Chapter 67
Was I caught in a fever dream?
The scene I’d half witnessed—Harc had attempted to shield me from some parts—as I fought to stay conscious was one I’d never forget.
Yes, Dion was often plagued by murderous ideations, and once, I’d even found myself in an unsettling dream about him enacting revenge on my parents and late fiancé. What had happened in the ritual hall fell into the same category as the nightmare, just on a bigger scale. Acid burned in my throat.
Unhinged was too tame a term to describe the prince while he’d slaughtered the entirety of the Cuirt an Ghra.
“Revenge has been served, Nayana.”
Dion, soaked and splattered with red liquid—I refused to acknowledge what the source had been—preened like a cat who’d brought a mouse home and expected praise.
To gain a few moments, I struggled to rise to my feet, all the while avoiding glancing at the heap of bloody hearts next to my couch. The heavy smell of iron lingering in the air was becoming oppressive and transported more bile upward.
Harc was nowhere to be seen—he’d slithered away when the prince had approached me. Hopefully, he wasn’t gorging on hearts or rolling around in a puddle of blood.
“Caution.” Dion caught my swaying form and, without hesitation, lifted me into his arms. Torn between my fatigued constitution and the disgust at the crimson on his clothes staining my dress and skin as well, I concentrated on taking shallow breaths and not touching him more than necessary. “Can we leave?”
“Yes. Yes, of course. How do you feel? You’re so pale.”
“I’m tired. And nauseous. You’re so bloody.”
“Taken from your enemy,” Dion vaunted with zero recognition of my distress, which was so unlike him. “Sleep, tiny goddess. I’ll take care of you.”
Instead of an answer, a surprised cry escaped my lips as the prince stumbled. “Dion?”
“What the fuck is happening?” His arms tightened around me as he staggered some more.
But no, he wasn’t unsteady, but the whole building trembled, and the quaking must have taken him by surprise.
Dion fell into a run, and as I glanced over his shoulder, my eyes widened, an icy hand of dread wrapping around my insides.
Gods, what was that?
On the stage, where the corpses of the Graigh piled, reality was faltering. Like a massive Wild Rift, but so much worse.
Because the collapse didn’t stop.
What—
Behind the rift, I spotted untouched nature, a green meadow—Ivreia, if I wasn’t wrong.
A storm raged in the other world, and the wind picked up on our side as well.
Screeches and roars from animals drilled into my eardrums, and when I witnessed a boar touching the tear and disintegrating, I realized how much worse this wound in reality was in comparison to the temporary weak disturbances we’d encountered so far—everything on the Ivreian side that connected with the gaping anomaly shattered and warped the Galantan remains.
Nothing alive made it over to us. No, life simply ceased to exist. “Dion. The fabric between the worlds is ripping apart. We can’t stay here any longer, or we could die.
” Gasping, I remembered something else of utmost importance. “Harc!”
“Oh fuck. Hold on tight.” Dion had only caught one glance at the horrors behind us and accelerated.
But where was Harc?
Wriggling in Dion’s arms, I craned my neck and was rewarded with an irritated growl. I considered biting the prince so he’d wait for my companion as the tendril suddenly appeared, lunged, and curled around my chest.
“Gods, Harc. I was so worried.”
A calming purr vibrated through the inky strand, and only then did I notice why he’d been absent. My voice cracked as I addressed the impossible piece of sentient magic. “You found my choker.”
Another tremor shook the building in its foundation. Rubble and debris rained down around us, forcing Dion to dodge.
As he raced out of the ritual hall, all I could do was stare at the tear growing larger by the minute, wondering if aiming to escape would even make sense.
No, no, no, no.
Was this why Galrach had sent me to the Doitean to retrieve their relic? So they’d perish, and the fabric between the worlds would collapse?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
We had to get away from here, and fast.
And Antas—had he followed me to the island?
Glancing down at my shivering female in my arms, my heart splintered apart. She looked as if she were on the verge of death. Pale, with eyes sunken deep into her face, and where binding marks had once adorned her skin, only scars remained.
And her Potential was hidden. Or gone. Not accessible.
I’d used a lot of my magic, but although I knew I should better cling to the rest in case we needed my power to escape this catastrophe behind us, the energy slipped out without my doing and reached for Nayana to envelop her and keep her safe in onyx tendrils that hummed soothingly.
Fuck this too. Control—I had to control my wielding, or else I would be the next burnout victim.
