Chapter 45
Ellaryn sprinted through the castle, muscles aching, lungs burning, checking every room for any sign of Xander, the King, Sailen.
She had to find them.
The clock was ticking, and the shadow wall was gaining power. She wondered how much time they had left. Whether Xander was close to killing him or not. Whether she would get to see Sailen before her last minute was up or whether she would drop dead where she was.
Alone.
Footsteps flooded the grand staircase, and she stopped in a heartbeat, catching her breath behind a pillar.
Knights were two by two running down the stairs, heads high, armour clanking, as if they were on a mission of sorts. Ellaryn didn’t have to think hard to know what. They were either looking for her or Xander or both.
When the last one headed out the doors, Ellaryn made to follow them.
“Going somewhere?” A familiar voice echoed around the halls. Lyon stood in full armour, approaching her, arms folded, eyebrow raised.
“Lyon, please. I don’t have time for this.” Ellaryn took a step back.
“I told you not to go digging.” His hand inched towards his weapon. “The King’s looking for you, you know? I’m supposed to bring you in.”
“Turn around, Lyon,” she said quietly. “Just walk away.”
“I will,” he replied, “if you tell me what you’re doing. Without lying.”
“I can’t do that.”
Something flickered across his face—anger, conflict—and he expelled his blade, aiming it at her throat.
“Dammit,” he muttered, but this time he didn’t lower the sword.
Instead, he lunged.
Ellaryn barely twisted aside in time. The blade sliced through the air where her neck had been. She stumbled over broken glass, pain biting into the soles of her boots.
“Lyon—stop!” She screamed, but he didn’t.
Steel flashed again. She ducked, drove forward, slamming into him with her shoulder. He staggered back a step—but he was stronger than her. Armed to the teeth while she had nothing. Her daggers were still buried in Scornszar’s back, her sword in the hands of Xander at the forefront of their plan.
He caught her wrist mid-swing and twisted, and pain shot up her arm. Before she had a chance to fight back, to defend herself, he shoved her hard—she hit the marble floor, the impact rattling her skull.
The sword tip found her throat in the same motion.
Cold steel pressed into her skin.
He dropped his weight, pinning her with his knee against her ribs. The cold floor bit into her back.
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he growled.
“You say with your sword pressed to my throat,” she shot back through clenched teeth.
His eyes darkened. The blade pressed harder. She felt the sting as it broke skin, the warmth of her blood as it trickled down the side of her neck.
“I don’t want to do this,” he said, but his grip tightened.
“Then don’t… You’re not a bad person. I know that. Your mother—”
“Stop.” He shook his head, subtle but there, pained expression tormenting his dark features, like he was at war with himself.
“What would your mother have wanted?” She continued despite his warnings.
For a split second, something wavered in his expression.
“I’m going to make things right.” Ellaryn breathed. “The King is going to die.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Lyon said. Amber eyes almost alive at the way they whirred.
“Cinders is in danger. Velaviere is in danger… You have to let me go.” She cupped his face. “Please, Lyon.”
He held her stare, just for a second, their bodies pressed close.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, something she didn’t recognise in his voice. Something softer, sadder, almost. “I would have helped you.”
Her eyes narrowed in on his, the words he spoke absorbing into her slowly.
“You would have… helped?” She repeated the words back.
“I would have done anything you asked me to.”
And then… then he drew the sword back, movement stiff and hesitant and stood up, stumbling backwards, throwing his sword on the ground so hard the noise ricocheted off the walls.
“Go.” He said.
Ellaryn stayed where she was, breath hitching, watching him, frozen for a second.
“Go, before I change my mind.”
This time, she didn’t hesitate. Her thoughts snapped back into place, and she picked herself up and ran as fast as her feet would carry her.
As she sprinted, windows blew out around her—souls travelled through the castle, lighting up the halls, piercing Defiers and making them whole again. The same thing happened with the knights; their bodies froze as life breathed back into them.
“Let him go.” Xander’s voice sounded like a lifeline as Ellaryn inched towards the throne room. Her heart pounded, stomach in her throat as she rounded the corner.
Damien had him—Sailen. A sharp blade pressed to the soft skin of his neck, and a darkening bruise spread across his cheek as he shook, fear claiming him right down to the bones.
Xander stood before them armed but powerless in every way. His hands were out in a surrendering motion, posture careful, afraid, because one wrong move and Sailen would be dead.
The King was there, eyes trained on his city, as though they didn’t deserve an ounce of his time.
