Chapter 31
Istumble out of the Shadow Realm, dazed. But the pain of the crossing doesn’t reach my mind. It’s like my brain detached from my body, floating somewhere far away.
Whatever words of encouragement Kaelzar might’ve murmured, I don’t hear them.
Raylane and Peonica. My beautiful daughters. Is that what the page said? Daughters?
No. That can’t be right. Daughters. That word doesn't belong to me. It belongs to someone else. Someone whole, not me, not the girl who’s given herself to a forsaken goddess.
Peonica, the girl who clung to me like a thorn without reason, always too close, too loyal. I told myself she was lonely. That she had no family and was just reaching for someone, anyone, to fill that emptiness. But she had someone, hadn’t she?
My mind fights it, twisting the meaning, searching for another explanation. A metaphor? A title? A mistake?
But the ache in my chest is too sharp to be imaginary. The word sister is already sinking into the marrow of my bones.
“Raylane.” Kaelzar’s voice cuts through the fog, sharp and urgent. He said my name before, this isn’t the first time.
I force my eyes to focus on him, on his harsh, familiar face looming above me. But it’s not cruel now. It’s broken and panicked. His eyes—those cold, storm-gray eyes—aren’t cold at all. They’re wild with fear.
It’s the same look he had when I fell from the cliff onto the broken glass below, the same flicker of desperate fear of a man who’s lost too much to bear another body in his arms.
That expression slams my senses back into place, pulls my body and mind into one coherent whole.
And then I see her.
Peonica.
She’s slumped against the pole, bloodied and unconscious, chained at the top like some offering. A multitude of fresh, wide lacerations score her back, blood pulsing from each wound. My sister.
I rush to her, heart tearing, and lift her limp body. Gods, she’s still so light.
“Break the chains!” I shout, frantic. “Break them!”
Two massive shadowy swords materialize in his hands. He slams them down on the chains, and they snap.
She falls. I catch her.
Kaelzar watches us as I cradle her in my arms, carefully lowering her to the ground. Did Mael do this? Did he kill her? Just like my mother was taken from me?
I hold her tighter, my breath ragged. This can’t be how it ends, not when I just found her. Not when there’s still so much I don’t understand.
Someone’s screaming. I think it’s me. She’s not going to die, I swear to myself. I won’t let her. I blink away the tears and try to think.
I need something alive to feed my Decay magic. I need life to bring it into her.
People. There are people all around us, nobles and commoners alike, still lingering in a loose half-circle, their backs turned. Were they watching her be butchered like this? A young, innocent girl? And now they just turn away, as if there’s nothing left to see.
They could have helped. They could have spoken up, or at least offered her a hand when the Chastity Warden was done. Instead, they look away.
For a heartbeat, I want them all dead.
For Peonica, for my family, I’d rot every single one of them for the simple mistake of doing nothing.
But before my fury and hate can claim me completely, I realize they’re not just turning away to avoid us.
They’re not ignoring what’s happened. They’re watching something else beyond my line of vision.
Through the spaces between their still bodies, I glimpse a flicker of red light. Then I notice the black smoke oozing upward and tiny embers drifting just above us. The sight barely makes sense at first.
Then I force myself upright, my legs shaking beneath me. Over the heads of the crowd, the truth comes into focus.
Rust Hollow is burning.
I stand frozen as the full scale of the devastation sinks in. The rest of the women who refused to serve… they’ve been made into an example.
Mael is trying to kill them, I realize, the thought landing in numb horror.
Or was it Alistair? Both?
Every breath feels heavier, every scream in the distance cuts a little deeper. These are women like Peonica. Like me. Dying, because of me.
Because I gave them hope for a better future.
A flock of ravens sweeps over our heads. I sense their wingbeats like a pulse in the air, vivid and alive, full of life I don’t deserve.
I fling my arms upward. Decay lashes out, snaring them mid-flight, wrapping them in rot. Their feathers crumble to ash that drifts down like black snow, and their life surges into me.
I drop to my knees and press my hands to Peonica’s chest. Her life force is barely there, flickering. I pour everything I have into her. It isn’t much.
But it’s enough. Her heartbeat steadies. I feel her lifeforce push back, small but stubborn. She’s not going to die, I tell myself. She’s not going to die.
