Thirty #2
I cut a glance between the two of them. Rorik didn’t move.
“You’re responsible for that?” I asked Death, and took another step.
Death nodded. “I could not end them myself with the everjewels buried within their bodies, so I designed an illness, an infection, meant to eat away at them slowly. And once the light was snuffed from their bodies, I would strike.”
“All of them?” I kept him talking. Kept his burning rage focused on Rorik.
“Rebellyn, their wretched ancestor, asked for freedom from my reach for her and her kin. And the cost of that ask will be extracted from them for eternity . . . or until there are no Evers left to be a pox on this realm.” Death shifted, and the shadows making up his attire came to life like they’d been caught in a breeze. Slowly, I peeled open the purse.
Rorik leered. “I am not responsible for her behavior.”
“And yet you repeat her mistakes with this mender,” Death hissed.
He stretched out his hand to gesture toward me, and the hem of his sleeve fell back to expose knobby fingers that were ghostly white.
His skin was near translucent, his veins so black they spread like rivers of ink.
I slid behind him, his reach shielding me from Rorik.
“The realm aches to be free of your existence.”
I slipped my hand into my pouch. Heat throbbed into my palm from the hilt of the blade.
Rebellyn’s magic, it seemed, still lingered in the metal.
And while I wasn’t an Embergrave, I was bonded to one of her descendants.
Fernglove magic roared to life in my core in response.
I would fulfill my end of the bargain or die trying.
I would protect her kind. I would protect Rorik.
Anticipation ratcheted within me as I stared at Death’s cloaked back.
My time had come. I would drive the blade through to his heart and force him to comply with my demands.
I would barter for all that I wanted. I would end blight.
I would make him spare me like he’d spared Rebellyn.
I moved fast. Raising the blade above my head, I drove it downward toward his left shoulder.
Time seemed to slow as the blade neared Death.
But before it could pierce his flesh, the cloak framing his body began to riot.
Wild tendrils of black shadows spired outward in a protective display, and my hand was knocked back.
Pain flared in my wrist from the burst of magic, and I let out a cry as I took several steps back.
“What is this?” Death rasped as he turned to face me. His gaze slanted to my shaking hand. “You collude with this Ever?”
Rorik dropped all pretenses. “Don’t touch her.”
“Silence, Ever.” Outrage burned through Death’s voice.
He turned back to me. “I wondered when I’d see that blade again.
You might have the weapon, but you do not possess the strength.
” He snapped his fingers, and something in me broke.
A cry wrenched from my lungs as I crashed to the ground, my knees cracking against the surface.
“Edira!” Rorik bolted across the island to kneel beside me.
Worry lanced his expression as his hand went to the small of my back.
I recoiled from his touch. My skin was alight, every nerve ending on fire.
And then I saw it: a thin, moonlit strand drifting away from my body on an invisible current of air.
Right into Death’s open palm. He’d stolen a thread. A sliver of my life.
Rorik’s lips peeled back in a snarl as he targeted Death with a murderous glare. There was nothing but fury brimming from his core. Nothing but unencumbered rage bellowing down our bond.
“I said don’t touch her.”
“But why, when she’s the only one I can claim?” Death let out a hollow laugh.
Rorik lunged. He was an animal unchained, a predator of the highest degree with his mark within reach.
His glamour ripped away as he moved. Wings spread out behind him as he launched into the air and dove toward Death with his claws and fangs bared, slamming both of them into the ground.
The glass-like surface cracked and splintered from the impact.
But before Rorik could drive his elongated nails into Death’s chest, he disappeared into a plume of shadows.
“Slow,” Death drawled. “So very slow.” He reappeared by my side. Snapped his fingers again.
A shriek tore through my lungs as I crumpled in on myself.
Bile flooded the back of my tongue, and my stomach knotted.
Waves of pain crashed into me as my vision waned.
Nothing. Nothing could’ve prepared me for this.
I’d never been so acutely aware of my threads being ripped from my being.
A cold sweat dampened my entire body, and shakes began to rack my limbs.
The blade I’d been gripping fell from my fingers and clattered near Death’s feet.
Rorik let out a monstrous roar. “NO!”
Death picked up the blade and tossed it into the raging currents encircling his island. “Yes.”
