CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Verena
THE LIGHT PULSED OUT SLOWLY, almost reluctant to leave me. I hovered in its remnants, watching the world return piece by piece. Below me, Ronan still knelt, his head bowed, smoke curling once again from his shoulders.
It took a moment for me to understand how his wings could unfurl.
How Ford’s shields brushed awake against the stale air, bright enough now to sear the dark.
How Callum’s fire reignited, brutal and holy, pouring from his palms as he struck down the nearest soldier. Their magic had returned. Replenished.
I looked down to where my own hands glowed, gold streaking through my skin where ink once had, power weaving from something newly born. Bolts of light leapt from my fingertips, spearing into Nyctom’s poisoned realm, splitting across the ground, spreading like a jolt.
Not toward Obrann or Fritz. Not toward Isolde or their army. But toward them, my friends, my family. My magic was feeding them, singing through their own veins until they glowed.
And they radiated so fucking brilliantly from it.
It wasn’t rage that burned inside me now, but my own power, gifted by a curse, born by a bloodline, who dared to fight back.
I was venom and soulflame. The nightmare, and the God who chased it.
The current of my magic drew me back down to the ground, steadying my feet.
I drove my hands into the floor, power cracking through me like thunder splitting the sky.
The air convulsed, stone screaming and fracturing as blinding light burst outward in a shockwave that flung everyone to their knees.
The energy flooded outward, spilling through the cracks, racing along the marble, searing against the pillars.
It crawled up the walls, cleansing centuries of decay, shimmering as it moved, reshaping what had long since died.
Then came the sound. A deep, thrumming pulse beneath the surface, steady and alive.
Magic, breathing again.
The plague that had strangled this land recoiled, shrieking as it dissolved into itself. I could feel it dying, feel the Bale breaking apart molecule by molecule, until only dust remained.
Nyctom exhaled, the kingdom shuddering in release. And just as I lifted my head, feeling the air clear around me—
Reve struck.
Pain shot viciously through me, undoing every breath I’d just fought to restore. I looked at him, one glance, and reached into the thread that tethered his life to the defiled power—and I pulled.
Magic tore from his core with a sound like wind shattering glass. His face drained of color as he dropped to his knees, the pointed edges of his ears smoothing back to curved right as the three rings slipped from his fingers, clinking against his feet.
I moved closer, looming over him now. How many times had he done this to me? Laughed while I begged for breath, pretended kindness was beneath him?
And though I could have smiled, could have relished the sight, I didn’t. His rage, his grief toward me, they weren’t without reason. They weren’t misplaced.
A tilt forward and the distance folded, my breath meeting his before my words could. “I heard their screams,” I murmured. “Your family. The way they begged.” He flinched, tears bright and human again. “And I killed them anyway.”
The words left me like a confession and a sentence all at once, his sob breaking open the last shred of hope.
“They were becoming like you.” I ripped my blade from the sheath on his hip, leveling its point before his throat. “I ended them before they could spread the rot further.”
His eyes widened, disbelief filling lines into his face. He looked at me like I was something he’d never seen before, something the world should never have allowed to exist.
“You’re an insane, wretched nightmare,” he rasped.
I paused, then nodded once. “Finally, you get it.”
He tried to speak again, but the air changed, the impact from my fist striking him full force, slamming into him with a crack that split the wall behind him. Stone shuddered, dust rained, and he crumpled to the floor, barely breathing, but spared.
Isolde moved hastily, prowling around me with intent, and I waited to turn until the moment she struck. Our magic collided at the same time, mine a blaze of molten gold, hers a calamity of murk and malice.
She blocked every strike with a flick of her wrist, her laughter sharp. “You keep ruining my fun, you know.”
Her conjured serpent formed along the air, lashing for my throat—
It passed through me.
Her eyes widened, and I laughed. Her viper couldn’t touch me. Because we were born of the same corruption. Still, her curse met mine, trying to keep up at what only kept building inside of me, until it broke.
Power raged out of me like a tempest, sending Isolde stumbling back. The balcony above groaned before a cascade of loose stone thundered down, the impact swallowing her completely.
I reached for Ronan, his voice echoing in my head as his shields collapsed.
I turned, watching him in the chaos, the flare of moonlight catching on his armor, his wings expanded and terrible.
