61. Elorie
Elorie
Magic strums through my blood. It courses with my heavy heartbeat. I grip Wilder’s arm, steadying myself as the surge of power settles.
I don’t know how deep I tunneled. I just know I went so far that there was no light at the other end of the thread.
There was only the darkness stars swim in, and I was one of them.
Floating. Drowning. Then my fingers clasped with my mate’s, and magic was not simply the blood in my veins; it was the air in my lungs. All I felt. All I saw.
A rush so powerful that the aftershocks continue as I force it to settle. Clouds might mask many of the stars tonight, but they’re out there, singing a siren song to my bones, begging me to set them free.
Malachi tilts his head, and Wilder’s grip on my body tightens.
His once-golden strands hang limp around his shoulders.
His sapphire eyes have changed. One is now pure gold, while the other is a blue so dark it is the ocean at night.
His once-warm skin is pale and littered with dark spots at his hairline.
Something stirs in him. Casts around him.
Shadows paint circles around his eyes. And when he grins, there is nothing friendly—barely anything Fae—about it. It reminds me of the clacking teeth of a ravager. Soulless creatures with no real gaze.
Long gone is the beautiful male I met in the Ley Court. While always a little cruel, there was a heart beating in his chest. Now, all that beats is the orb, animating another side of him and erasing what once was a king.
Malachi doesn’t attack. He’s a good distance from me on the beach, but his presence towers. It grows the longer I sit here.
When I try to move, Wilder hesitates for only a second before meeting my gaze. Then, he helps me stand on shaky legs.
“The human girl who can summon the magic of the heart of our realm,” Malachi announces.
“I can summon more than that.”
His chin lifts, face to the sky, as he takes a deep breath. “Yes, I suppose you do. It would be impressive were you not using it to help them.”
Greer shoots forward, sword lifted and aimed at Malachi’s throat. But she doesn’t reach him. Something stops her before she gets close, and then she’s screaming. Atlas barely reaches her before her knees strike the ground.
Malachi smiles down at Greer writhing in Atlas’s arms. “Still angry, I see. That was once a useful weapon for my cause.”
“Gods curse you.” She glares up at him.
“Hmm.” He spins the orb, and my belly throbs. “Soon, I will be one of those gods. And you will be on your knees, as you are now, bowing to me.”
“Never.” Defiance lights her eyes, piquing Malachi’s amusement even more.
“Oh, but you will, if only for my pleasure.” His gaze shifts across the beach where Lochlan stands. “Same as you. I’m disappointed, Lord Ravage. I assumed you finally learned your place.”
Lochlan’s jaw tightens—almost imperceptible from this far away. His knuckles whiten with his grip on his scythe. Around him, a few of his army have slipped back through the Gate, while Darvel’s army carries the mortally wounded through the Arch.
Malachi doesn’t bother stopping them, though I have no doubt he could with the orb. This display with the palemor was simply a game to break our spirits before facing us, and I hate that it worked.
Malachi returns his attention to me. Nothing but malice gleams in his eyes. “Your magic is truly endless, Elorie. Something of this realm, and also not. If only you could contain that which you wield. I can help you do that.”
He tilts the orb, and the color shifts from blue to white.
I grit my teeth. “No one being should wield that kind of power.”
“Maybe not. But a god—”
Wilder chuckles, shifting Malachi’s focus. His smile falls as his dark eyes slide in Wilder’s direction.
With the full air of his confidence, Wilder smiles, raking his hair back. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt what I’m sure was about to be a thrilling speech?”
Malachi’s eyes narrow as Wilder shifts—his gaze tracking his movements.
“You’re still not over the whole god thing?
” Wilder asks with a chuckle. “You’ll have to excuse me if I just don’t get it.
King is tricky enough. But god… It seems like a lot of work if you think about it.
You can barely hold together the realm you have, so what happens when you try and create a new one? ”
Malachi steps forward, heat throbbing from the orb. But like he hits his own wall, he pulls back, holding the orb in one hand and pinching the bridge of his nose with the other.
“They do not,” Malachi mumbles, but I sense he’s speaking to something in his mind, as even Hazel glances at him with confusion. “I know you seek it, but they don’t—no, they don’t deserve it. I can’t. I won’t.”
When he flinches, Hazel shifts. The first movement she’s made since arriving on the beach. Her shadows churn at her fingertips. Liquid darkness climbs her veins. She stands in a black dress not fit for battle, and while the wind whispers around us, her hair does not move.
“No. It will open. I said—” Malachi’s teeth clench, a pulse of magic rolling off him.
My stomach sours.
Hazel’s eyes dart to her brother, no color in her alabaster cheeks as she looks him over. The slightest wrinkle appears on her forehead.
Is she worried?
He’s rambling like he’s lost his mind. There is no getting to him. No getting past what the orb has put in place.
Malachi drops his hands, and when his fingers leave the orb, there’s a momentary relief. I hadn’t even realized how much static hung in the air. Prickled my lungs with every breath. With his hands at his sides, everything quiets.
“Why did you want us here?” I take a step toward Malachi, and Wilder eyes me, but I don’t meet his stare.
