Chapter Forty-two
THEA
G ods, he was more beautiful than she had ever realised, more fierce, more hers than she’d ever allowed herself to dream.
Confusion flooded her, as she looked behind his broad shoulders to find that his form was now missing from the clutches of the reaper. The king of wraiths had released him, and now her Warsword was here with her.
Half mad with exhaustion, her body in pieces, Thea peered upon the face she knew so well, the face she had loved for what felt like a lifetime.
‘Thea…’ he said, his melodic voice pained as he watched her scrutinise the reapers, their shadows and their captives. ‘It’s nearly over,’ he told her.
Just hearing his voice aloud made her knees buckle and coaxed a cry of anguish from her lips. What she’d seen, what she’d done during the past two trials – she wanted to tell him everything. He would be the balm to her wounded soul. Everything would be alright, now that he was here.
The scent of rosewood and leather wrapped around her senses. Wilder was here .
She wanted to cry. She wanted to give in to the weariness that clung to her bones and fall into his arms at last. He would catch her. He always did.
‘I know,’ he told her gently, reaching for her. ‘We can get out of here, you and me…’
As the warmth of his hand closed over her shredded, blood-matted glove, his words almost didn’t register. Almost.
But they made Thea flinch, and look up at him with a frown, her fingers clutched in his.
‘I can’t leave the others,’ she said, her words drawing her attention back to where her friends and sister were being tortured on the frozen banks. She couldn’t stand it. She had to move, had to get to them —
‘You can’t save them.’
Thea took a step back, dread curdling in her gut. ‘ We could save them.’
Wilder shook his head. ‘No. There’s too many. And it’s too dangerous to fight near the chasm.’ He closed the gap between them again and touched the side of her face, tucking her loose, matted hair behind her ear, his silver eyes kind and understanding.
How she longed to lean into that touch, that comfort.
‘But we can save ourselves,’ he told her hurriedly. ‘You can be done with all this madness. You can be free, with me.’
Thea tasted bitterness on her tongue. She took a step back. ‘You would never ask that of me. You would never leave your brother.’
‘I would if it meant saving you.’
‘No.’ Trembling, Thea drew her sword and her dagger. ‘Let me pass.’
‘I can’t do that, Thea.’
‘Yes, you can. Step aside.’
But Wilder shook his head, and out of nowhere, his own blade appeared. ‘You’re making a mistake.’
Though it fractured her barely healed heart anew, Thea knew that the Warsword before her was not the same man she knew. Be it an illusion of the Furies, or the dark magic of the shimmering portal, she would not be fooled, not with this.
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, and then she lunged.
Steel met steel and sparks flared at the contact as false Warsword and apprentice danced across the ice.
The imposter’s expression changed into one of cruelty and malice, and Thea knew she had made the right decision.
He swung his blade not to injure, but to kill, and Thea, already weakened from the trials before, buckled beneath his Furies-given strength.
But whoever this creature was who wore the face of her love, he still fought like Wilder, and Thea knew every move, for Wilder himself had taught her and taught her well.
Across the slippery surface of the ice, Thea battled the imposter, meeting every blow with a strike of her own, her teeth singing with every impact, her bones aching.
And yet she did not yield. Blood splattered as he sliced deep into her forearm, but she barely felt it, only registered the warm trickle of red across her skin.
The screams from the shores became one constant song now. I’ll save them, even if I die trying, but I have to get through this first, Thea told herself.
They circled one another, Thea wary of the shadow portals on either side of the ice.
She could hear whispers from both of their dark depths, words to lure her to the edge, promises of victory and power.
She could feel the surge of the broken souls beneath the ice as well, beckoning her to join them, down in the quiet depths.
She cried out as the imposter’s sword rained down on her, only just managing to block a vicious blow to her face.
The force of it sent her sprawling across the ice, knocking the wind from her lungs.
Panting, she staggered to her feet, devastation caving her inward as she saw Wilder’s handsome face curled into a snarl.
He meant to kill her, to peel her apart bit by bit until there was nothing left.
Struggling to get enough air down her throat, Thea took stock of her resources and reserves. There were three throwing stars left in her boot; she still had the dagger she was holding, the dagger Audra had given her, and her sword. If she could just —
The false Wilder charged, the frozen lake beneath them shaking with the force of his power.
