Chapter 32
“He’s a what?” Ellaryn asked, slowly pulling her shirt over her head, chest aching from the lingering pain of Xander’s magic.
“A Spell Reaper,” Xander said at his desk, flipping through the pages of a book he conjured from thin air.
Ellaryn tried to stand, but the room spun around her. Xander noticed immediately, setting the book aside and guiding her back onto the bed. “Wait a moment,” he said gently. “Your body needs time to recover.”
Ellaryn nodded, catching the flicker of blue in his eyes for a moment too long before looking away, breaking the stare.
“So… what’s a Spell Reaper?” she asked, clearing her throat.
“It’s a name for the product of the mutation… a powerful one.” Xander explained, pulling a book toward him with an invisible tether. It landed in his hands as if it were part of him.
“Potentials, like myself, are born with the ability to produce magic—to alter the world around us,” he paused, letting it sink in. “Spell Reapers, though… they don’t channel magic. They absorb it. They feed on other people’s power, taking their energy as their own.”
His words inserted a frown on her face, confused. “I’ve never heard of one.”
“They’re rare,” he said, still flipping through the pages of the book. “So rare that none have been seen in hundreds of years.”
“Great,” she muttered, exhaling sharply. “So… where does that leave us?”
“You’re missing the point, my dear Ellaryn,” he said, practically vibrating with excitement. “If they haven’t been seen in centuries, that usually means—”
Ellaryn blinked at him, puzzled.
“They’re extinct. Which means…”
“They can be killed,” Ellaryn whispered.
Her shoulders finally loosened, the weight she’d been carrying since this journey began lifting just a little.
“Can’t you see!” Xander exclaimed, eyes shining. “This… this is what we’ve been looking for!”
Before she could respond, he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. Ellaryn laughed softly, astonished at how cheerful he was acting, the lightness almost infectious in contrast to everything else they’d faced.
“You’re crazy!” she stated, voice sharp but tinged with something softer.
“And you’re amazing,” he said, and heat immediately spread to her cheeks. The compliment hung in the air, unclaimed, as Ellaryn looked down at her lap.
Xander sat beside her, silent for a moment. “You are, you know.”
Ellaryn shook her head, hair falling over her face. “I’m not,” she murmured.
He gently tucked a strand behind her ear, his fingers brushing her skin. “You know the city thinks you’re its Ruin,” he said softly, “but really… you’re its saviour.”
The words seeped in, healing something inside her she hadn’t realised was broken.
“Why are you so… nice to me?” she asked, voice low, her gaze locking on his. She found herself mesmerised—the way his lashes caught the light like gold, the dimple that appeared when he laughed, the way his eyebrows furrowed whenever she doubted herself.
“Because I figured… it was about time somebody was.”
His hand moved to cradle hers in her lap, warm and inviting. His palm soft over her dry skin.
Ellaryn blinked, caught off guard. Her lips parted, but no words came. Heat pooled in her chest, her pulse spiking at his tenderness.
Her gaze dropped to his hand, briefly holding hers—and just as quickly as he placed it, he withdrew it. He scratched the back of his neck, straightened himself, and stepped back.
“Erm… we shouldn’t celebrate yet,” he said, voice careful, though a flicker of awkwardness lingered. “The work’s not finished. We still have to figure out how to kill him—what weapon, or elixir…”
Ellaryn was still reeling, still trying to process the man who was Alexander Wolfe. Some part of her mind protested the warmth spreading through her chest, hot and untamable, a bloom that seemed to grow every time she looked at him.
But for some inexplicable, alien reason, she didn’t want it to fade.
“I may have to go away… just for a bit,” he said quietly. “Beyond the wall.”
The warmth in her chest wilted instantly. A week ago, she would have wanted him to leave. Now, the idea of it made her stomach drop.
“What for?” she asked, trying to mask the disappointment in her voice.
“There’s a library—in Relenthia. Biggest on this side of the continent. I think it might hold the answer we need.”
“Oh,” Ellaryn said softly, nodding. Her voice carried a sadness she hadn’t meant to reveal. “How long will you be gone?”
“No more than a few days,” Xander said, grabbing a bag and stuffing it with clothes, books, and papers from around the room.
But her thoughts wouldn’t stop spinning: He’s going to leave you. He’s realised a Spell Reaper is too powerful. He’s not coming back.
