Chapter 37
The curse is nasty. Cold yet fiery. Fierce yet sly.
The darkness that ravages the Shadow Prince’s mind and body rises like a tsunami to greet me, eager to destroy my power like it tried to do the first time I touched Darius.
But this time, I’m ready.
At the curse’s first brush against my power, my magic flares like an exploding star, but the pain comes with purpose, not chaos. I push the magic forward. The oily dark screeches, a soundless vibration that rattles my bones, but it doesn’t falter.
The curse burrows deeper into Darius’s flesh. His veins. His organs.
I chase it with my light, slicing through tendrils wherever they dare touch. For every strand I sever, two more slither free, clawing into another corner of Darius’s being. It clings to him with the desperation of something that cannot exist without its host.
The world beyond us falls away. My body. My surroundings. All gone.
There is only this battlefield. This endless clash of light and dark inside Darius.
The curse tries to shove me out. My instincts scream to obey, to recoil and preserve myself, but I hold fast. I can’t let go.
I made a deal. I will free Darius from this curse.
Not just for him, but for me. To prove I can.
To prove that I am strong. That my power is a gift and not something to be ashamed of.
It saved me. It’s saved others. And I am determined to wield it to make the world a better place, no matter what anyone thinks.
I grit my teeth and send another burst of light flooding through my palm. Heat sears my skin. My magic scorches every thread of black it touches, and the curse shrieks.
Burst after burst, I continue my assault. With every effort, I make progress, only for the curse to rise back the moment there’s a pause in my power.
Frustration builds, suffocating as smoke. But I breathe through it, refusing to give up.
I’m missing something. Gods, help me…what am I missing?
An idea takes root, then blooms all at once.
I inhale sharply.
That’s it!
I detach a beam of light from the attack and direct it to scan Darius’s body, ignoring the sticky, thick tendrils reattaching throughout his muscles and organs as I search for the origin of the curse in the Fae’s body.
It doesn’t take long.
A solid knot of black, wound tight as a fist, coils in his chest, too close to his heart.
I whisper a plea to Olyra that what I’m about to do is not a mistake. Then I send everything I have into that single point.
The curse hisses, furious. The sound lashes across my ears, sharp enough to make me wince. Sweat pours down my temples. My pulse thunders. My arms quake as I shove more and more of myself into Darius.
Warmth flows down my spine, my arms, into my palms, spilling into his body. But the mass doesn’t budge. It writhes, wails, roars—like a beast with its claws buried in his soul.
My magic stumbles. Flickers.
No!
My power rebounds, but it’s weaker. Fading. Of course it is. I nearly drained myself when I fought the natchling, and this…this is ten times worse.
Still, conviction drags more magic out of me than I thought possible. I remind myself that my power is no weak thing. It is formidable. Just as formidable as the Fae. Just as formidable as this curse.
A spark reignites in my chest, and my mind flashes back to the cell—to the manacles. To General Ironheart’s sword.
A reckless thought follows close behind. Unease rises a moment later. This is a risk. A dangerous one. But maybe…maybe it’s the only way.
I take a deep breath and pull my consciousness back to reality. My eyelids part, and the dim world swims into focus. Draven crouches opposite me, hands hovering helplessly over Darius’s body. His face is stricken, desperate.
“Draven,” I rasp.
His head jerks up. His nostrils flare.
“I need an astlerium weapon,” I say, voice strained.
He stares at me. Too long. Too still.
My body trembles with exhaustion, but my magic continues pouring into Darius like a river that refuses to run dry.
Before I can repeat myself, silver gleams.
A dagger.
My gaze lifts and locks with Rian’s. Silver flecks swim faintly in the smoke of his eyes. He flips the weapon so his hands wrap around the blade, then he extends his arm.
I don’t thank him. I can’t. Lingering fear makes it hard enough just to look at him.
Our fingers brush when I take the hilt of the dagger. My stomach clenches. His hand flexes as I pull away. I pretend not to notice.
White light continues to flicker over Darius’s torso, patterned like a fisherman’s net, but the majority of my power focuses under my hand, flowing into that solid mass behind his sternum.
On the other side of the cot, Draven continues to stare, but he remains silent. So does everyone behind me.
My heart thrums wildly. I know what I must do, but I pray to the Gods to give me the physical and mental strength to do it.
I summon every ounce of power to rise to the surface. Any remnant that my body had been reserving, I call it forward.
Despite the complicated past between my people and the Fae, no soul deserves to suffer at the hands of the vile darkness ravaging Darius’s soul.
The God Judan will judge Darius when it is his time to arrive at Velmira’s doorstep. But it will not be today.
I lift the dagger, clutching the hilt with both hands. The light veers from me into the blade, flooding the gleaming surface until it glows like a shard broken off the sun itself.
“Please let this work,” I murmur.
Then I drive the dagger down.
“NO!” Draven’s voice tears the air as I plunge the astlerium blade into Darius’s chest.