Chapter 55
Chapter Fifty-Five
Antony
Thyra’s smile has the power to shatter what’s left of my poisoned soul.
This warmth spreading through my chest can only destroy me, and still, I welcome it.
She lies in my arms, her silver armor leaving her naked in places, her head on my chest and face turned up to mine, her fingertips resting on my jaw, and her eyelids drooping.
I didn’t hurt her.
On a night when I could have torn her apart… I didn’t.
Astonishing.
Her eyes suddenly fly wide and, with a quick breath, she whispers, “I have to tell you what I saw in the Chronicle.”
Fuck, it’s hard to care about that right now.
I should care.
Should have demanded information far sooner than now, but the cut on her face triggered memories I couldn’t control, and then Thyra was all I could think about.
I coax her back to my chest. “Tell me now.”
With a shaky indrawn breath, she repeats what she read in the library. “What was done must be undone. Unmade as it was made.” Her hand stops moving on my jaw. “To break the curse, break the blade.”
My arms tighten around her as she finishes the message she only partially spoke aloud earlier. “Break the blade?”
She raises her eyes to mine again. “Unmade as it was made.”
Rapidly, I think this through. “To break it, we need to bring together the same elements that made it.”
“Everything pictured in the illustration.” She nods. “That’s my interpretation of the message, too. We need the hammer, the dragonstone anvil, whatever kind of coal produced that fire…” She worries her lip. “Possibly even the fae, or a descendant of the fae, who forged it.”
“What was done must be undone,” I say, repeating her words with a certainty that fills my very bones.
The curse must be broken.
Her fingertips brush across my jaw, bringing my focus back to her. “How do we make this happen?”
“We gather the pieces,” I say, as if it will be simple.
Starting with the hammer. That, at least, could be straightforward.
“But… where are these pieces?” she asks. “And what if they’ve been destroyed?”
I shake my head with a certainty that could prove false. “Powerful objects like the dragonstone anvil would be very difficult to destroy. We’ll find them.” Once more, I stroke her back, urging her to my chest. “Together.”
Her body grows heavy against mine. It’s clear she can hardly keep her eyes open, and I’m not about to stop her from sleeping. Even if I experience a twinge of unwanted guilt at my eagerness for her to fall asleep.
“Rest now, Thyra.” I kiss her forehead. “You’ll need your strength for training with my sister in the morning.”
I’ve barely finished speaking, and her breathing has already evened out, becoming deep within moments.
To ease my guilt at leaving her, I murmur, “If you wake to find me gone, remember that you’re safe. Nobody can get to you here.”
She mumbles against my chest, an incoherent response that tells me she probably didn’t register what I said.
Even so, I wait another ten minutes to be certain she’s deeply asleep before I extricate myself from her arms, pulling one of the pillows into the empty space I leave behind.
Back on my feet beside the bed, I loom over her, my focus drawn to her upturned right arm and the blade embedded in it.
To break the curse, break the blade.
She spoke without a hint of fear, but I wonder how long it will take her to realize that breaking the curse could mean breaking her first.
The blade is embedded in her body, and even when she was desperate to get it out, she couldn’t.
With a savage punch, I thump my heart, needing the pain.
We’ll find a way.
I won’t hurt her.
I thought I’d be willing to do anything to stop the curse, but I was wrong.
Fucking wrong.
I rub the heel of my palm against my heart, pushing against the leather, but no amount of pressure can ease the hollow that grows at the thought of hurting Thyra.
There has to be another way.
Quickly now, I pull the pieces of my armor back onto my body, caging myself and my feral impulses, weighing myself down in metal. I reach back for my axe, a reflexive motion checking its weight against my back.
Shoving my helmet onto my head, I hurry from the room and along the corridor, passing the grimy prisons along the way.
Thyra asked me how many fae I’ve imprisoned here, and I told her as many as I’ve needed to.
I couldn’t tell her the answer is one.
One fae.
Me.
When my poisoned heart threatens even the ones I love, and only the awful burn of iron can stop me, I shackle myself to these walls, an iron band around one wrist, key in my other hand, taking the pain and daring myself to unlock the shackle.
A torturous battle between my conscious will and my dark nature.
The burning pain always brings me back to myself.
Eventually.
