Chapter 37
Itaste iron. The world narrows to the rhythm of his fists until he finally steps back. Instinct drags me to my feet. When I lift my gaze to his face, I see the euphoric glint in his eyes. It tells me he’s savoring this, that each blow is a private pleasure, and he has no intention of stopping.
But as long as I’m breathing, as long as his hand hasn’t touched the throne, there’s still a chance. I promise myself that and make my body the bait.
When he lunges, I curl and slide under his arm, my leg snapping out to sweep his ankle. He stumbles. I drive a shoulder into his ribs and my body screams in protest at the collision, every inch of me feels like one giant bruise. But I push myself to sprint the desperate stride toward my throne.
I don’t get far. Zyrel pivots fast, cutting off my path again.
He squares his stance, ready to strike, but I speak first because I know what will unhinge him: himself.
“You’re pathetic,” I snarl between ragged breaths. “You only feel powerful when someone’s on their knees. You can’t stand what you can’t possess, so you break it and pretend that makes you a man.”
As the words land, his face contorts, his mask cracking. There’s the boy underneath, the one who never grew past his own rejection.
I don’t stop.
“Couldn’t have the woman you wanted, could you?” My voice sharpens to a hiss as I spit out blood. “Did she choose a Crimson Tether from another just to get away from your advances?”
I chuckle when he snarls. “So you made it your life’s purpose to kill every woman who reminded you of her. You turned your failure into a crusade and called it a duty.”
He lunges again, purple with fury, spit flecking his lips. This time, he grabs me in a deadly hug, squeezing as if he hopes to crush the breath out of me, pressing his face so close I feel his hot breath on my cheek.
“You’re nothing but filth,” he hisses in my ear. “A cursed whore pretending to be special. You should’ve been dragged through the streets and lashed to death with the rest.”
I clamp my teeth on his cheek.
He’s strong—but he has soft places. I grind my teeth until warm blood fills my mouth.
One arm flies up to shove me away, desperate to pry me off like a feral cat clinging to his face.
I don’t hesitate. I drive my knee up hard. It connects with a sharp, sickening impact. He doubles over, his grip breaking entirely, setting me free.
That’s what I’ve been waiting for. Every instinct in me screams to look for Kaelzar, to make sure he’s still alive, still fighting, but I know I’m standing here only because of the moment he bought me.
I can’t let it be in vain.
I lurch forward, away from Zyrel and toward my throne.
He yanks my arm back, dragging me to face him and his fist crashes into my face before I can brace. The blow comes white-hot and brutal, it folds me like paper.
I’m hurled backward, hitting the ground hard at the edge of the stone platform, away from my throne. The inches I bled for slide away.
I lie there, stunned, feeling my heart’s slow, hollow thuds. I know I’m spent. My throne waits only a few paces away, but Zyrel stands between us, and the last of my strength has been stolen in the obscene arc of his fist.
My vision flickers, darkness pressing in, when a roar splits the air, so raw and furious it shakes the stones. Kaelzar. I can’t see him, but I know that sound. He’s alive. Still fighting.
I blink hard, forcing my sight to steady. The first thing I see is the blood-slick ink on my arm. A flash of memory hits. Kaelzar’s shadow wrapping around my forearm, his vow echoing through me: my life for yours, when the time comes.
I don’t know what that promise truly means. I don’t know how his death could ever buy my life at this moment. But I know I can’t let the Red Hunter end me now, not if it means Kaelzar dies because of it.
Zyrel doesn’t strike again. Instead, he spits, the glob landing by my cheek.
“She died screaming for the choices she made,” he snarls, speaking of the girl who must have rejected him and ignited his hatred for the rest of us. “And so will all of you.”
Then he turns and starts toward his throne.
Tears sting my eyes. I try to push myself up, but my arms shake so violently I can’t make them hold my weight.
I claw weakly at the stone, hoping to drag myself forward, but my legs refuse to help, too heavy and spent to push me forward.
The world trembles and blurs, blood loss turning everything distant, slow and unreal.