Ellaryn’s heart clenched, body freezing momentarily.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
“Oh, looky here.” The King drawled as she approached with careful steps. “Nice of you to join the party.”
He glanced over his shoulder, lips pressed into a hard line, grey eyes narrowing in on her, but she didn’t meet them; she only cared about one thing in that moment. One person.
“Sailen!” she called, a harsh whisper, throat tightening as she caught his stare—brown, wide and trembling. She needed to know he was okay.
“E-Ellaryn,” he muttered, holding her gaze as though it were salvation.
She could see it in his expression, in his features—it was all over him.
Guilt, sorrow, fear. As if this was all his fault.
As if he alone had put Cinders in danger because he knew more than anyone that she would choose him over everything, even if that meant the city suffering.
“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, eyes on his, ignoring every presence in the room. She took a slow step towards him, but Damien pressed the blade closer to his throat.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The King said, letting out a frustrated breath, finally turning.
“Don’t hurt him!” Her fists clenched, voice wavering as her eyes flicked between them.
“You’re in no position to be making orders,” Damien said, his stare darkening as he spoke, head tilting, grin widening. He was enjoying this.
“Leave him alone.” She froze in place, eyes finding Xander’s amidst the chaos—they shone—worry, relief, pain, in that order.
“Tell your man to stand down,” the King said smoothly, pointing to Sailen. “And this one… will live.”
Sailen’s face was pale with fear, his small body trembling as the knife inched closer.
She couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not ever.
“Stop!” she whispered, voice cracking, as tears began to streak down her cheeks. “Xander… we can’t do this. He’s all I have.”
Xander looked at her, holding her gaze— heavy but understanding.
“Just let him go,” Xander said, placing the sword slowly on the ground beside him, arms raised in surrender.
“I knew you’d try something like this.” The King drawled at Ellaryn, taking a sure step towards her. “Though stopping all power, that was a surprise.” His black teeth glinted in the light.
“He put the sword down. You said you would let him go.” Ellaryn screamed, Sailen’s eyes finding hers like a lifeline.
“And you said you were loyal to me.” His voice boomed across the throne room. “And yet you’ve been sneaking around behind my back.”
Damien pressed the sharp edge harder against Sailen’s throat; she could see the red pooling at the tip.
“Don’t hurt him. Please. I’ll do anything.” She begged, vision blurring as tears threatened to fall, despite the fury coiling low in her gut.
“Well, it seems now without magic, he’s my only leverage.” The King ground out through a clenched jaw.
“Please.” She begged again. “I’ll do anything, just let him go.”
The King grimaced. “What did I tell you about begging?” He spat, dark eyes narrowing in on her. “You are Ruin.” He bellowed. “You don’t beg. You kill.” His smile stretched wider. “If you want me to let him go—you’ll do just that.”
Ellaryn just stared at him, confusion, fury and rage bubbling like molten beneath her skin.
“Kill your shiny new boyfriend, and I’ll have Damien here, release Sailen.”
The world seemed to tilt with his words.
Ellaryn shook her head violently, eyes finding Xander’s.
“No.” She said with resolve. “I won’t do it.”
The King gave Damien a look; that was all it took, and he drew the blade back in a slow pull. Sailen cried out for her, blood spilling down his neck. It wasn’t deep enough to kill, only hurt, only scare.
“Stop,” Ellaryn screamed, tears clouding her vision.
His hand stopped. “You know what you have to do.”
Xander’s hand reached hers, his thumb soft and grounding as he forced her to look at him.
“It’s okay.” He breathed, his eyes trembling with hers.
So devastatingly blue.
She realised in that moment that they had become her favourite colour.
“On your knees.” The King ordered, and to Ellaryn’s dismay, he obeyed.
Xander knelt down before her, picking the sword up with hands too steady for those belonging to someone kneeling before the King’s executioner, sliding it across the floor.
The blade stopped at her feet.
The reflection in its polished steel tormented her in shades of red.
No, no, no, no.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this. She couldn’t choose between the only two people in this world she actually loved.
Ellaryn stood, shaking her head, but Sailen’s cries grew louder—the sword was at his throat again.
“Come on now, little Ruin.” The King drawled. “Sailen here doesn’t seem to have long.”
Bastard.
“It’s okay.” Xander’s voice found her through the chaos of her mind. “Don’t look at him, look at me.” He said, his hair gleaming in the light like something the Gods had woven. “It’s okay, we tried.” A sad smile spread across his face, and Ellaryn swallowed hard, her throat tight.