“My bag—”
“We need to get away, goddess.”
“But the midnight dagger—and my courtship presents. Let me go, and I’ll get them. I can’t lose them…I just can’t.”
Tears welled up in her eyes, and I pretended not to break apart at how frail her voice sounded.
We’d left the ceremonial hall behind, my feet navigating the trembling earth with ease.
The fissure was moving sluggishly and wouldn’t get us if we proceeded at this pace, but could I risk fetching Naya’s bag from the main building?
My arms closed tighter around her wriggling form—if she thought she could go alone, she’d be wrong. She was weakened, and I—
Well, magical exhaustion was tough, but I was tougher.
Her dagger was with her belongings, which was the only reason I dared to consider this unreasonable detour—well, and her desperate tears.
After I located the drop of my magic contained in the blade, I calculated that if the rift didn’t speed up, there would be ample time to grab her possessions.
Altering our course, I crossed the meadow toward the mansion.
“Dion. Nayana. What in Kalag’s name is happening? And why are you bloody all over?”
“Antas. Gods, reality is collapsing, but there’s no time for explanations.
” Also, I’d prefer not to have that conversation, which surely would be riddled with plenty of I-told-you-sos.
“Here. Run out with Nayana while I’m getting her things from inside.
No discussions.” My magic, unwilling to let go of her, detached from me as I gently placed her as fast as I could into Antas’ arms.
For once, Antas didn’t argue. But he also didn’t keep his mouth shut. “Five minutes, Dion. If you are not back by then, I will return for you.”
Oh yes, he would. “Protect my heart and soul. This time for real. That’s more important.” Without another word, I spun around and followed the dagger’s signature into the main building of the former Cuirt an Ghra.
Nayana’s bag clanked against my back with every hasty movement I made.
Outside the mansion, after I’d jumped out of the window of the small chamber that had housed her belongings, I was chased by an Ivreian storm.
Under different circumstances, I would have disappeared into a shadow, but I didn’t dare to waste power. My reserves were too diminished. I just needed to run faster.
Antas, Naya, and our horses appeared on the horizon, and I forced more strength into my legs. Pushing my body to its limits, I raced to them. Luckily, I’d gained quite a distance from where reality was unraveling.
“Hurry up, Dion.”
One more step, and I stopped in front of Antas, hauling Nayana back into my arms. She was still wrapped in my tendrils, and even if I wanted to withdraw them, they wouldn’t allow me to call them back.
Fuck.
With great urgency, I mounted my steed, taking Nayana with me, and my uncle climbed into his saddle too. Without further hesitation, we spurred our horses, riding toward the bridge leading off the island.
“We lost.” Nayana’s soft voice echoed, stricken with grief.
“No. We can’t. We haven’t.”
A paralyzing thought I’d shoved away earlier slammed back into my mind. Reality had started to misbehave when the last Graigh had died.
Even I wasn’t deluded enough to believe that this was a coincidence.
Yes, this development was my fault.
There had been plenty of atrocities I’d committed during my existence, at least in the eyes of society.
But I’d never imagined I would add setting the apocalypse in motion to my list of sins one day.
Or genocide. Although, wasn’t extinguishing an ancient tribe insignificant compared to being the catalyst for the end of the worlds?
My arms tightened around Nayana. Even though we’d distanced ourselves from the anomaly, the Ivreain storm tugged at my hair, its intensity matching the turmoil inside my chest.
And then, with a visible shudder, the progress simply—halted.
“What—”
“I don’t know, Antas. Are we safe?”
“I have no idea what and why, but I would not go so far as to call anything about the wound in reality safe.”
Staring into the gaping maw between the worlds, I was tempted to approach the rift to investigate, but before I could set something in motion, I was distracted by a whimper coming from the tiny bundle in my arms. She was white as a sheet, paler than before, and gave the impression that she was fading. “Nayana.”
“I’m not feeling well.”
“We will build our camp close by, Dion. So we can keep an eye on the situation but will still be able to flee within a moment’s notice if the damage starts spreading again. But you two rest, and Dion—”
“Yes?”
“You will have a lot of explaining to do.”
Ugh. Time for a change of topic. “Hopefully, Fig, Thain, and Ireas will arrive soon. Especially Ireas.”
“Do not think I let you off the hook that easily, Dionadair Dorchadas Coroin De’An Scriosta.”
Grunting, I didn’t dignify him full-naming me with an answer.