All I can do is turn my head toward the sound of the roar behind me and force my eyes to focus.
Kaelzar is pinned beneath the dragon’s massive paw, holding it back with both arms, trembling under its weight. His shadow-tentacles coil around the beast’s neck, squeezing, pulling, barely keeping its snapping jaws from his face.
He shifts as if he feels my gaze, turning just enough for our eyes to meet. If I die, he dies, bound by the link he forged. If he dies, I lose my Godbound status by default. If neither of us dies, but I lose the Trial, he still returns to serve his cruel goddess.
I could have stopped all of it. And yet, by the measure that matters, I wasn’t worthy. I wasn’t worthy at all.
Kaelzar reads something in my face. For all the unfathomable strength in his massive body, his expression softens and he closes his eyes for a breath, just as a wave of tears blurs my vision again.
Then a gentle, shadowy hand cups my face, warm and surprisingly tender.
A voice, thin and feminine, speaks out loud like an echo.
“When evil seeks to break you—remember this. Darkness wedges itself where you give it room. Don’t surrender.
Guard the fissures in your courage. While a single breath remains, you have the power to rise, rebuild, and refuse to be broken. ”
The words pierce me. My heart swells until I fear it will burst. I know what this is, who this is.
The shadow of Kaelzar’s mother: her last words, the fragment of her voice that had kept him going through the worst moments of his life. His most sacred possession, and now he has given it to me.
He will never again hear those words spoken to him. He has handed her last encouragement—meant for him alone—to me.
It is a gift beyond measure. A sacrifice that sears me with grief and gratitude at once.
Warmth surges through me, pushing back the cold weight of surrender. Her words—his gift—ignite something I thought already dead.
Strength gathers: raw, trembling, but enough. My legs quake, but my body answers.
I force myself up, breath ragged, fingers unsteady as I reach for my whip. The coils snap free, the bladed tips catch the sun.
Zyrel reaches for his throne.
I lash out. The whip wraps tight around his neck, blades digging into his skin, and I yank.
He crashes to the ground, his god’s magic just out of reach. I drive my heel into the stone, twisting through my hips and shoulders as I throw the whip over my shoulder.
I pull not with my arms alone, but with hips, spine, planted feet—all working in brutal unison to drag him away from the throne, toward the edge where the stone platform gives way to sand. To where the wires are still lurking under the ground.
I don’t know if they’ll bite into the wood of my whip’s handle the way they bite into flesh, but I have to believe they will. If they do, they’ll drag Zyrel back just enough to give me the leverage I need to move forward.
So I pull—praying, shaking, pouring the last of my strength into this single, desperate act.
He snarls and claws at the ground, nails tearing at the stone as he tries to reclaim the distance I’ve stolen.
I pull harder, knowing I have only seconds before my strength gives out. Once I let go, he’ll be on his feet, tackling me to the ground and no surge of adrenaline will save me from the weight of him then.
A sound splits the air before I can think further—an unearthly, bone-deep scream. The dragon’s shriek echoes through the arena, followed by a sickening, wet crunch of flesh and bone severing.
Zyrel freezes, his face draining of color as he turns toward the noise, terror flashing in his eyes—the fear of losing his dragon, and with it, his Godbound tether.
Another distraction is another gift from Kaelzar.
I don’t waste it. Zyrel’s weight drags but I dig in, muscles trembling, breath ragged. I pull harder and with a final cry, I drop to my knees and hurl the handle forward, forcing it past the edge of the stone and out over the sand.
The moment the handle crosses it, the wires on the other side snap to life—thin, silver serpents shooting upward to seize the polished wood. They yank hard, their combined force jerking the whip taut and dragging Zyrel back into its embrace.
He chokes, his blood-slick fingers scraping down my arm as he’s wrenched past me, pulled over the line and out of reach.
I don’t look back. I don’t gloat.
I rush forward, straight to the crimson effigy of Calista, and grasp her horns with both trembling, bloodied hands.
