Page 75 of Blade of the Nightking

He meant to stay behind—to face Rìan when he finally forced his way through those doors, to buy us the time we needed to escape. Layne would be a hostage, her presence a thin shield that might grant us a few more precious moments.

But Hamish… Hamish would not follow.

“Hamish…” My vision blurred as tears rose, though his face remained set, unyielding. Was he atoning for feelings he’d never meant to have? Trying to do right by Aedric in his final moments?

“Go,” he repeated roughly.

Aedric's throat worked. “Burn bright, brother,” he choked.

Hamish inclined his head once, then turned away, dragging the terrified handmaid back toward the doors.

Aedric caught my arm and hurried me around the corner until they vanished from sight. My ears strained, bracing for the sound of the doors far behind us giving way, for the clash that would follow when Rìan finally broke free of the iron barrier.

We turned the final corner, and Aedric slowed at once.

The great doors to the receiving chamber stood open.

Flickering orange light spilled across the floor beyond, pooling in uneven shapes that danced with the movement of flame. Aedric stared at it, his expression tightening.

Firelight.

No one ever dared light a fire in the presence of the Lord of Flame. No one was foolish enough—or brave enough—to risk it. And yet the light shifted there, restless and bold.

Like a taunt.

Aedric squared his shoulders and stepped in front of me, shielding me with his body. He pushed the door fully open and we stepped inside.

On the far side of the great room, the glass doors to the terrace beyond stood open. Wind curled through them in restless gusts, billowing the heavy curtains and guttering the flames in the great hearth, shadows writhing unevenly across the walls. Beyond, the sea roared through the night.

Beside the throne of Dusk stood Levinica.

She looked nothing like the disheveled wreck I’d encountered in the library. She wore a slim gown, simple but elegant, the dark fabric skimming her slight frame. Her hair had been smoothed back, falling neatly over her shoulders. One hand clasped the pendant at her throat as she stared out through the open doors, so still she seemed to disappear into the shadows around her.

When we entered, her head swivelled slowly in our direction, her black gaze settling calmly over us.

Too bright, those eyes. Too hollowed. As though whatever had stitched her back together was already beginning to fray.

Aedric’s anger was a palpable thing, thrumming through the air.

“Hello Aedric.” Her voice was rough. She’d screamed herself hoarse in the library.

Aedric’s eyes flashed and the flames in the hearth surged suddenly, swelling higher until they nearly spilled over the stone. “You betrayed us.”

“You took my son.”

Heat flooded the room, the gauzy curtains snapping and twisting in the clash of fire and wind.

Aedric's hands curled into fists, sparks dancing over his knuckles. “What do you think will become of him now, after what you've done?”

Something inside her cracked open again—the same splinter of madness I’d seen in the library returning to her eyes.

“Let me see him,” she whispered, the desperation naked in her voice, her fingers moving restlessly over the shape of the pendant at her throat.

“Tell me how to break the bond, and he may be spared.”

Her chin quivered. We had moments, perhaps only seconds, before her madness returned.

Before we lost our chance.