. The boots stopped as her vision went dark and blurry.
“Emmaline?”
His voice, deep and rough, dragged her back like a hook in her chest.
She tried to lift her head, to find his face, to say I’m sorry. But nothing worked. Her body wouldn’t move. Her mouth wouldn’t form the words.
The green blurred into black as the floor swallowed her whole.