The statue’s unblinking eyes meet mine, then the body liquefies, melting over my arms, crawling into my skin. The power rushes through me, filling the hollows that have ached since the challenge began.
Warmth floods every wound. Flesh knits, pain fades, but I barely notice.
I turn at once, finding Kaelzar through the chaos, and fling my hands toward him. The Blood magic leaps from me in a scarlet surge, racing toward both him and the dragon. They’re too close for me to separate them, both lying still and bleeding.
Then I see it. The dragon’s tail, severed halfway down, the wound already knitting together under my magic’s glow. Kaelzar had cut it clean through.
My stomach twists, and I run. Kaelzar is on his feet, the mangled skin of his body stitching itself together as I slam into him.
His arms close around me, crushing tight enough to steal my breath. But I don’t care. I press my face to his chest, tears streaking my cheeks, inhaling the scent of storm, sweat, and leather.
“You gave me your last memory of her,” I whisper, looking up.
He nods.
“Wasn’t it your most precious possession?”
“It was,” he murmurs in a low voice. “Until I watched you slip away. In that second, I chose you over every yesterday. I realized I would burn every memory for one more heartbeat with you.”
“But—” My voice cracks.
He shakes his head, flashing me a small fierce smile.
“I’ve spent decades with my mother’s voice in my head.
I know every word by heart. But there could be no greater purpose for that shadow than giving you a fighting chance, Trouble.
Some kind of barrier kept my stronger shadows from getting close and losing you was never an option. ”
A quiet laugh breaks from me, muffled against his chest. I cling tighter.
“The new era has dawned with our Archpriestess,” the Sibyl’s voices thunder in unison, rattling the air, “and with our Sovereign Goddess, Calista!”
The arena fractures. Half the crowd erupts into applause, the other half recoils in stunned silence. Only weeks ago, Calista’s name was a curse, spoken only in hatred when it tangled with the Crimson Tether.
Now the kingdom is commanded to bow, to surrender their prayers to her.
The thought cuts through me, stripping away every flicker of triumph. Calista may once have been gentle, healing, and full of love. But betrayal hollowed her out, twisted her mind.
At the start of this Trial, I dared to hope for her redemption. Now, knowing what I know, I can’t afford such illusions. Her heart has curdled into something dark. And I will have to find a way to control it, to control her.
“Tonight, at the Threadbinding Ceremony,” the Sibyls continue, “our new Archpriestess will be consecrated, and an age of prosperity will begin. She will be empowered to strengthen our armies by imbuing their Borrowglass with the magic of Blood and Decay, so that they may stand unbroken against any threat to our realm.”
A harsh, inhuman sound tears through the air from where Zyrel stands by his throne... by the silver figure of his god, still solid atop it. No wires hold him back now, and an angry red bruise coils around his neck where my whip caught him. The sight draws a vicious smile to my lips.
He drags a hand across its gleaming surface, but it doesn’t dissolve into him as my magic did.
Instead, the metal hardens, taking on the dull sheen of stone.
“I only accepted that bitch’s magic out of necessity, to get to you!” he screams, fingers clawing at the statue as it petrifies beneath his touch. “You can’t leave me!”
The last word resounds as cracks spiderweb through the stone. The figure shatters, collapsing in his hands, his god’s magic breaking apart, severed from him forever.
I barely hear the rest. He betrayed his magic, and now he’s lost it, just as he lost the Trial of the Bound.
Champions who survive are meant to keep both halves of their power until their dying breaths, ascending to serve as High Priests and Priestesses of their respective Churches.
I’ve never heard of one losing half. But somehow, I know this man will find a way to twist even this misfortune into an advantage.
Beside me, Kaelzar’s expression darkens, and I see a flicker of something haunted that tightens my chest.
“What is it?” I ask.
He hesitates, then whispers, “Can I take you home now?”
For a heartbeat, I think of Eva and Peonica, who must have been watching from the crowd, of Ryker in his private seats. Then I simply answer, “Yes.”
Still holding each other, we vanish into the Shadow Realm, and even that eerie world feels bearable in his arms.