Chapter 39
39
B lood roared in Skylar’s ears. Her bare soles slapped against gore-slicked marble, each step a crimson smear. Glass bit into flesh. Splintered wood tore skin. The pain was distant. Irrelevant.
Princess Quince’s monstrous form loomed ahead, mere feet from her mother and Conley. Skylar’s heart threatened to burst from her chest. The princess’s vine-covered body blocked her view, but Conley’s piercing wails cut through the chaos, each cry a dagger to her soul.
“No!” The scream tore from Skylar’s throat, raw and desperate.
She couldn’t lose them. Not now. Not like this.
The thought of being truly alone sent anguish crashing through her. Nearly brought her to her knees.
Keep moving. Faster. FASTER.
The Gryphon’s presence surged within her. Its panic mirrored her own. Amplified. Deafening.
It broke free. Tore through the air.
A soldier in its path. Fool.
Bones crunched. Blood sprayed. Viscera painted the floor.
Another. Crushed. Wet squelch.
Not enough. Not fast enough.
Skylar’s mind raced, memories flashing in a dizzying whirl. Her mother’s soft smile. Conley’s tiny fingers curling around hers.
Last of the Anathemarks.
All she had left.
Everything she had done, everything she had endured—crumbling to dust.
For what?
To die here? Helpless? Watching her family torn apart?
No.
She was still too far. Princess Quince loomed larger with each passing second. Skylar’s heart slammed against her ribs, a war drum in her chest. She pushed harder, ignoring the burning in her lungs and the trembling in her legs. Her vision narrowed, edges blurring as she focused solely on her goal.
The stench hit her in waves. Acrid smoke. Copper-tang of blood. The sour reek of fear and voided bowels. It mingled with the sickly-sweet odor emanating from Princess Quince’s transformed body. Bile rose. She swallowed hard, forcing it back down.
Time slowed. Cruel clarity.
Not going to make it not going to make it not going to?—
Just as despair threatened to overwhelm her, a flash of silver caught her eye.
Blood erupted from Princess Quince’s back, a fountain of dark crimson and sickly green spraying into the air. The tip of a sword protruded from her torso.
Time stopped.
Skylar skidded to a halt. Chest heaving. Mind reeling.
“I should have done that a long time ago.” Arye’s voice. Cold. Satisfied.
He yanked the blade free with a sickening squelch. Princess Quince’s form crumbled, collapsing to the ground in a heap. Before Skylar’s disbelieving eyes, the creature began to wither, disintegrating into flakes of black dust that scattered across the bloodstained floor.
The ballroom fell into stunned silence. The implications hung heavy in the air, suffocating in its intensity.
They had killed Thorncrest royalty.
The princess was dead.
This was war.
And still…
Relief flooded through Skylar, so intense it made her knees weak. She stumbled forward, desperate to reach her family. Her feet slipped in the gore, and she nearly fell. Only the Gryphon’s head steadied her, its feathers brushing against her skin with surprising softness.
Around them, the remaining Thorncrest soldiers deflated, their resolve crumbling with their princess. Some dropped their weapons, sinking to their knees in surrender. Others, driven by desperation, loyalty, or madness, fought on with renewed ferocity.
Steel clashed on steel.
“Secure the perimeter!” Captain Knox barked. “I want every inch of this place locked down!”
King Lyinell stepped forward. Face hard. Eyes gleaming with dangerous fervor.
“My loyal subjects,” he addressed the shell-shocked crowd, his voice carrying across the devastated ballroom. “What we have witnessed here tonight is nothing short of an act of war. Thorncrest’s treachery will not go unanswered.”
A ripple of tension passed through the assembled nobles. Some nodded in grim agreement, while others exchanged fearful glances. “This can’t be happening,” someone whispered. “I don’t want this.”
Skylar’s gaze swept over the crowd, taking in their reactions. Lady Emma, trembling. Advisors, pale and shaken. Even the Captain couldn’t hide his fear.
“We must prepare for war,” King Lyinell continued. He turned to his advisors. “Send word to the Thousand-Year King immediately. We’ll need Aequilibrium’s support.”
Arye stepped forward. Sword dripping. In his other hand?—
Princess Quince’s severed head. Once-beautiful features twisted in agony.
He tossed it before the nobles. Several recoiled. Lady Alison gasped.
Even Skylar’s stomach lurched.