“Stop!” Rorik bellowed. “Take me instead. I am the one you want!”
“True,” Death murmured. “But I cannot kill you. I can, however, harm you through her. And I very much enjoy that.”
Another snap of his fingers.
Another pop in my being that felt like my bones being shattered into pieces.
Another wispy strand of moonlight dancing out of reach.
My breath was labored, my body limp. I was completely useless against his power.
A film of darkness spread over my eyes. Everything was hazy.
My brain couldn’t keep up with my surroundings, who was moving and who wasn’t.
All I could feel was exhaustion and pain.
My eyes grew heavy, the weight of my fate settling over me like a thick blanket.
“Edira!” Rorik screamed. “Get up! You have to get up!” He tore across the island and lunged for Death, who escaped into a shaft of pure darkness before he could make contact. Rorik skidded on his heels, whipping around and snarling into the air.
“I grow weary of your antics.” Death materialized near the lip of the island and extended his hand outward.
Shadows erupted from the void and snaked around Rorik’s body, solidifying into resplendent black ropes that went immediately taut.
Rorik howled as he strained against them, but they didn’t give.
“Hold still. Watch,” he said to Rorik as he stalked toward me. Death thrust his hand forward. “I’m sorry this was your fate, mender.”
Edira! Rorik screamed in my mind. Please. Please move. Please save yourself.
I felt his heart shatter down our bond. Tears welled in my eyes. I couldn’t give up. I couldn’t make him watch me die. Pain arced through my back as I pushed myself to my knees. My chest heaved from the effort; my limbs shook. A wet, raspy laugh filtered through Death’s hood.
“You have so few threads left, mender.” He held out his hand and pinched his forefinger and thumb. I immediately felt the pressure stem from somewhere deep inside me. It was a painful twinge, a tightness that seemed to grow with each breath. He was about to pluck away yet another one of my threads.
Rorik’s panicked gaze bored into me. Run.
But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t leave him. Not now, not ever. If I’d managed to hold on to the blade, I could’ve tried to plunge it into Death again. Futile, likely, but I didn’t know what else to do. I wanted to tear his head from his body so he could never come after us again.
I tried to stand. Death jerked his fingers.
Pain splintered behind my eyes as I screamed. Another thread gone. Hot tears spilled over my cheeks. I sucked in a sharp breath and tried again. Every muscle in me screamed and protested the motion, but my will was stronger. I forced myself to think in time with my blundering, heavy heartbeat.
I needed the blade. Thud.
I didn’t have the blade. Thud.
What else could bring Death to his knees? Thud.
What had I learned? Thud.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Thud.
Rorik was screaming at the top of his lungs, his words a mixture of pleas and threats. My breath was starting to become shallow. My vision swam. I wondered if he felt my life force dim down our bond, like a candle on the verge of snuffing out.
Death laughed as he snapped another one of my life threads. I fell back to the ground as ringing crashed in my ears. There was nothing but white-hot pain. Nothing but my slowly failing heartbeat. Nothing. Nothing . . .
Heal yourself! Rorik roared in my mind.
Heal . . . I tried to summon Rorik’s magic and twine it with mine, but it felt like mixing oil with water. Slippery, impossible to grasp, and, worse, there was no life for me to siphon. The ground was barren, the cavern devoid of everything but the insects above my head.
Insects. My gaze slowly drifted to the ceiling.
“You see what pain you cause?” Death asked as he turned to face Rorik. “You are nothing but an infection that must be burned away from this world. And whether it happens today or ten years from now, I will claim your life.”
No. Fear shot through me and pushed away the cloud of death fogging my mind. No one would take Rorik’s life. No one. Desperation and resolve melded together into something fierce within me, and all the pain and exhaustion couldn’t compare to the thought of a world without Rorik.
I pictured our heartbond and gripped the golden river stretched taut between our shared consciousness. This time, it complied. And I focused on the ceiling. On the insects crawling among the cavern’s teeth.
“Come,” I whispered. And even though my words were nearly inaudible, I felt the power of my command reverberate through my bones. The bugs felt it, too. In the next moment, they took flight in a storm of vibrating wings, the hum of their frenzied movements filling the cavern with an endless drone.
They flocked to me.