“Promise me you’ll come back,” she blurted before she could think, the words a lifeline to quiet her racing mind.
Xander froze, the bag slipping slightly from his hands. His eyebrows furrowed, a soft, sympathetic look crossing his face.
“What?” he asked, his voice gentle. “Of course I’m coming back.”
Ellaryn hated how vulnerable she felt, how much her happiness rested on him.
“Why would you say that?” he asked, reaching for her eyes, trying to lift the shadows there.
“It’s okay if you don’t… I would understand,” she murmured, looking down at her hands. “Relenthia is safe. You don’t owe anything to Velaviere.”
“But I owe it to Cinala… To you. I am coming back,” he said firmly, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. “We’re in this together.” He lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You and me.”
Ellaryn held his stare for a long moment, then closed the space between them and pulled him into a hug.
They stayed like that, holding onto each other—a lifeline against the storm raging outside and within—and when they finally pulled away, Ellaryn wasn’t quite sure what to do with her hands.
She rested them awkwardly in her lap, worrying about an unspoken boundary they might have crossed.
She knew it was different between them. It had felt different for a while.
But with the King and her fates intertwined, there was no room to unpack it.
No room to dive when the water was shallow and sure.
She was going to die, and Xander… Xander was going to live.
Two fates that could not live simultaneously.
She swallowed hard, stifling the butterflies that seemed to swarm every time he was close and trained her stare onto the poster board Xander had been working on.
“How old were you when the King took you in?” he asked suddenly, the question casual, but she could tell it came from genuine curiosity.
“Nine,” Ellaryn said, a small, forced smile tugging at her lips. “It’s strange. I had nine years without him—nine years with my parents, with Eden… my brother.”
She drew in a sharp breath.
“And I can’t remember them. Not really.” Her brows knitted together. “I try so hard to picture their faces—how they smiled, the sounds of their laughs—but all I see is that day. Them drained of everything that made them alive. No warmth.”
Her lips began to tremble, throat feeling thick.
“And do you want to know what the worst part is?” she asked, not waiting for an answer. “I don’t remember who I was before him. What I was like. Whether I was funny or quiet or confident.”
The silence that followed was soft, almost reverent. Xander didn’t speak right away. He shifted closer instead, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him beside her.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last. Not rushed. Not forced. Just honest.
Ellaryn let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.
“You should have had more time,” he continued quietly. “More than nine years. More than memories that hurt when you reach for them.” His voice wavered, just slightly. “It isn’t fair that he took that from you.”
She stared at the floor, hands clenched tightly in her lap, willing back the heat behind her eyes.
“Nothing in Cinders is fair,” she said quietly, brushing at the edge of her lashes before the tears had a chance to fall. “But you know that too,” she added, her thoughts drifting to his parents.
“Did you ever meet them… my parents?” he asked softly.
Ellaryn shook her head. “Our house was on the outskirts of the city. We had a farm… I don’t remember much, but I know we didn’t go into the centre often.”
Xander’s lips pressed into a thin line, memories flickering across his face.
“We used to have this parade every year for the Coronation. Gods, I hated it. The clothes they’d make me wear, stuck in a cart all day, parading around the city.
Told to look smart, to smile for the people…
none of it made sense to me as a child. I didn’t get why they needed me to be there, you know.
I just wanted to play with my toys, climb trees…
but… Gods… what I’d give to be back there again. ”
His voice softened at the end, a hint of nostalgia mixed with regret.
For a moment, the world outside—the King, the city, the endless danger—fell away.
Ellaryn could almost picture it: the little boy in the cart, sunlight on his hair, the city sprawling around him, and somehow, she felt a fragile warmth for the boy he had been.
“I think I remember seeing the pictures of the Coronation in the paper,” Ellaryn said softly, and Xander’s eyes lit up with hope. “Yeah… me and Eden used to love the newspapers in Cinala. We’d draw funny faces on the people in the pictures.”
Xander chuckled. “So, you defaced my parents?”
“No—not just them,” she said quickly, trying to save herself. “Everyone in the pictures.” She laughed, a little bitter, a little fond.
“It’s okay,” he said gently. “I wouldn’t take offence. I remember doing the same thing.”
Her smile faltered, and the laughter drifted into something heavier. “I miss that,” she whispered. “I can’t see his face anymore. Or remember what his voice sounded like. It’s like all my memories of them are faded.”