“Thorncrest has made its choice,” Arye said, his voice as cold and sharp as the blade in his hand. “Now they face the consequences.”
Memories flooded Skylar’s mind. The countless battles against Thorncrest forces. The blood she had spilled and the men she had lost. The assassination attempts on Arye’s life, narrowly thwarted. Princess Quince’s machinations. The ambush on her way to the Anathemark estate, where they had nearly?—
Hatred crashed over her. Vision blurred.
The Gryphon stirred. Fed off her rage. Amplified it.
Its bloodlust merged with hers. Overwhelming. All-consuming.
“They deserve to burn,” she hissed. “All of them. Thorncrest. Their people. Their cursed tree. I’ll reduce it all to ashes.”
Copper filled her mouth. Body trembled. Muscles coiled.
Ready to spring. To rend. To destroy.
“Skylar?” Her mother’s voice. Concerned. Distant.
Skylar’s thoughts spiraled into darkness. The ancient pact’s curse clouded her mind. The line between her own desires and the Gryphon’s instincts blurred until she could no longer distinguish between them.
Kill them all. Burn their kingdom. Leave nothing but scorched earth and broken bodies.
She could taste it. The carnage. The satisfaction of Thorncrest crumbling beneath talons and beak.
Hands clenched. Nails bit into palms.
The Divine Beast’s lavender scent. Cloying. Suffocating.
Mingled with blood. With fear. With death.
Heightened senses overwhelmed her.
Her gaze swept over the assembled nobles once more, but this time, she saw them differently.
No longer intimidating figures of the court.
Now they looked small. Weak. Mortals.
Prey.
“I can end them,” she growled, seeing herself through the Gryphon’s gaze. Her eyes gleaming golden. “Right now. Fly to Thorncrest. Burn it all before they know what hit them.”
The Divine Beast’s wings unfurled. Wind gusted. Debris skittered across blood-slicked floor.
Its presence loomed. Physical manifestation of rage and bloodlust.
Skylar felt powerful. Invincible. The years of hiding, of pretending to be someone she wasn’t, fell away.
This was who she truly was.
A force of nature. Unstoppable. Terrible.
But even as the darkness consumed her, a small part of Skylar recoiled in horror.
No, this wasn’t her.
She was more than just the curse, more than just the Gryphon’s vessel. And Arye…
Didn’t he ask her to stop using the Gryphon?
Conflicting emotions warred within. Tearing her apart.
Vengeance. Make them pay. For every drop of blood. Every moment of fear and pain.
But at what cost?
“Sky!”
She blinked. Arye. When had he moved?
His eyes—usually so warm—now held concern. And something else.
Fear?
Not of her. For her.
“Look at me,” Arye’s voice again. Steady. Anchoring. “This isn’t you.”
But wasn’t it?
The Gryphon’s presence pulsed within her. Demanding. Insistent.
Let go. Give in. Embrace the power.
Show them what true terror is.
Her vision swam. The ballroom blurred. Faces melted into indistinct shapes.
The Divine Beast remained clear. Its intense gaze. Its razor-sharp beak. Its powerful wings.
It called to her. Promised vengeance. Power. Freedom.
All she had to do was let go.
Forget the lies. The pretense. The years of hiding.
Be who she truly was.
Skylar felt herself slipping. Falling into golden eyes. Into primal rage.
Into madness.
A hand on her arm. Warm. Solid. Real.
“Please.” Arye’s voice. Barely a whisper. “Don’t do this. Don’t let it control you.”
Control?
No. This was freedom.
Wasn’t it?
The Gryphon screeched. The sound tore through her mind.
Deafening. Maddening.
Skylar’s body shook. Caught between two worlds.
Human and beast. Sanity and madness. Love and hate.
“I—” her voice cracked. Barely recognizable. “I can’t?—”
Can’t what?
Stop?
Or let go?
The world tilted. Spun.
Faces blurred. Voices distorted.
Only the Gryphon remained clear.
Calling.
Demanding.
Consuming.
Skylar teetered on the edge of oblivion.
One step away from losing herself completely.
From becoming the monster they all feared.
The monster she feared.
“Sky.” Arye’s voice. Soft. Pleading. “Come back to me.”
Back?
Back to what?
To lies? To hiding? To pretending?
Or to love? To family? To hope?
The Gryphon roared.
The world shattered.
And Skylar?—