Malachi’s dark eyes lift, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Want is an interesting word. What is it you want, Elorie Vale?”
“To heal what is broken.”
His smile grows, as if I’ve stepped into a trap, and he’s pleased about it. “So much is broken. You would not want to heal it if you truly understood that which has been severed.”
“You’re wrong.” My hands clench.
Malachi takes a step toward me; his hands halt at his sides. “You don’t understand what you want. The price that comes with it.”
“But you do?”
“I understand more than you could ever grasp.”
“So what do you want, then?” I ask.
Malachi shakes his head once. “That is the difference between us. I do not want at all. Not anymore. I already have that which I want. That which I need. Need… now that’s an interesting word. If the fates have already woven our ends, do we truly need anything at all?”
“Is this your grand plan?” Wilder hitches an eyebrow. “Lure us out here and force us to listen to you lecture about the fates and the gods.”
Malachi’s eyes shift to him. “Maybe you are not paying attention. This is a story. That which you will fulfill because of those fates and gods.”
“We aren’t doing anything for you.”
“She already has.” Malachi’s eyes gleam in response, flicking to me. “All we need is already here. Need… there’s that word again. I warned you that you would need me.”
“Is that so?” I lift my chin. “It seems you need me more.”
“You have no idea how right you are.”
That answer sends a chill down my spine. Wilder’s hand lands on my lower back, his fingers curling like he senses it too. We always knew we were walking into a trap but hoped that if we delayed long enough, we would get the upper hand.
As Malachi watches me, a trickle of doubt seeps into my belly.
“It is difficult to see the path until we reach the end sometimes. I used to want things, like you. And like you, I did not understand that the fates do not care.” He reaches for the orb again, and my stomach immediately sickens.
“The fates answer to no one, not even the gods. What the Luminess weaves cannot be undone. Fate always has a way to fix itself. You may hate what you think I am doing, but I am simply the instrument correcting what you broke.”
“I didn’t break this.” I wave out my arms to the scorched beach. “The realms collided long before I was of flesh and blood.”
“The realms are not all that has been broken. They are simply a result of what was done.”
“What is that?” From the corner of my eye, something sparks, so I shift, keeping Malachi’s attention toward me.
He’s spouting the ramblings of a mind long gone, but maybe if I can keep him talking, then I can delay what he might be planning.
The orb twists between his fingers. No one on the beach has moved or spoken. Has he bound us all in place? My limbs are unusually heavy, practically unmoving.
A crinkling web of torn flesh climbs his neck, as if the surge from the orb has ripped him open. Just as quickly, it sews back together. Healing and breaking. How many times has the orb done as much to him? How much longer can his body withstand the power in that object?
Malachi closes his eyes, but I’m not daft enough to think I can attack. He watches even when he doesn’t.
“When I was gifted this necklace, I was given a story along with it.” Malachi’s dark eyes meet mine. “To be without it is to be lost. And to be with it is to be found. To bear the gods-touched orb is to bear a map of the stars, so that all that binds can be put back together.”
He steps forward, his face solemn.
“I did not wish this on my realm. But I saw what my father had done. A king who did not fight for his people. Who colluded with those who were against us. So I sought to fix that, and I was given the gift—the power to do what I wished. What some see as an unmaking is simply creation. I only unwrite this so that I can create something new. Something better for my people… so long as I could find my other half.”
“I am not yours, and I’m certainly not your other half.”
“You are not my mate,” he agrees with me. “But that does not mean you aren’t the other half of what I need. When you rewove fate bringing Wilder back, I saw what we could be. Together, we can do so much more.”
“I already told you I will not help you.”
His eyes darken. “You will not have a choice. Your fate is already written. The unmaking of the daughter of the stars is all that can put us back together.”
My throat tightens. Lady Reah’s words from Tempest ring in my memories.
“The price you pay may be yourself.”
It doesn’t make sense as Malachi moves toward me. My throat seizes when I cannot move or blink. He begins to close the distance, and I fear he might until something dark weaves between us.
Only this time, it’s not Hazel. A flutter of shadow condenses, and then Esen is there. Her shoulders are pulled tight, but her fingers are relaxed.
“What have you brought me, Elorie?” Malachi’s eyes narrow, looking Esen over as Hazel lifts her hand.
Liquid shadow reaches out but touches nothing. It becomes fragments before it can reach Esen.
Hazel’s eyes widen, and for a beat, the composed mask slips from Malachi’s face.
“Immune to my sister’s magic?” His eyes narrow. “Let’s see how you do against a gods’.”
Malachi lifts the orb, unleashing it on her.
The pure condensed light pushes me back a step, and I think maybe we haven't come with enough. Until Esen raises her hand to meet the magic. She lifts a dark claw, dragging the sharp nail of it across the surface, tapping once. It’s so simple, yet the air chokes from the beach.
The void ripples from Esen’s fingers, and she taps the glass containing the orb again. All that power stops in one breath. Color retreats as it cracks. A web of darkness crawls over the object. It splinters and dulls.
It dies.
Esen pulls back, relaxing her arms while Malachi holds the muted orb up between us. The magic that screamed from within quiets. The pulse stops.
So why does Malachi gleam like Esen has handed him exactly what he wanted?