Starside

Chapter 47

Kill the God of Death, and you can bring back your family.

I might have been afraid of him, I might have been running from him this entire time, but hope and love banish any fear from my chest. Because—I’ll do anything.

I’ll climb up to the fucking stars if I need to.

I will rip them from the sky. I will crush them in my hands.

I will break every bone, shatter every tooth, skin myself alive if I have to, and none of it will matter if they can come back.

Without a second of hesitation, I dig my starlight blade into the ground, drip more of my blood into the dirt—

And whisper, “God of Death.”

The cave falls away. My stomach lurches. I’m being portaled somewhere, instead of him coming to me.

Ice crawls through my veins, but I tighten my hold on the hilt of my sword, until a new room settles around me.

The ceilings are hundreds of feet high and intricately carved. The floors are solid silver. The door in front of me has been punched through, ripped apart. Metal is everywhere. Empty thrones surround me.

Slowly, I turn around.

There’s a body on the floor, eyes open, with a blade buried straight through its chest. I know that blade. It’s standing tall and proud right in front of a throne crowned with a stone black as the night sky. The throne of the God of Death.

When I meet the eyes of the person sitting in it, my heart finally breaks.

“No,” I say.

Raker doesn’t say anything at all.

My sword is across his lap, still in its scabbard.

“No,” I say again, shaking my head, refusing to believe it.

A goblet just like the one I claimed is turned over by his throne. It’s empty. He drank it.

“Aris,” he finally says, standing.

“No,” I say, with every smelted piece of my soul. “You don’t get to say my name. You don’t get to look at me.”

His eyes flash with something like regret, but a moment later, it’s gone. All emotion has vanished. Just like that goddess. He takes a step forward. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says.

“This is exactly where I should be,” I say, my voice shaking. I tilt my head at him. “So did you just kill the God of Death?” I look at the man on the ground, but he doesn’t look like any of the paintings from the Great House we visited. Not at all.

Not like Raker does.

“I killed the God of War,” he says, his voice distant. Emotionless. “Who thought he killed me, the God of Death, five years ago.” He steps over the dead god without sparing him a glance. “He’s been trying to rule the underworld ever since. Badly, as you saw, with the demons and stolen brides.”

“But you—you were human,” I say, seeing every difference. Every lack of warmth. Every smooth place that was once rougher. Every glimmering place that was once matte. He was always beautiful, but now …

Now.

Because he drank the cup and became what he was meant to be, the magic illuminating everything that was already there, he is not just immortal.

He is a god. Again.

“I suspected the gods were plotting against me. So, during the last Questral, I traveled to Stormside and buried a shred of my soul there. When the God of War finally tried to kill me, he failed to kill all of me. I awoke on Stormside as a human,” he says.

He glances at the cup. “I needed the magic to access my powers again.”

“So that’s why you went on the quest,” I say, voice trembling. “It was always your plan …” I shake my head. “Tell me. How did I fit into it?”

“Your blade—”

“Is the other half of yours,” I say. He stills in surprise. I step forward. “But you could have killed me to get it. Easily. So many times.” My head tilts. “So why didn’t you?”

At that, he is silent.

I look down at the god between us. “Killing doesn’t seem to be a problem for you. So why?”

“Aris—”

“Why didn’t you kill me?” I demand, voice echoing through the room.

My chest is heaving. Every broken piece of myself is showing, sticking out of my chest, like the blade of my heart has shattered after meeting a greater opponent.

“Why did you pretend to care? Why did you pretend to see me?” I shake my head again, emotion welling up.

“You should have just—you should have just killed me, Raker,” I say, my voice breaking. “It would have hurt less.”

His eyes finally flash with emotion. Pain. My pain affects him. He takes another step toward me.

And in an instant, that feeling is gone.

“Don’t pretend you were honest with me, Aris,” he says. “Do you think I don’t know who you are?” He takes another step. “Aris Agron, heiress of House Agron? One of the Great Houses of Stormside?”

