Chapter 53
LYRAE
Imust be dead.
Because that can’t possibly be real.
Rooke strode toward us, magic billowing around him like smoke from a raging fire, a long gold-and-silver staff gripped in one hand.
On his head, gleaming like a wreath of molten fire, was the Crown.
His head was bent forward, as if he were still adjusting to its weight—or the weight of his new authority—the Crown’s bloodstone tips pulsing with power. Power that seemed to gild Rooke’s entire body in veins of rippling, golden light.
As if bonding with the Triune had turned Rooke himself into the real Fae weapon, dangerous in ways I could barely comprehend, given it looked like he’d stepped out of some ancient legend.
Dangerous because I wanted to fall to my knees before him, to press my lips to his foot. Too bad I was busy bleeding out in the mud, just like Gravelock had warned.
A shit way to go, honestly.
“Let her go.” Rooke’s booming voice echoed through me while my blood poured out over the stones, Kaden’s wrathful gaze catching mine, every second between us stuffed full of panic before settling back on Gravelock with an anger deep enough to shake the foundations of the world.
Ryland was unconscious now, body spasming on the muddy ground, his face so pale…so godsdamned pale…
“Let them both go, Venmir. This fight is between you and me, and this ends now.”
Rooke’s unyielding order had the terrible Bloodsinger magic slipping from my veins like oil.
Cuts stopped opening up on my skin, that blinding pain ebbed away, enough for me to pull in a rasping lungful of frozen air.
Somewhere overhead, a pair of crows called out and I was able to focus on the pink-hued clouds through the haze of red.
Okay. Maybe…I wasn’t dying after all?
For the first time since I’d laid eyes on him, Gravelock faltered; those devouring shadows balking as the full force of Rooke’s power bore down on him in an angry, thundering wave, more terrifying than the storm that had just passed.
I couldn’t look away.
Rooke was razor-edged fury brought to life, a shifting storm of shadow and gilded light, too handsome for this world, too powerful to look at for too long, the closest thing to a true king I’d ever seen.
“I said…let them go.” Rooke’s indigo-blue eyes creased at the corners, his mouth pinched into a tight, angry line. There was an edge of desperate fear to him now, something raw and unhinged reflected in his eyes that struck me deep in the heart.
“Now, Venmir.” He lifted his hand and power boomed over me like a shockwave, and finally, blessedly, everything stopped. That sharp edge of pain ebbed away, enough for me to reach up and wipe the blood off my face, stifle my groan, pick up my sword, use it to brace myself as I climbed to my feet.
Beside me, Ryland did the same, and I wondered if his legs were as unsteady as mine.
How many times had Rooke endured this torture—not a mere taste of Gravelock’s Bloodsinger power, but the full impact?
And not for a minute, but for hours?
I shivered, not from the cold.
For what this bastard had done to Ariel, I deserved my revenge, but Kaden had suffered far longer and endured the loss of his family and his freedom, of his very self.
If anyone deserved to spill the Butcher’s blood today, it was him.
Kaden raised his hand and ruthless, brutal magic warped the world around us, turned the air unbreathable, left my bones groaning for mercy.
Gravelock shouted, his shadows cresting over us, a black tide of pure death, ready to crash down and erase us all. For one fraught moment, the world around me was nothing but a clash of darkness and electricity and the roaring of one pissed-off dragon.
Then the two remaining soldiers fell to the ground, smoking, rotting corpses.
Leaving the Butcher standing alone.
With the last of his army crumpled at his feet on the blood-splattered shore, Lord Gravelock became just another preening aristocrat with diamond-pointed ears and a snappish mouth, playing at being tyrant, his fancy boots and the bottom of his cape caked in mud.
While Rooke, with those steely eyes and the bearing of a conqueror…he was the real ruler.
The Dark Prince of the Shadowlands.
A name I’d once mocked, but now believed with every cell of my being.
“Enough.” Rooke’s brusque command cut through the chaos like a scythe.
“You might very well be the oldest Fae walking this realm,” Rooke said quietly. “But your days of drawing air are over. For my mother’s suffering. For my father’s life. For everything you’ve taken from me, today, Venmir Gravelock, you will die.”
“You can’t…” Gravelock stumbled backward, glancing frantically at the bodies of his dead soldiers, searching for anyone to throw between him and his approaching fate.
His dark shield whirled around him, his last remaining protection.
“You cannot destroy me. I have powers you can only dream about; I possess the power of the Shadowlands itself.”
“Where, exactly, do you think Rooke magic comes from?” Rooke purred, not an ounce of mercy in his face, cold power turning him merciless as he bore down on the Butcher, hunting him with a feral intensity that sent our enemy reeling back, boots sliding over rocks, tripping over bodies.
