Chapter 65
Chapter Sixty-Five
SNOWSTROM
It was over.
Alex sheltered in the castle dungeons, doubled over on the floor. He sobbed pitifully. Inconsolable, Catherine lingered by his side. Neither spoke. Both were lost for words. Silence galvanized their pain.
The mortal Ingrid was upstairs. She had locked herself in Jadeon’s old room.
Catherine and Alex were trying to rally themselves in order to find the strength to take her to a place of safety, where humans could tend to her.
They had provided some food and water for her and now hoped she would rest quietly.
The darkened room bore down, its shadows falling over them. The candlelight flickered as Alex’s shadow rocked against the wall. Catherine stared into space.
A presence in the castle startled them. They sprung up, wiping their tears. They listened. Whatever had penetrated their domain was now heading for them.
The door burst open.
“I am Sunaria.” She lingered, silhouetted in the doorway.
She stood leaning against the doorjamb, a trace of weariness in her posture, yet her beauty was otherworldly, a paranormal queen.
Like a goddess carved from myth, she radiated a fierce, controlled power.
Her eyes burned with intensity, bright, sharp, and knowing.
And her mouth held the shape of passion, vengeance, and unspoken truths. She was a stark, dangerous beauty.
Alex drew toward her. “But how?”
“I have Jadeon’s ashes,” she said, ignoring his desire to know how she had risen.
Catherine neared Alex.
This was the youthful, innocent beauty who had captivated Orpheus in that strange, magnetic way only true opposites can.
“First, you tell us how you are . . . alive?” Catherine said warily.
“I am reborn. Jadeon persuaded Snowstrom to . . . revive me,” Sunaria said.
“Snowstrom is real?” Alex asked.
“Of course, and he bid me to bring these to you. Snowstrom told me I may have Orpheus’s ashes if I return Jadeon’s to you.”
It was a cruel lie, yet spoken with such tenderness, such deliberate care, that to disbelieve it was unimaginable. And in their hearts, they longed - desperately—to believe it.
“We will bury them,” Catherine said.
She pressed a hand to her chest to soothe the ache, tears pricking at her eyes, grief rising like a knot in her throat as she struggled to speak.
Sunaria sighed. “Perform the ritual and he will be with you again. Your beloved is not dead.” Sunaria placed the bound cape at their feet. She unraveled it, exposing the mound of dark cinders.
It was an impossible sight—the ashes of a beloved, the haunting remnants of what remains when the sun has done its worst. And yet, within that seeming nothingness, lingered the whisper of a soul once shaped from that very form.
“What are you saying?” Alex said.
“That your blood will bring him back,” Sunaria said.
“How do we know we can trust you?” Catherine asked.
Sunaria stepped toward the door. “I will go then.”
“Wait,” Alex said.
Sunaria hesitated, her expression serene.
Alex approached Sunaria. “Let us hear what she has to say, Catherine.”
“Oh, have you not performed this ritual before?” Sunaria feigned surprise. “Must I perform it for you?”
“How do we know that those aren’t the ashes of Orpheus?” Catherine asked.
She turned her gaze aside, denial coiled deep within her bones, even as she knew that, in this moment, they would be the ones to breathe life back into her love.
“No matter,” Sunaria said.
Alex leaned toward Catherine and pleaded. “I have to know.”
Catherine was unsettled. After enduring so much, this danger felt like the last blow—this time it might truly end her.
End all of them.
“Sunaria, what do I have to do?” Alex said.
“Watch me,” Sunaria said. “I will pour my blood onto them, and then you must do the same.” Sunaria bit into her left wrist.
Blood poured, flowing over and around the many ashes, moistening both them and the garment beneath.
The ashes glistened and glimmered, a shining, magical thing, like stardust. Shimmering with echoes of a soul not yet fully gone.
Light danced across the surface, as if memory itself clung to each molecule, refusing to fade.
It was beauty born of ruin, fragile and defiant, whispering that even in death, something sacred remained.
“Now you, Catherine,” Sunaria said.
Catherine shook her head and glared at Alex.
“Then you, Alex.” Sunaria stepped toward him and thrust up his shirtsleeve. “Your brother needs you.”
Alex froze in wonder and terror. Then he extended his arm to her, trembling, every movement soaked in a desperate longing it to be real.
“Hold still.” Sunaria bit into Alex’s wrist. “The wound must be deep.” She bit again.
Alex flinched, his jaw tightening, eyes clenched shut against the sharp, unrelenting sting of pain.
His blood flowed readily.
“Alex, please,” Catherine warned too late.
“See how the ashes react.” Sunaria wiped her mouth. “It won’t be long now.”
Tears rolled down Alex’s cheek. “And my brother?”
“Will be formed, like nothing ever happened,” Sunaria said. “Though with the revival comes great hunger.”