Fast as lightning, Thea slid beneath him, cleaving her dagger and sword across the backs of his knees like she’d seen the Warsword himself do to immobilise wraiths. Tendons and nerves ruined with the swipe of a blade.
He let out a roar that shook the mountains.
Black blood seeped onto the ice.
No, this was not her Wilder.
The creature before her was a monster of the underworld, born of the shadow portals that called out to her even now.
Thea let out a scream as she threw herself at the imposter, rage turning molten, fuelling her every move. How dare they take his face? How dare they take his body and turn it against her?
‘There you are…’
An echo of words once spoken with love.
She leapt upon her opponent and twisted her body around his, a body she knew intimately, in spite of whatever powered it from within.
With a ragged sob, she ploughed her dagger of Naarvian steel low into his gut, through the flesh and wall of muscle, right into the soft vital organ beneath.
She wrenched the blade free once more, before plunging it right into his dark heart.
His eyes went wide, and the splinters of Thea’s heart that remained crumbled into dust as those silver irises she had stared into countless times sought hers with the rise and fall of his final breath.
Darkness exploded, ripping across the ice like a tidal wave.
Thea yanked her blades from the body withering beneath her just in time to dig them into the ice like axes, clinging on against the force of the gale that tore across the surface, the lake groaning beneath her.
It was not over.
Thea lurched to her feet, bleeding, her chest aching, and took in the sight of the shadow chasm. She had slain two of its guardians thus far, and she had no doubt that she’d face another after she crossed this one.
She allowed herself a moment to breathe, to rest her hands on her knees and suck in the crisp air over and over.
Her strength was fading, both inside and out.
She didn’t dare take stock of her injuries, for though she could barely feel anything, she knew they’d be far worse than she realised.
And her mind… Her mind felt as though it were in pieces, like the shattered fragments of the mirrors in the maze she’d faced, like the whispers of darkness that were all that was left of the imposter wearing her Warsword’s face.
Who had she ever been to think that she could do this? That she was worthy of the Furies, of the Great Rite?
As the thoughts became louder in her mind, she noticed the swirl of shadow at her ankles, leaking from the shimmering gate between her and the next.
‘No,’ she whispered, straightening. ‘This is not how it ends.’
Wiping the blood from the corner of her mouth, Thea spotted the sword of the fallen imposter lying in the snow. She limped towards it, picking it up with a wince. It was no Naarvian steel, that was for sure, but it wasn’t entirely useless.
Gritting her teeth, she sheathed her own weapons once more and took up her position. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter, didn’t let the biting pain of her wounds stop her.
Thea ran for the crater, springing up into the air at the last moment as her foot neared its edge.
And then she was soaring once more, using the imposter’s blade to ground herself on the ice on the other side, pinning herself to the solid ground rather than skidding out of control into the next pool of darkness.
The first thing she noticed was the silence.
The screaming had stopped.
Her gaze snapped to the shore, where her sister and her friends were almost entirely obscured by darkness, just their boots twitching beneath the power of the reapers.
A ragged sob escaped Thea, but she remained upright. The lake creaked ominously beneath her, but she stood tall, using every ounce of willpower to keep her terror and panic at bay as she scanned the shadow portal for its dark warden. Only this time, there was none.
Instead, all around the edge of the chasm was something else.
Vines.
Not getting too close, Thea crouched to get a better look. They were the colour of dark seaweed, gnarled and twisted along the ice.
As the icy gale danced around her, Thea’s nostrils were filled with a putrid stench.
‘A vine blight,’ she muttered to herself, recognising it as the same thing she and Wilder had once investigated on the clifftops of Thezmarr.
As if in answer, the thing writhed, ice cracking beneath its grasp.
Thea shuddered. She could only see the tendrils of its limbs at the edge of the ice, but she knew that somewhere deep beneath the darkness, the monster was feeding off a host. More vines wriggled out towards her, the stench intensifying.
‘Those vines are poisonous. A mere brush against your skin will cause immeasurable pain. It can get into your brain, too – with the right point of entry, it can render you a husk of the person you were…’
Wilder’s warning came back to her, eliciting another shudder.