“You’re a disease, infecting every last inch of this realm, and yet you never respected the lands you’ve been feeding from for too long.”
“You’re lying,” Gravelock hissed, but fear was painted in his gaze, in the way his eyes darted wildly to the dragon, the castle, to my pale-faced sister, leaning over the parapet, a blanket wrapped around her thin shoulders, searching for an ally to save him.
“Don’t look at me, you sick fuck,” Ariel called, and I swallowed, my throat clogged with tears.
Her blue eyes looked…clear.
“Kill him,” Ariel called, her voice faint and thready, an echo of the sister I’d once known. “He used to tell me how he murdered your father, how he longed to take your place. But I found the Triune many years ago, and he’s so very afraid of your magic.”
Gravelock stared up at Ariel, baring his teeth in rage when Rooke unleashed another powerful surge of black, glittering with gold.
Those protective shadows gathered around the Butcher splintered, the clean winter wind carrying away the dark corruption until he was completely exposed, stripped of everything except that thin veneer of arrogance.
I stepped forward, sword in hand, my heart beating steadily. Ryland was right beside me, then Varian appeared beside us on the shoreline, grim-faced as he surveyed the dead guards, then me, gaze widening at my bloodstained clothes.
I’m okay, I tried to tell him, with a shake of my head.
“Any last words, Venmir?” Kaden asked. “After enduring your speeches for decades, I can’t say I’m looking forward to another, but I’ll offer you what you denied my father. A chance to be heard.”
His lip curled. “Your father was a…”
Kaden Rooke drove the end of the staff straight through Gravelock’s chest, the point punching out through his spine in a shower of blood and a burst of golden light. Instead of a scream, shadows poured out of his open mouth as his face slowly…melted.
I blinked, trying to process what I was seeing.
Flesh turned into honey, sharpened cheeks softening, body liquefying like watching a candle slowly burn down to a misshapen stub.
“Holy gods, it’s like the guard at Gravespire,” Varian shuddered. “Horrible.”
Horrible, yes, and as a rule, I didn’t enjoy death, but this…this one I savored.
He had caused untold suffering, nearly exterminated an entire realm, and if given the chance, would have consumed Valarian. He was as bad as the Old Gods, and even worse than the two kings—who had only wanted to destroy each other, not the world.
Gravelock didn’t make a sound as his body dissolved, flesh and bone turning to gelatinous muck, washed over by the mists that rolled in off the frozen lake. As if the last of his foul magic died with him, the darkest clouds parted, leaving a pale, watery outline of the sun overhead.
For a moment, there was only silence.
“Let’s all pretend I gave him a chance to speak,” Rooke muttered. “I don’t often lose my temper, but…I couldn’t stand to hear another word come out of his mouth, especially about my father.”
“I, for one, am glad I’d heard enough. I’m glad you cut him off,” I whispered, the weight of the moment settling over me.
He was gone, which meant Kaden was finally…free.
Except…he didn’t look at all happy.
My eyes stung as I gazed at the Crown, the way the magic spilled from him in an endless wave of shadow and gilded smoke, like looking at the night sky speckled with shooting stars, leaving their arcing trails behind.
“Assholes like him…he deserved to die, don’t you ever doubt that, Kaden.” Because I recognized that tormented look on his face. The guilt, the self-doubt, wondering if he’d done the right thing.
Despite the haze of power hanging around him like a mantle, Rooke was exhausted, and as much as I wanted to go to him—brace him up like I would any fellow soldier who’d endured too much for one day—something told me Kaden needed space right now.
So I winked. “And besides, now you have a fancy crown to go with your fancy title and your fancy castle. Look at you, all fancy.”
Ryland smirked, leaning on his blade, his arms and face covered in small cuts. “Who wanted to hear anything that shriveled-up old bastard had to say?”
Varian’s lips quirked. “Not me.”
“Me either.” I added, knocking my shoulder against Ryland’s.
Kaden took one long look at the three of us and turned, stalked back into his castle without a word.
With a whoop, Varian wound his arms around my waist and swung me around, my feet leaving the ground, feeling like I was flying.
When he set me back down, I gazed at my friends, my heart swelling with a fierce, unshakable warmth.
We’d been dragged through the mud this past week, yet somehow, we’d come out the other side not only alive, but in love all over again.
“Hey, assholes,” Ariel yelled, “is there anything good to eat in this mausoleum?”
“No,” we all yelled back, and burst out laughing, hardly able to think through the joy spilling through my veins, the way my heart felt like it might float away.
Whatever came next, I knew one thing for certain.
We were meant to stand together.
Always.