CHAPTER THIRTEEN #2
He pointed, hand shaking beneath his coat flap. The strap ripped into two with a single jerk of my wrist, leather hissing as it slipped from his shoulder. Glass clinked, bottles rattled off one another.
The vein in his neck pulsed madly, his heart dragging each beat out of him, yet it was only my own heartbeat I heard, hammering, suppressing every other sound.
Even the Viper had gone silent.
“What am I looking for?”
I grabbed the first bottle. Sleep aid. I stared at the label, then at him. This poor kid. I gently tossed it back in, careful not to crack it, like it might shatter him further.
My fingers curled around another, thicker, stained red. Please let this be it. Let this save him. I pulled it free and the air fell out of the world. My stomach dropped past my boots, down through the realm.
Venom Aid.
Fuck. It was my fault.
All these years thinking he was okay, thinking my venom hadn’t been strong enough to do damage. He had told me he didn’t blame me, but there was no other being condemnable for this.
I held it in front of him, praying to whatever divine cruelty had cursed me that his sight hadn’t been taken too. “Is this it?”
He nodded, barely, a tremor more than a flicker. It was slow and pained, even that small movement costing the last scraps of his strength to stay conscious. To stay alive.
But thank the damned stars anyway.
I popped the cork off and sniffed. The scent was more vibrant than I expected, like citrus and spice. But ones that had been left to erode in everlasting devastation.
His hands trembled so violently I thought he’d shatter the bottle before I could even pass it to him. I couldn’t risk it.
My arm slipped around his waist, pulling him into me, steadying him, holding the vial to his lips myself.
“You’re okay, Wells,” I murmured. “You’re going to be okay.”
Gods, let it be true.
His head lolled as he lost the strength to lift it. I wasn’t sure he even had enough left to swallow on his own. Tears threatened my eyes, warm and guilty, mirroring the red seeping from his.
I swallowed them down. I really needed to punch someone soon.
There was no label, no dosage. Just a guessing game. And time had already left us. I drew a breath. “Forgive me.”
My fingers gripped the hair at the back of his skull, yanking his head up toward the sky, toward the Gods who refused to look.
His mouth hung open, stained from defeat, but the elixir washed some of the shock from his face.
He swallowed once. Twice. Until not even a drip was left.
I let go and his body sagged against me, his head dropping forward. For the first time in minutes, he dragged a full breath into his lungs. A cough tore through him, spraying a fine mist of antivenom and spit across my face.
I gasped, jerking back. I didn’t love that it burned.
The sting vanished as quickly as it came. My fingers skated over my skin, searching for a mark. For punishment. For proof.
Nothing.
Wells exhaled, a sound like release, like relief.
He stayed on his knees, though his hands had gone steady, the tremble beginning to quiet. We stared at one another for a moment, his eyes still bloodshot, our souls worse off.
Then he glanced toward the elixir, and I held out the empty vial. “Sorry. I wasn’t sure how much to give you.” He took it, fingers rolling the glass. “I’ll pay Gemma to make you more,” I added. “Assuming that’s who made it.”
He cleared his throat, wavering from his knees to his feet with a wince. “No,” he rasped. The bottle clinked back into his satchel. “That’s okay, she doesn’t charge for it.”
His voice was broken, like he had been screaming the entire time, and I had only caught the silence after.
I turned away, fingers knotting around my bracelet. I couldn’t bear the burden of his gaze, brown and harrowing as it was.
“Are you sure you’re okay to stand?” I asked. His skin was still pallid, sweat gleaming across his brow. I gestured back toward the ground. “We can sit for a while.”
He waved me off, hand brushing his face. Poison-stained blood vanished with the sweep of his magic. “All good. Promise.”
Unfortunate. But tactful.
An ache twisted against my insides as I nodded. Because we were both comfortable pretending that the past had been buried. Pretending today hadn’t split it open again.
My mouth opened, to apologize, to beg forgiveness, to ask if he was really okay, but nothing came.
His brows narrowed, confused, and so tired.
Why was this so hard?
I felt guilty, felt responsible. But I also felt…afraid. Afraid he wouldn’t accept what I needed to say. Afraid he only dealt with me because he had to, not because he wanted to.
Maybe that was the rift between us, the reason he never asked for an apology. He never wanted one. Because, somewhere deep down, he’d already decided he would never forgive me.
