CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
VESPER
Aday later, per Kyrith’s request, Vesper took her to the mountainside cliff. At least his neck and ribs had finally stopped aching, and even though Kyrith’s injuries persisted, apparently the one day of bedrest made her stir crazy.
After Vesper unsuccessfully begged her to tell him what her Shadowheart is, he summoned Kaida and took her to their spot so they could watch the stars flicker on and into the night.
As they sat there, his mind wandered to his fate in Ellynne.
If Emmery got his letters. If she still hated him.
When Destonne would call in their bargain.
And also where the fuck Nef had gone. She still hadn’t shown her face after their fight and now that he’d sat on it for a few days, he knew it was stupid.
They could work through it. They just needed to talk.
Vesper glanced at Kyrith beside him. Despite all her teasing, poking fun, and her ability to see right through him, as he gazed at her, he grasped for reasons not to leave.
She fidgeted with her bag, pulled it into her lap, then set it aside. After the third time, Vesper snatched it.
“Hey!” she protested, but it was too late, and he’d already torn into it like a present. Inside lay jars of all colours.
His brows shot up. “What could these fancy paints be for?"
Kyrith’s face fell in her hands. “This was a mistake. Give it back.”
Vesper snatched it out of her grasp. “Absolutely not. Tell me right now.”
She groaned at her own embarrassment and wormed out of her sleeve. “I was hoping you would paint something for me. Here.”
At her outstretched arm, he bit back a smile. “You want me to paint you? You’ve seen my drawings. Do you really want to subject yourself to that?”
“I thought I could do yours too.” Her shrug was beyond adorable. “Something to remember me by.”
“It’ll wash away,” he said, his brow lifting. “But if you want to forget all this sooner rather than later, I hardly blame you.”
She shoved a detailed brush and a jar of black paint into his hand. “The paint might be enchanted. And it might last months.” The corner of her mouth pulled up. “Would you just do as you’re told for once?”
“Doesn’t sound like me,” he said, punctuated by a smirk. “And it sounds like you’ve been planning this.”
She laughed again, and the sound was so bloody dangerous.
“What if I’ve been planning this from the moment we met?” She inched closer and let him take her arm. Her skin was so warm, soft, and—fuck.
His gaze fell to her lips and remained caught there. For a moment, he swore they both leaned toward each other.
“Then you may have struck me speechless again,” he said.
She swallowed. His breath hitched.
And he almost closed that distance. Almost reached for her face, wove his fingers through that beautiful burgundy hair, tilted her head back, claimed her mouth, and tasted her. Almost gave into those dreams.
But instead, he shook that fucking insane thought from his head, killed the fantasies, and focussed on anything but her blackberry smell and how close she sat, her arm draped over his lap.
He cleared his throat. “So, I can paint whatever I want?”
She narrowed her eyes. “No profanity. And no phallic objects.”
“Well, now I have to come up with a completely new design.”
But he already knew what he wanted to paint. And as he mixed his life and hers onto her arm, he left a piece of him with it, wishing she would come home with him, if only so it didn’t feel like he left a slice of his heart here with her.
As they flew back to Rensburrow, his arm sticky from the dried paint, Vesper fought a grin that threatened to split his face as the air sang in his ears and the moonlight kissed his skin.
Despite the loss of Dimitri, the bloodlace that still very much ravaged the lands, and Nef still missing, he held a tiny bit of hope as Kyrith held him tightly, her face pressed into his neck.
They hadn’t talked about the prophecy other than her refusal to comply. He would deal with Ellynne first, then they could discuss her role and if she would take part. Hopefully Zyphira could provide guidance on the next steps.
As they neared the cavern entrance, the hair rose on the nape of his neck, an ominous chill slipping beneath his flesh like a crawling insect. He seized Kyrith’s shoulder and halted them.
It could have been the nip in the wind or the unusual silence, but the presence of death wove into the very air they breathed. Unlike the Graver’s putrid scent of death, this resembled wood rot and black mould.
“Wait,” he murmured. A weight sat on his chest, reminiscent of the Divide’s hold before he slipped between life and death. “Do you feel that?”
She straightened her spine and narrowed her mismatched eyes. Recognition flitted across her face, replaced by apprehension. “It’s too quiet.”
Vesper put a finger to his lips. Kyrith crept beside him as they entered the cave’s mouth. Their breaths mingled with the stillness of the cavern and only a single sound broke the silence.
Dripping.
Each drop echoed in his head. Ricocheted in his skull. Something was wrong. So fucking wrong.
Vesper swept Kyrith behind him as they rounded the corner. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and his eyes unfocussed from his heart’s erratic gait.
When Rensburrow came into view, she clapped a hand over her mouth.
The world swayed, his head suddenly full of lead or water or something fucking horrific.
He blinked hard, but couldn’t believe his eyes, and tried to convince himself it couldn't be true.
That his mind played tricks on him. That he was still dreaming. Gods fucking help him.
Anything but this.
The civilization Kyrith and Thorrin had slaved to build, with years of hard work and sacrifice—
It now lay in ruin. Scattered goods littered the walkway, doors torn off hinges, and glass lay everywhere.
And that rhythmic dripping, the one that would ring in his ears for years to come, was none other than lifeblood. Some bodies hung, strewn, draped like blankets on a laundry line, others tacked to the walls of their homes, their limbs speared with wooden spikes.
Kyrith covered her face with trembling hands.
Unable to take his eyes off the scene, Vesper blindly reached for her.
Frantically, he searched for faces he recognized, their features contorted, twisted and warped, almost unrecognizable with their necks sliced from ear to ear and chests carved.
There was so much blood, running, pooling, clotting—
His core quaked, and the flashbacks of returning to Ellynne to find it gone, whisked away in a lake of fire, sprang to his mind. He relived it in every face of people he’d barely known. He would never have the chance.
Kyrith leaned on him, her limbs shaking, shock echoing through her.
“Don’t look,” he said, except it was all he could fucking do.
But Vesper’s world halted as he spotted her.
Through the blood, he could barely make out the gold in her hair, though she still wore his tunic. And her hazel eyes were … gone.
His legs weakened and he stumbled forward. He caught himself on a wall, but his knees threatened to buckle. A tiny sob slipped from him. The last thing he said to her plagued his mind. How he had turned her away when she needed him. And that would haunt him forever.
He thought he choked out her name, or he said something, but his entire body numbed as he stared at her twisted limbs tacked to the wall. After all of this, everything they had been through—
They would never make up. He would never find the cure for her.
He’d failed to save her after all.
Glass shattered behind him and Vesper spun, his mind slogging as he took in what had happened.
But it was too late.
Whatever that thing was, it sprang from the empty doorway, and seized Kyrith. Tree bark shielded the creature's arms, branches twined around its eye sockets and wrapped around its bones. Her eyes widened and her scream muffled against the creature’s hand over her mouth.
Something struck him. He saw stars.
Endless darkness came for him, and his body crumpled to the blood-soaked ground.