Epilogue
Fire consumes me from the inside out. Waves of flames sear through me, an endless sea of blazing white.
I scream and thrash, but I can’t move. Something blocks me from moving.
All I feel is fire, in my veins, in my lungs, crawling over every nerve ending.
Help me.
The quiet is unnerving. The blackness is all-consuming. But I’m breathing.
I focus on each breath, in and out. I focus on the rise and fall of my chest.
I’m breathing. In. Out. In. Out. I’m alive.
A tear slides down my cheek. I’m alive.
Something moves rhythmically against my thigh in short, back-and-forth motions.
A dull pain radiates through my body, but the fire is gone.
I exhale shakily. In. Out. In. Out.
A weight is literally lifted from my stomach. I can’t open my eyes. I don’t want to know where I am. I don’t want to know what happened. I want to stay right here in this blissful ignorance.
I don’t want to know who died, who got hurt, or even how badly I got hurt. I want to stay right here, unmoving, ignorant to all of the horrible things that happened.
“Mae,” someone whispers hoarsely.
No. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to just hold onto it for a little bit longer.
“It’s okay,” the voice says.
Something—a hand—touches my cheek. The touch itself is soft, but the hand that touches my cheek is rough and calloused.
I flinch at the touch.
“It’s okay,” the voice repeats. The thumb starts stroking my cheek gently in that same back-and-forth motion.
“Please,” the voice says. The plea is soft and filled with emotion.
My heart breaks. “Mae,” it says. My eyes are still squeezed shut, but black eyes fill my thoughts.
Black, like the night sky. Black, with the sliver of green.
“Open your eyes,” the voice commands me. “Please,” it says, voice back to soft.
This voice has never said please to me before. I open my eyes.
Asmo stares at me, a single lock of midnight-black hair falling forward. I reach up with a shaky hand and brush it back.
He’s a god. I can’t stop staring at him, at the eyes full of relief, of love. His normally clean-shaven face is now covered in black stubble, accentuating his jawline and cheekbones. He’s so beautiful. I trace his jawline.
Why didn’t I choose him?
“What are you doing here?” I ask, but it comes out all wrong. It hurts. The words barely come out, barely audible. I try again, but pain radiates down my throat. The fire is back.
I instantly panic, desperate to avoid going back to that dark place of pain. My breathing quickens, and I reach to sit up, tears already pricking my eyes at the overwhelming panic of going back.
Asmo grips my chin with his thumb and pointer finger, forcing me to look at him. “It’s okay,” he says, his voice deep and commanding, as if ordering me to believe him.
And I do. My breathing slows, and I feel the panic recede instantly. He doesn’t let go of my chin, staring into my eyes.
“Breathe.”
I do.
He takes a deep breath, and I imitate him, inhaling slowly and exhaling shakily. We take another breath together.
“Sh, it’s okay. It’s okay. Don’t talk. Here, drink some water.” He removes his hand, and I instantly ache for it to be back.
He holds out a glass of water. I take the cup, cautiously sipping from it. It glides down my throat. The pain abates, but the water feels weird going down.
Asmo and I sit together in a small, wood-paneled bedroom. A dresser is tucked tightly into a corner, and various medical supplies are arranged neatly on the surface. A side table holds a glass jar of water and a matching glass cup. I set my cup down next to its match.
I’m seated on a small twin bed, propped up against an iron headboard. Homey tapestries hang on the walls. This must be someone’s bedroom.
Asmo sees me surveying the room and says, “We’re in a safe house. You’re safe.”
I open my mouth, but Asmo holds a hand out. “Stop. Let me talk. If you want to say something, I can get you something to write with.”
I nod eagerly. Yes, I want to talk. The old wooden chair creaks as he stands.
We’re not in the castle. We’re in a safe house. I’m alive.
I quickly survey myself and find that I have all my limbs.
My antlers are still intact. I rip the blanket off me and check my injured ankle.
It’s mostly healed, but there’s a nasty black scar from the cambion’s teeth.
I lift my shirt up, finding a black scar on my chest where Wil—Cora’s—lightning struck me.
Asmo comes back into the room, wincing as he sees my discovery. I pull my shirt back down quickly, covering the scar.
Again, I open my mouth to talk but stop when Asmo levels a glare at me. He hands me the pen and paper.
I thought you were dead.
He huffs. “Not quite. Marik got me, but I always keep an antidote nearby.”
How long have I been out?
“Ten days.”
My eyes widen. Ten days?
Is everyone okay?
“Everyone is alive.”
I glare at him. He continues, “Elle is alive. Holly is…alive. But she’s going to need extensive care for her burns. We lost a lot of guards, but you saved the civilians, Mae.”
I raise an eyebrow at him.
You don’t think Marik was going to let them go?
He shakes his head. “There’s no way to know. He’s a very selfish, egotistical…boy. I would be surprised if he wanted witnesses to his betrayal. Koa, August, and Barrett are all alive. Their families are alive. They’re all staying nearby in other safe houses.”
Your parents?
“No idea. Hopefully rotting on the floor of the throne room.”
Marik and Cora?
“Alive.”
I hesitate.
What happened when I blacked out?
“We had to retreat. We had to get you out of there before she could—" He pauses, eyes darting around the room before settling back on me.
“Before Cora could kill you. We had no other option, Mae. We had to protect you. When we got you out, Ivan portaled us here. Elle helped everyone else get here safely.”
When can we go back? What’s going on? I scrawl, my writing almost illegible in my haste to get the words on paper.
Asmo places a warm, calloused hand on my mine.
“We can’t go back yet. Marik and Cora took the throne.
” He doesn’t take his eyes off mine as he continues.
“There’s something else you need to know.
” My stomach drops, and I close my eyes, trying to hold onto this moment before he tells me whatever has him looking at me that way.
“They have Elle.”