Chapter 29 #2
Eira looks at him, then back at me. Her wolf deflates, turning into human-shaped mist that’s fragile enough to be waved away.
‘Join us,’ I urge her. ‘He doesn’t have to control you any more.’
Her voice is small when she answers. ‘But how will I make him love me?’
‘You can’t,’ I say softly.
Her whole being trembles, but she makes no move to stand at our side, her gaze dropping to the floor, as though terrified of the repercussions of failing Damian.
Damian, for his part, is fiddling with his gloves, which doesn’t bode well for anyone.
His rage burns hotter than the bird hovering over my head.
And then our eyes lock, and, just like with the girl in the maze, I finally sense what hex I gave him.
‘Your stomach pain,’ I whisper. ‘It happens every time you lie.’ I press my lips together to hide my laugh. Oh, he must be hating this. It’s his favourite activity.
‘Enough,’ he says, slamming his hand against the table. ‘Eira, finish her.’
‘No. Eira, ask him a question. One he can’t dodge with a half-truth. Let’s see if I’m right.’
Damian takes a step forward, but her wraith swoops between them, blocking his path.
‘Eira. Come along,’ he says. ‘We’re so close to getting everything we wanted.’
But Eira cocks her head, and for once doesn’t reach for his outstretched hand. Instead, she stares as it, as though unsure whether it offers liberation or a trap. ‘And what is it you want, Damian? Honestly.’
‘To rule this city with you at my side.’ His hand twitches, as though he’s fighting the urge to press it to his stomach. ‘I just need your help to do it.’
Sweat beads on his brow.
She narrows her eyes. ‘Say it again.’
At first, I’m not sure he will, but eventually he swallows and says, ‘I want to rule the city with you.’
His knees wobble.
‘Again,’ Eira says.
‘I want to be with you.’
‘Again.’
Silence. He sways on the spot, hand on his belly now, a sickly sheen to his skin.
And then he lets out a hoarse, breathy laugh.
‘Do you know what I’d really like? I’d like this charade to be over.
I’d like to have to stop telling people what they want to hear, and have them listen to me anyway.
And what I’d really, really like is for you to make me my potion. ’
He makes the mistake of lunging for Eira, but her wraith is right there, rearing up, fresh lightning sparking from within, its shrieks now so high-pitched I’m afraid my eardrums might burst. It sweeps its claws over the emerald tablecloth, snapping it into pieces, sending the shards hurtling for Damian’s face.
He yells, clutching his cheeks, his throat, scratch marks dragging pink lines over his skin.
‘That’s enough!’ I exclaim, starting towards them, but Astin hauls me back.
A good thing too, as much as I hate to admit it, because lightning pops and spits so much that when stray sparks hit the stone floor, it hisses.
Above me, my wraith makes a feeble attempt at flight, but instead sinks to its feet before disappearing. I’m exhausted.
‘You really don’t care, do you?’ Eira says.
She doesn’t give him a chance to respond. Her eyes blaze ice as the wraith tugs off Damian’s gloves, one after the after, throwing them to one side before twisting his hands and forcing them towards his own body.
Tears flood my vision. Astin holds me tighter against him, warning me not to interfere.
‘Do you?’ Eira bellows.
Damian screams when his hands touch his skin, and emerald immediately glides over his body, thickening and thickening until great chunks of it seal him in – clunk, clunk, clunk, like armour snapping in place, first over his flailing arms, then his torso, before moving down to his legs and feet.
Pinned at Astin’s side, all I can do is watch as, finally, it winds upwards, slathering over his mouth, his nose. Horror claws at my throat.
Damian’s panicked eyes meet Eira’s, then mine, promising retribution he’ll never achieve.
A moment later, they’re sealed shut behind his beloved emeralds.
The room falls silent. Eira’s wraith disappears. Damian’s statue glowers at us, like he’s somehow still alive in there.
But he’s not, and Eira knows it. She falls to the floor, her gown pooling around her feet as she wails, pawing at his statue, as though she can pull his body free of its emerald casing. I suppose now isn’t the best time to tell her it’s a little late for regret.
Astin holds my hand into the air. ‘Look.’
Gold bands swirl around my fingers. The remaining bit of magic I channelled from him, on show for once, like my body knew this sign of magic didn’t need to be hidden beneath my clothes, but displayed proudly. Light magic, not dark. Magic that saved us today.
It just couldn’t save Damian.
I wrap my arms around Astin and he responds in kind, squeezing me close and pressing his lips to the top of my head.
‘How’s your arm?’ I ask. ‘Should I try to heal it?’
The fact that’s an option fills me with warmth. There’s a whole world of possibility at my fingertips now.
‘It doesn’t hurt,’ Astin replies. ‘When you channelled my emotions, it . . . everything felt good. Like I was bursting with light. The pain faded after that.’
A loud wail from Eira reminds me we’re not alone, and that she is in pain. Of the emotional, I killed my ex-boyfriend after finding out he betrayed me variety.
I glance at her. Olivia’s killer. The Souleater Astin wants to murder more than anything. ‘Astin . . .’
The knife remains in his hand, currently angled carefully away from me.
I’m not sure she’d retaliate if he attacked her, not while she’s openly weeping on the floor, her back exposed.
My nausea returns tenfold. Damian was the one who manipulated her into attacking Shiverholde that night, and her misery here, now, seems like revenge enough to me.
He must know what I’m thinking, because his voice is raspy when he says, ‘She killed my sister.’
But some of his previous conviction isn’t there any more, as though what he should do about it is no longer a statement, but a question he doesn’t want to answer, and I can feel the knife waver in his hand.
‘I know,’ I say softly. ‘But Damian –’