My teeth lock together. It’s been years since I heard my full name spoken. I lost it that day, when my house burned to the ground. I don’t know why that matters to him, but it looks like it does. It looks like my lineage could mean more than I’m aware of.

Hearing it, hearing my name, shifts my agony back to rage. “A house your kind burned to ashes,” I scream. “You didn’t just kill my family—you killed hundreds. The entire village, all dead because of you.”

“I didn’t set the fire,” he says.

“You might as well have!” I take a step toward him. “You must know the prophecy. The one everyone else but me fucking knows.” I motion toward myself. “So kill me, Raker. You couldn’t do it before, but how about now? Do it now!”

He doesn’t move an inch.

I laugh. “Don’t pretend you care about me. I have lost everyone I have ever loved. Everyone. And—and I started to …” I don’t dare finish that sentence. “And you …”

The words spill out of me as I look at him, eyes brimming with tears, and simmering with rage, and filled with every single moment we’ve had together on this dark and perilous journey, fighting side by side to the edge of the world. My words are like my pain—numbed at first, then searing.

“You left me,” I say, my voice devoid of emotion.

“You left me,” I say again, remembering the pain at waking up alone.

“You left me,” I say, because I thought I mattered to him.

“You left me, weaponless, to die.” He watches the emotions slide through me, his face, his eyes distant and cold. “After … after—” My voice breaks, and his expression finally shifts, but no. I won’t get caught in this trap of caring.

Fury ignites me, and I close the gap between us. I rip the scabbard from his hand, and he lets me.

Scraping metal echoes through the hall as I peel my sword from its sheath.

Stellaris. She glimmers in my palm, awakening.

“Fine,” I say, falling into a stance he helped me master. “If you can’t strike me down … then duel me, Raker.”

I’ve never been able to duel before.

We’ve done it countless times. Now he shakes his head. But he doesn’t get to make that decision.

There is a way. Kill the God of Death.

With a bellow, I rush forward, going right for his neck—and in a flash, his sword crashes into his hand, wrenched from the god’s chest, flying into his grip. It’s up and meeting my metal before I can blink.

Memories from our quest echo. Me, in the cave, trying to get his attention. Cleaving my blade toward his to get him to listen. His meeting mine. Bending sound and space.

The same thing happens now.

The ringing our swords produce is poetry. It’s the stars scaping across the galaxy. It’s the sun melting into the sea.

But Raker is not the same human I dueled with before. He’s not even just an immortal.

He is a god.

The force of his newfound strength sends me flying back, sliding across the stone, my head cracking against it.

For a moment, the world gutters out. But no. I cling to consciousness. I cling to the image that flashes in my head—my family and me, everything broken turning whole again.

Mind swimming with pain, I rise, only to find him right in front of me.

He could kill me in a second. I see that. I feel it. Part of me wants him to try, to show us both exactly who he is, the merciless God of Death.

But he doesn’t.

I slam my blade down with all my strength, over and over, in a furious frenzy, using every move he taught me.

I go for his neck, for his chest, for his legs, and every single time, his metal meets mine.

He doesn’t even attempt to hurt me. All he does is block my advances.

And it’s easy, the way he fights. Like he is lifetimes faster and stronger than I am, like all my years of training are absolutely nothing.

Like I am the lowliest of metals against the highest grade of steel.

He’s not even trying.

“Fight me,” I say through gritted teeth as I fling my sword toward him again, with both hands and all my strength.

His sword echoes against mine. And the sound—it’s a song. Life and death, sun and darkness, summer and winter—I feel them all, merging for that one resonant second, and I don’t know if it’s us or our swords, two halves meeting, glimmering, wanting.

“No,” he says as our blades meet again.

A growl escapes from the back of my throat as I rush forward once more. He’s not even looking at my sword.

He’s looking at me.