I feel no guilt for taking the lives of those birds, not like I did when I rotted the wolf at my feet. He had already been dying, and still, the shame seared through me. But this…
These birds were healthy, alive and free. Just unlucky enough to fly by at the wrong moment. And I took them. I sacrificed them without hesitation. And now Peonica breathes while their ashes fall around her. The worst part is, I would do it again.
“Take her to Micheline,” I rasp. “She’ll help.”
“I won’t leave—”
“I’ll be fine,” I say. “Please.”
His storm-gray eyes search mine. We both know I could compel him, send the command down the godthread that binds us, and he would have no choice but to obey. But I don’t.
Even though I nearly lost myself. Even though I came moments from rotting everyone around us. Because forcing him would break more than his will. It would be another chain added to the ones he already bears.
So I hold back despite the strain, despite the fear. I pray he’ll choose to listen. And I find myself trusting him enough to believe that he will.
Whatever he sees in my face makes him move. He scoops Peonica into his arms, steps into the shadows, and vanishes.
I take a deep, bitter breath. As I exhale, the stillness fractures and the world moves again.
I get up and run toward the fire.
Rust Hollow is in ruins. The gates are torn wide, one half hanging loose, the other engulfed in flames.
My feet are numb, but I keep running. Screams rise all around me.
Men in black with torches chase women through the streets, red scarves over their faces.
Many houses burn, some are barricaded, women most likely trapped from within.
Somewhere to my left, a girl screams for her mother.
High and shrill. Ahead, an older woman with a full head of red hair coughs, crying weakly, her palms blackened from soot.
Another woman is barefoot, blood trailing down her legs.
She stumbles into the street, only to vanish into the dark smoke again.
This is a message. A purge. A punishment for those who refused to obey. I surge forward, not knowing what I’ll do, only that I must do something.
I spot a group of women trying to break the chains wrapped around a house’s door, locking someone inside as the flames climb higher. My magic roils inside me, desperate to lash out, to devour the lives already hanging by a thread. I force it inward, taming it, keeping control.
When I reach the women, they’re bloodied and burned, their makeshift tools clanging uselessly against the iron. I glance at the windows. Each one boarded shut with thick wooden planks, sealing off any chance of escape. The sheer, deliberate cruelty of it makes my insides twist.
I shove them aside and press my palms to the warm metal, sending my magic into the chains. Screams echo from within, coughing, banging, pleading. It’s taking too long. Rot struggles against metal, always one of the hardest materials to break down, even with more magic in me.
When the final link dissolves with a sharp pop, I grab the scorched door handle and yank it open.
Flames burst outward. And in that silence, I realize I haven’t heard anything from inside for a while. I shield my face and stumble back. Within the blaze, I see them. Three, maybe four bodies piled together.
The smell of burning flesh turns my stomach. The women who were trying to save them scream behind me, their sobs raw and piercing.
“There’s no time to fall apart,” I snap. “We’re not done.”
Dozens of houses still burn. Still chained. Still boarded. And not nearly enough people to save them.
“I’ll open the doors,” I say. “You get people out. We’ll move from house to house. Follow me.”
“But what if they need help, water—”
“Later,” I bark, already sending my magic into the next set of boards. “First, we get them out.”
And so we move. From one house to the next. Sometimes we’re too late. Sometimes we’re just in time. I notice the men in black are gone, but I don’t let myself waste time wondering why or where they’ve gone.
More women join us. Those who can walk, who can carry, who can comfort. Eventually, there are enough of us that some can stay behind, give water, hold broken bodies, so no one has to die alone.
My magic never stops. House after house. My mind finally organizes the chaos enough to notice that many of the women who escaped unburned are bruised. Beaten. Some were left outside, others must have hidden. At some point, sweat stings my eyes and I sway.
Strong arms catch me.
Kaelzar. His scent surrounds me. His shadows crack the chains in my place, giving me a moment to rest.
“She’s safe with Micheline,” he whispers, and I nod, giving his hand a small squeeze.
Now that he’s back, his shadows leap from house to house, faster than my decay ever could.
I forbade him from touching the cursed women or even getting too close.
Most still wear the protective gloves, but not all.
While they can safely touch each other, the Crimson Tether curse would still rot him if even a fingertip brushed his skin.