Chapter 67
Sixty-Seven
Vivianite
Moros’s mouth falls open, his eyes instantly glazing over as he begins to struggle for breath.
Dark, web-like veins snake across his body. They appear on his throat first, spreading down and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. But they don’t stop there. They cover his face, his arms and hands. I imagine they ensconce his entire body.
Adrian gasps, a sharp intake of breath that sounds like a shout in the deadly silent room.
I drive the knife in a little further, my hand meeting resistance, which causes Moros to garble out unintelligible words.
“Rest in pain,” I mutter as I step away, letting the dagger remain in his chest as he falls to the ground.
He releases a rattling final breath before his chest stills and his gaze grows distant.
Finally—finally.
Moros is dead.
I look over to Adrian, waiting for his reaction. In his mind, Moros was his uncle—a feat I still don’t quite understand how Moros accomplished.
Adrian’s eyes lock with mine, his chest heaving.
I search his gaze for anger or regret, but find none. There’s a realization there now, one that wasn’t there before. The collar was a brilliant idea, vital in my taking down Moros once and for all.
“Thank you,” I breathe, my muscles still tense as adrenaline pumps through me.
Adrian shakes his head. “That man—he wasn’t good. He was going to kill you, maybe kill all of us.”
I nod, because Moros probably would not have left this room without ending each of our lives.
And Adrian helped—this whole time, he was someone we thought we couldn’t trust, and for good reason. He’s done nothing but work against us, serving himself and his own needs.
But when it came down to it, he chose us. He chose to rid not only his kingdom, but Penyth as well, of the evil that resided within Moros. He did it all while thinking that was his uncle—his blood.
“We did it.” Adrian releases a breath. “You did—”
Adrian’s words are silenced abruptly, a sickening sound of fabric ripping followed by a wet sloshing noise. The stench of metal fills my nose almost instantly.
My eyes fall to his chest.
“Adrian,” I stammer, my veins flooding with horror.
The edge of a blade shines with his blood, dripping onto the floor.
His face twists into agony, his brows pulling together as he blindly feels for the blade protruding from his heart.
My mouth falls open in a silent scream, my lungs seizing as the wind is knocked from me.
Adrian’s gaze meets mine in a panic. My eyes fly to where Moros is, dread filling me with the thought that he survived somehow.
But he’s still there. Lying on the floor, unmoving.
Only…Nightfall is missing—no longer lodged in Moros’s chest.
I jerk my gaze back to Adrian, my body numb and frozen.
The blade protruding from his chest is the familiar bone-white color of Nightfall, I realize. He was stabbed in the back with the blade that killed Moros—the dagger that I gave my magic over to.
Opal’s face appears beside Adrian. “You’re dead weight, King,” she says with a sweet smile.
Confusion sweeps through me as the world slows to a halt.
Opal pulls the dagger out of Adrian, and he falls to the ground in a crumpled heap. The light in the eyes I once thought were beautiful quickly snuffs out.
“No,” I rasp, unable to move as horror freezes me in place.
Opal’s voice brings my attention to her, an innocent smile on her face as she says, “Well, that takes care of him.”