He stood across the hall facing Obrann who stood protected by a force shield, their words reaching me in broken fragments through the bond.
“Give me the key, Ronan.” Obrann’s tone was edged in panic. “You can still save her.”
The key?
I blinked, looking between them. I didn’t like how that word felt. Like metal in my mouth. Like something I should already know.
Ronan growled, the sound rolling through my chest. “She’s dead.”
Obrann laughed, a brittle, joyless sound. “Dragons are liars by nature. You think your father spared you with the truth?”
The words hit us both but before I could reach for him, Isolde was on me, fast, unhinged madness lurching behind her eyes. Her strike rattled against mine, light and void devouring one another. Through the bond, I felt Ronan’s heart hammer once, twice.
“You don’t know what really happened that day,” Obrann said. “Why Rhydan betrayed his own. Why he turned.”
Ronan didn’t stop. He slammed his power against the barrier surrounding Obrann again and again, every strike fracturing only the air.
Obrann didn’t even flinch, only trailed his fingers along the inside of the shield, admiring. “He wanted to save her. Rhydan trained you for blood, for war too. But mostly for vengeance. For her. To destroy who took her. Because she begged him not to save her. She begged him to save you instead.”
The remnants of the words lingered as Isolde hissed behind me. I turned on her, magic detonating from my palms. The force threw her back into the wall as I trembled with power I no longer tried to contain. Still, through it all, I felt Ronan. And he was breaking.
“Your lies are as thin as your false courage,” he said, watching the barrier begin to flicker.
“She was taken from him.” Obrann noticed it too, but pretended otherwise, swallowing deep when he said, “And Rhydan tried to bring her back. But he failed. Because you killed him.”
Through the haze where Ronan stood, I saw it, his power falter, the edges unraveling as if being unmade. Down the bond I felt it too—the faint, dying ember of him.
Ronan snarled, “I protected my kingdom from false kings like you. You knew the stones were fake and you sought them anyway.”
Obrann flinched then, stumbling back as the barrier faded in and out. “Of course I knew,” he choked, searching the room for Isolde’s form like a coward seeking his queen. “But that doesn’t mean they aren’t useful.”
Ronan’s voice dropped into something darker. “The power you feel, the one devouring what’s left of you—” He nodded toward Obrann’s trembling hand. “It was never yours. You thought she gifted it to you...but she’d been feeding off you. Every spell. Every drop of it.”
Obrann froze, tendrils rolling up his legs.
“You hand her that key,” Ronan said, “and she’ll unchain Deimos herself. Are you so certain fate will stay merciful? Are you so sure he can’t rise?”
Obrann roared, his hands clenching, those cursed rings dimming from fevered violet to dull iron. No longer devouring. No longer deific. The shield wavered once more, then sputtered out completely.
And out of the fissure, Isolde stepped. Her gown was shredded, face streaked crimson and black though somehow still proud with victory. She didn’t bother to hide the satisfaction twisting across her mouth.
“You thought I’d ever let you be a God?” she laughed. “You were never more than a vessel. A stair on my ascent. And you were too damn stupid to see it.”
Before he could respond, her serpent attacked, fangs flashing as it sank them into Obrann’s neck. He choked out a cry, stumbling backward, black veins already racing down his chest as he fell.
Poison met flame as Isolde lunged for Ronan. He met her head-on, his smoke snaring around them in a living crash. Isolde moved with inhuman grace, laughter slicing sharper than his steel. Her curse pulsed, every strike of hers laced in venom as black ichor spilled down her arm, thrilling her.
“Still fighting for something you can’t save?” she taunted.
Ronan answered with a rage that was too quiet.
That’s when Obrann, bleeding, half alive, dragged himself upright, turning toward me.
“Trust is such a delicate thing, isn’t it?
” He staggered closer, eyes shining with something restless.
“Especially when it’s built on borrowed memories.
I wonder...did he ever tell you how he found you in those woods, or why you were there to be found?
A God’s daughter,” he clicked his teeth, “seems such an unlikely place to be forgotten.” He laughed weakly, the sound more cough than breath.
“No... I didn’t think so. The guardian did play his part rather well, didn’t he? ”
My pulse slammed into my ears, words coming out too fast, too sharp. “You’re lying.”