But tonight, Thyra brought me back. Light in my darkness. As if she knew exactly what to do and what to say to pull me away from the brink of destruction.
Climbing the stairs, I emerge into the Constellation, where I race back to my quarters and out onto the platform where Azul will be waiting for me.
Night has fallen. Artificial starlight brightens the air.
I freeze at the doorway, realizing that tonight might be the first night since my mother died that I didn’t wait with sickening dread for Galla’s power to fill the sky with stars.
For the last few hours, Thyra was my world.
A part of me wants to turn around right now and disappear back into the catacombs. Stay with Thyra in that bedroom for as long as I can, extending the illusion of comfort and desire for as long as I can, pretending I can love her for as long as I can.
And again, I’m frozen.
Love?
Am I capable of it? Truly?
I love my siblings and will go to any lengths to protect them, but that is familial love, carved out at their births, inked in biology. It never required a deliberate choice.
Thyra is a storm waiting to wreck my soul.
And…fuck it…
I want to be wrecked.
If it weren’t for Azul’s glaring red eyes and his soft keening as he ruffles his feathers across the platform, I might give in to these new impulses.
These breakable wants.
Before I can change my mind, I force myself to move across the platform and leap onto his back. “Take me to Victor.”
He hesitates, craning his neck, looking to the door before glaring back at me.
“Thyra’s safe,” I say. “She’s resting.”
He narrows his eyes, glaring harder at me.
The specks of blood on the feathers around his beak tell me he spent his free time feeding himself, but the crimson flecks only serve to make him appear more fearsome as he gives a low, menacing squawk.
“Azul Blue,” I say, staring right back at him. “Thyra is safe. She’s well. If you never believe me about anything, believe me about this.”
Maybe it’s something in my voice, but this time, he seems to take me at my word, giving me a single bounce of his head before beating his wings and finally rising into the air.
As we soar upward, I’m fully aware of the dark shadow that follows me, another eagle and its rider keeping their distance behind me.
Rohan will have been waiting for me to emerge. He’ll report back to Mother on everything he sees.
Thyra’s absence right now will certainly be noteworthy.
But I need to be able to speak freely with Victor, unworried that he might guard his words if Thyra’s present.
Within minutes, we cross the Constellation and reach the platform above the forge, leaving Rohan to circle the air when I leap from Azul’s back and disappear through the door that nobody but me is permitted to enter.
The forge is silent. The metalworkers have finished for the day, closing up the forge before sunset. Time enough to get back to their families. I’m not so cruel that I would keep them from their loved ones in those hushed moments when we face the possibility that the darkness could swallow us.
Swiftly, I reach Victor’s quarters and push open the door, only to pull up sharply.
Victor sits at the workbench on the far side, his injured side turned into the shadows, focused on the other person in the room.
“Hadrian.” My voice is sharper than I intended, but my youngest brother never comes to the forge, and his presence now could mean trouble. “What are you doing here?”
Hadrian sweeps toward me, appearing unperturbed by my sharp tone.
He’s dressed far more simply than he often is, wearing long pants and a tunic instead of his usual royal cloak and silken trappings.
The beige color of his clothing brings out the darkness of his brown eyes.
He inherited none of the Vividari starlight power and, in its absence, he also inherited our father’s brown eyes.
“Looking for you.” He offers me a white envelope, embossed with silver filigree along with the Vividari’s insignia. “This is for you.”
Because he stands shorter than I do, he must tip his head back slightly to see me. With my helmet on, he can glean my emotions purely from my eyes, which, right now, are as cold as ice.
I glare at the envelope without taking it. “What is that?”
“An invitation.”
“To what?”
Hadrian is the picture of patience in the face of my questions. It’s a testament to his ability to survive in Galla’s presence that he is rarely ruffled, but his reply sets me on edge.
“A grand celebration hosted by our mother,” he replies. “In honor of the Oracle.”
I finally take the envelope from him, but I may as well have accepted a poisoned dagger. Any ‘celebration’ hosted by our mother is certain to become a bloodbath of her making.
Hadrian gives my stony silence the respect it deserves, saying, “You’re right to treat this event with extreme suspicion.
Thyra won’t be safe. Mother is plotting and scheming with every breath she takes.
I wish I had been there to see for myself Thyra’s interaction with her, but I heard she rattled Mother like nobody ever has. ”