Chapter 22 Svenn #3
“Wait for me,” she whispers. “Please wait for me. I’ll find you too. I promise I’ll search just as long and just as far.”
Morgaine’s portal closes.
Her last words are cut off, lost to whatever world now holds her.
Eirik releases a furious scream and catches Blight by the leg as the portal drags him closer.
“Ewww, no!” Blight shrieks. She kicks wildly, trying to shake him loose as though he is some bug clinging to her.
His hand burns against her skin, leaving a dark mark. The force of his grip pulls her toward the portal with him.
“Get him off me!” she screams.
Elli catches Blight’s hand before she can be dragged through. Mal steps forward and strikes Eirik’s arm, forcing him to release her.
The portal closes around the Fae King.
Eirik and Morgaine are both gone.
Blight drops to the floor and clutches her left leg. A scorched handprint stains her pale skin.
“Ouch,” she whines.
“You separated them? That was cruel,” Elli observes, but she doesn’t sound angry.
“If they truly love each other, they’ll find a way back.” Blight turns to her, eyes wide and innocent. “If they don’t... well, I suppose their love wasn’t that strong after all.”
“You’ve damned them both to eternal searching,” Elli replies.
Blight shrugs, her tears drying instantly.
The Un begin to fade one by one.
Mal vanishes first. The gates of Hel begin to close behind him, their enormous doors grinding together. The screams weaken as the hands of the damned retreat into the Hollow. When the gates finally meet, the chasm contracts and the broken floor begins to seal over it.
Elli dissolves into pale mist. Before the last of her disappears, her ancient eyes settle on Rhianelle. “Whatever comes next, be brave, Rhianelle.”
Blight does not disappear. She darts behind a pillar instead and peers around it like a child hiding during a game.
The throne room is suddenly, oppressively quiet.
Rhianelle sways on her feet. I see it happening before it does. Her knees begin to buckle and her eyes lose focus as the bone-weary exhaustion finally catches up to her.
Summoning the Un, calling the creatures of Astefar onto the battlefield, and fighting Lilith have taken everything from her.
I catch her before she can fall. My arms wrap around her, pulling her against my chest.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur into her silver hair. “I’ve got you, Nel.”
She feels impossibly light in my arms. How does someone so small and delicate contain so much power?
Her head tilts back, and those lilac eyes find mine. Even exhausted, even pushed beyond all limits, she’s beautiful.
Rhianelle smiles.
“Arescaine,” she whispers. “You came back. You didn’t betray us.”
My arms tighten around her. "I'll always come back to you."
“I know,” she whispers.
Her hand lifts, trembling with effort, and touches my face. Then her fingers freeze.
Her eyes widen, focusing on something on my chest.
“Arescaine, you’re hurt,” she says, and her voice cracks. “You’re—there’s blood. There’s so much blood.”
Is there? I hadn’t noticed.
I glance down and—
Oh.
Lilith’s dagger is still buried in my chest. I’d forgotten about it. There are claw marks across my chest that should have healed minutes ago.
Huh?
“It’s nothing,” I try to say, but my voice seems strained. “I’m a vampire, remember? I heal. Just give me a moment and I’ll—”
Pain is nothing new to a Strigon. We still feel every wound, even when our bodies repair themselves. But this does not feel like pain.
It feels numb.
I haven’t felt like this in more than three thousand years.
“Arescaine!” Rhianelle’s voice sounds distant now, like she’s calling from the other end of a long tunnel.
The world tilts sideways.
Rhianelle tries to hold me up but she’s so tired. We sink together, down to the blood-stained floor of the throne room.
That’s when I understand.
The wounds aren’t healing.
They’re not healing because there’s nothing to heal them. My Strigon regeneration and undead resilience are gone.
It’s just flesh now, human and mortal.
I’m dying.
Lilith’s final gift. Her last fuck-you to the world. She unbound me. The witch broke the curse that made me undead and made me what I always wanted to be.
Human.
“No,” Rhianelle is saying, over and over. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”
I almost want to laugh. Three thousand years I spent wishing for mortality and to be free of the curse, now that I finally am, now that I’m finally human—
I want to live. I want more time.
“Arescaine, stay with me!” Rhianelle’s hands are on my face, warm against my cooling skin. “Please! Someone help!”
I hear movement and voices raised in alarm.
Bas appears above me, his face twisted with anguish.
“No,” he says, his voice rough. “No, brother. Stay awake, Andras.”
His hands shake as he tries to hold the blood in, but there is too much of it. Warmth spills between his fingers no matter how hard he presses.
It’s too late.
I’m bleeding out. The blood pooling beneath me feels warmer. Perhaps I’m getting colder.
“Please help him,” Rhianelle begs, and she’s crying now. Tears stream down her face, falling on my cheeks like rain.
“Rhianelle,” I whisper, and it takes everything I have to get the words out. My hand tries to lift, tries to touch her face one more time. It barely moves, but I have to tell her while I still can.
I love you.
I want to tell her that she is the strongest person I have ever known. That she will survive this. That she will build the kingdom she has always dreamed of and make it into something beautiful.
I want to tell her she will be all right without me.
Even though the thought of leaving her tears through what remains of my heart.
But the words won’t come anymore. The throne room is getting darker and the edges of my vision are going gray. Darkness creeps inward like smoke.
Bas is tearing cloth, packing the wound. “Keep your eyes open,” he orders.
Blood soaks through the cloth the moment he presses it down. He adds another layer. Then another. His hands shake.
“This is not working,” he says, and I hear the fracture in his voice.
My fellow Strigon is one of the greatest healers this world has ever known, but I see the truth on his face. The wounds are too deep.
Rhianelle cradles my head against her chest, her silver hair falling around us like a curtain and creating one final, private world. Just the two of us.
“Stay with me,” she whispers desperately. “Please, Arescaine. Just stay.”
I want to.
But I can’t. My body won’t obey anymore. It fucking refuses to breathe properly or remain conscious.
Arescaine!
Her voice fades. Everything fades. Even the pain in my chest. It dulls, then disappears entirely.
Rhianelle’s voice becomes muffled, then quieter, until there is only silence. The throne room blurs. Everything becomes unfocused and dreamlike.
Except Rhianelle.
She stays clear with her silver hair, lilac eyes, and tears falling like stars.
Beautiful.
She’s so beautiful.
My last sight and my last thought.