Horns blared in the background, distant but loud. One, then another. The sound shredding through my thoughts, through the village. My lips pressed together and we both turned, looking toward the square center.
Amid Wells’ collapse, amid my guilt, the town had all finally gathered. Their noise a clamorous confusion, bodies pressed tightly. That chaos, at least, had turned their eyes away from Wells.
Except for one—
A single man, clad in black leather from head to heel, standing beside the platform. The only visible part of him were his eyes.
And they were watching me.
Even from fifty yards away, I felt it, the stare, the weight, kindled with curiosity.
I didn’t blink, just glared back, tugging my hood lower down my face.
He watched still, eyes upturned, calm. The mask over his mouth twitched. Maybe into a smile, or at least the threat of one.
There was a stir in my belly from that, an annoying flutter.
The horns changed then, softer. The signal of the king’s arrival. Only that freed me from his stare.
Navy and gold flags snapped in the breeze while armored soldiers weaved between spectators, rushing to carve a pathway. A carriage followed, wheels lavished in gold, leaving specks of dust in their wake. Villagers shouted as it passed, some pleaded, dropping to their knees in desperation.
Guards broke formation, shields crashing into thin-clothed bodies. Mortals collapsed, Fae dropped, fingers clawing into the soil, hoping to spark enough magic to fight back.
They must have forgotten the rules.
King Obrann was clever, cautious. He didn’t take chances. He knew that with enough power, we would rise and rebel.
So, he bled us first, quietly and consistently. Until resistance became nothing but a state of mind.
The golden wheels turned across the dirt, gaudy with polish and dust that hid their secret.
He lounged against his carriage as he passed, rot under a crown, wearing misery as a second skin, dragging it everywhere he went and staining Luamis in mold.
Dark hair was slicked back with an oil-sheen, his eyes were even worse, flat silver, like metal. There was no light in them. No depth.
A Fae man pressed his hand to the soil, desperate to reach toward the core that fed us all. But the vessel of the realm didn’t answer. His magic didn’t replenish, it withered.
The harder he begged, the more Obrann’s secret coated his skin, ripping his magic away.
Obrann didn’t even turn as the man convulsed in the mud. He only leaned back, the crown sliding askew as he whispered to his second hand.
It sat atop his head like a prisoner, gold plated with light radiating off its centered sunstone.
The last of the man’s magic bled from him until his pale and hollow body sagged.
And as the carriage rolled on, my stomach sank with the truth of it— the moment Obrann found those stones and crowned himself over all three kingdoms, he would drain us dry.
Replace us with loyal husks who would kneel and call it mercy.
I turned back, searching for the man in black, the crush of bodies thickening, swallowing my line of sight.
Cursing under my breath, I caught Wells by the hand, shoving us forward where more guards prowled the edges of the square, pacing, sniffing for defiance.
A lion-headed helmet passed before me, polished, smug. A sentry moving with all the arrogance of borrowed power.
I gathered spit, holding it on my tongue. My lips parted and I waited, then let it fly—
It smacked against the glossy toe of his boot. It was satisfying and petty, and so damn perfect.
A grin cracked across my face as he halted, tilting his head down. And laughed. Damn it. I knew that laugh. Even muffled through steel.
“Seriously?” Callum’s voice snorted out.
“Why are you not at the king’s heel, loyal pup?” I muttered, teeth flashing beneath my hood.
He turned away from me; the point of his sword aimed at the dirt. What you’re about to see, Verena…I need you to promise you will not react. A beat, then the dry lash of his humor. And seriously, strengthen your shields.
Fates curse me. I was doing my damned best.
Between memories scraping at my skull and the Viper whispering venom, how in the stars was I supposed to remember shields on top of that?
Thank the gods he wasn’t around when tall, dark, and broody was gawking at me.
Why do I hate the way you said that? I shot back, sharp, because that was easier than admitting to the heat crawling up my neck.
He prowled along the edge of the crowd, further from me, the fire of his thoughts tight and controlled.
I have a crew in place. When I give the signal, they’ll cut the bindings and free the condemned.
We will not kill Obrann today, Verena. Get that out of your head.
You’re not fighting. You’re not interfering.
You’re taking Wells, taking anyone who needs assistance, and leaving.
Elva’s face flickered into my memory, a sunbeam cutting through the brewing unrest. Golden hair, tea cradled in her hands, the smile that made his chest unclench.
She’s back at the palace. And safe, he said. She wasn’t feeling well. I need you safe too.