“Fight me,” I bellow, putting every piece of myself into my next hit. And this time, when our swords collide, they unleash a blinding light. I gasp—backing up a few steps, away from him and his weapon.

I expect him to strike, or say something else, or just leave and decide I’m not worth another moment of his immortal life, but all he does is throw his sword to the ground.

All he does is stalk toward me, until his hands are cupping my cheeks, like we could both forget everything that happened and start anew. I let him. I want to let him. My arms go slack by my sides.

“Aris, stop this,” he breathes, right into my face, and I shiver, remembering how we panted words against each other’s lips, how our eyes widened, how we both begged and gave, held tight and released. Over and over and over until we were boneless and spent.

He shivers too, as if he’s doing the same thing. “I don’t want to fight you. Not anymore.”

He’s staring at me so intently, looking into my eyes as if somehow he’s seeing something new. His own eyes widen. He’s so focused. So entranced. His lips part in surprise, then lower, as if he’s going to kiss me.

“You left me,” I whisper, chest heaving. Eyes prickling.

“I left,” he says, gaze blazing into mine. “To save you.”

To save me? I almost laugh. Save me by leaving me for dead? By stealing my sword? I spit the words. “From what?”

“From me.”

My breath hitches. I swallow, looking over his perfect face, seeing the mixture of hurt and wrath, waiting to feel the cold whisper of fear down my spine. He’s the God of Death. I should be terrified.

But I’m not.

His eyes narrow, as if sensing that. As if telling me I should be. Still, he doesn’t move away from me.

Hands still threaded through my hair, he pulls me closer, and in his heated gaze, I see chaos. Conflict. An internal battle I don’t understand. He finally shakes his head.

“I tried to do the right thing. I tried to leave you. But you summoned me.” His pulls me even closer, like he can’t stop himself. Like he can’t survive with any distance between us. “And if you’re still intent on killing the gods … I want you to join me.”

I blink. “What?”

“Our swords. They’re meant to be rejoined. They’re meant to work side by side. Together … together, we could change this world. All the godswords combined are nothing compared to ours. Joined, this one sword … could shatter and claim them all.”

Claim them all.

Because that’s what great swords do. I read about it in Vander’s library. They absorb the power they conquer.

I remember the Astral Queen’s words. The destruction she said would be unleashed.

He seems to sense my hesitance and shakes his head. “I want the same thing you do, Aris. I want the gods to fall. I want power to be restored to the other side. I want everything to be as it once was.”

That is what I want. It’s what I believe.

“Join me,” he says.

Then his lips brush mine, and that simple touch drags a brutal truth from the pit of my soul.

I want to join him. I don’t want to be alone anymore.

Who was I kidding? Did I really think I could come here, see him again, and feel nothing? Did I really think all those emotions, all those moments, died in that cave?

They didn’t.

So I kiss him. This time, it’s me surging forward, and he groans like he’s been waiting, like he’s been missing my touch, like I am a drug, and he’s already addicted.

His lips are cold as my warm tongue parts them, but his taste—it’s the same.

His hands are hard as marble and just as freezing as he runs them through my hair, and I sigh as his mouth trails down my neck, as he pays extra attention to the place he bit last night, as he gently runs his sharp teeth against the same sensitive skin.

“You left me alone,” I repeat, because it’s something I can’t forgive.

“You’ll never be alone again,” he swears against my pulse, and then his lips capture mine. And this kiss—it’s the ultimate blade; it cuts through everything. The pain. The rage. The purpose. His tongue meets mine, and the rest of the world just vanishes.

I kiss him back just as fiercely, sucking, biting, speaking in this wordless, desperate language, every part of me aching for every part of him. We kiss until we’re both panting. Until I have to pull away to breathe.

“Raker?”

“Yes, Aris?” he asks, right against my mouth. And he says my name like it’s the most important word in the universe.

My eyes prickle. Finally, I’m telling the truth. I’m being honest with myself about what this is.

“I think—I think I love you,” I say.

And then I plunge my blade through his heart.