CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN #5
A sudden hand appeared on Blount’s shoulder. Then Rafferty’s head popped into view. “Afraid not, chap,” he said, driving a sword from behind through the Night Mage’s stomach.
Blount howled in pain, jerking away. The Space Relic clattered to the floor, and Evylin dropped to the ground as he released the Time magic.
Blount whirled, the sword still in his back. He set a stunning blast of Day out around him, dazing both Evylin and Rafferty. Then he snatched Rafferty’s collar as the man tried to scramble away.
The Night Mage’s hand closed around Rafferty’s neck, knuckles white as a shadow of the darkest amethyst seeped between his fingers. “That’s twice you’ve stolen from me, thief.”
Fumbling for the Space Relic, Evylin struggled to her feet. But Blount threw his free hand behind him, hitting her with a shocking cloud of Night. The wave caused her body to convulse, her fingers loosening around the Relic.
“I’m—” Rafferty gasped as the shadow crept along his skin. His veins protruded, turning a sickening dark purple beneath his pale skin. His fingers trembled as he tugged at Blount’s grip. Then he wheezed, “An entrepreneur.”
Blount grunted as Rafferty used his final strength to kick out, hitting the tip of the sword sticking out of the Night Mage’s gut. He drove it down, cutting a violent gash through Blount’s torso.
But Blount didn’t let go.
Instead, his fist tightened, and Rafferty went rigid, the amethyst veins cutting ridges all along his pale skin. Then his body fell limp, his last breath stolen.
Horror and fury lit within Evylin, though her muscles still spasmed from the Night magic. Blount tossed Rafferty’s dead body aside. He reached behind himself to pull the sword from his stomach. With a trembling hand, he cauterized the wound with a swift flare of Day magic.
Somehow, Evylin found her way to her feet, the Space sword back in her hand. Her head was light, and she stumbled over the first steps. Haphazardly, she darted up the staircase. Blount raised his hands, a roiling amethyst cloud forming between them.
An iridescent black silhouette flashed, and Evylin skidded to a stop. Deckard stood on the dais, his body acting as a shield. Space coiled around his entire form, his energy restoring her. “I’d ask you not to threaten my wife,” he said placidly. “I’m rather protective of her.”
Blount spared a solitary glance at the rapidly declining number of his men. He took a step back, moving down the top of the stairs. “I’m afraid this isn’t the end I had in mind for today.”
“It’s the end you’re going to get,” Deckard replied. A hundred black shards rose with his hands. “Together?”
Evylin raised the Space sword. “Together.”
As Evylin sprinted forward, Deckard’s magic soared along with her. In the time it took to blink, Blount faded into nothingness under a shroud. However, though he was hidden from the physical eye, Evylin and Deckard could both sense him, her Warrior magic surging through them both.
With heightened senses, they could see the slight shimmer of Blount’s form as he ran for the side door. His footsteps pounded, and the acrid scent of his fear could not hide from their ascendant magic.
The chase was hardly a chase at all. Blount didn’t even get to turn around as the Space sword and crystalline shards found their target, slicing through him. His body sagged, and his concentration fumbled. The Shroud dissipated.
Blount crashed to the marble floor, gasping for air. Evylin and Deckard stood over him. The Night Mage stared at Evylin, a trickle of blood escaping the edge of his mouth. “I . . .” He coughed, a clot seeping onto his lips. “I . . . deserved it. And you.”
Evylin furrowed her brow. Even in death, he was unrepentant. “Why you more than anyone else?” she asked.
“I had . . . power,” he wheezed. “I deserved . . . it all.”
Evylin frowned. Was that all that qualified him?
Shaking her head, Evylin sighed. “It never would have been enough.”
Blount coughed again, his body trembling. The Relics around his neck dimmed. “Never . . . enough,” he whispered brokenly, sky-blue eyes staring up at the painted ceiling. His eyes found the Shepherd King, sword raised on the fields of Estshire above them.
Evylin watched as the light of the Relics fully faded. Deckard’s hand rested on her shoulder. Though she expected relief at Blount’s end, she only felt pity. He’d wanted nothing but the same as her—“more.”
More power, more respect, more love.
Blood pooled around Rouland Blount II, ViceMage of the Order of the Night and momentary King of Wauld and Ephria.
The seven Relics lay without life on his chest. His beautiful coat was riddled with holes.
He’d killed, he’d ruled, he’d grasped the greatest power in the world. But it never would have been enough.
“What would be reason enough to live?”
She knew the answer now.
Life was enough. Anything more was a gift.
Leaning into Deckard’s touch, the sudden silence of the room felt oppressive to Evylin. The fight had stopped, the death of Blount proclaiming their victory but at great cost.
“It’s over,” Evylin whispered. “It’s finally over.”