AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You should’ve just let Mother die, Ruskin. You never even wanted the throne,” Cebba hisses.
I creep towards the sword, trying not to make any noise.
Ruskin’s head droops. “It’s not about doing what I want, it’s about doing what’s best for the kingdom. That’s the whole point,” He looks up at her with pity in his eyes. “My poor, stupid sister. There’s so much Ilberon neglected to teach you.”
The sword is in my hands—and stars, it’s heavy. I know I only have one shot at this. I have to time it so that Cebba is already casting so she won’t have time to redirect her spell at me. My heart sits in my throat. This might be the last thing I do, and it’s attacking with a weapon I have no idea how to use.
But I’ve always been a quick learner.
Cebba lifts her hands, calling forth her darkness. It’s just about to leave her palms when I charge.
She looks up at the sudden movement in surprise, but the distraction isn’t enough to stop her. Her spell releases, hitting Ruskin squarely in the chest. He slumps backwards, and I scream—in pain, or fury, or fear. Or maybe all of them at once.
She’s faster than me, and ducks down to kick me back with a blow so hard I think it cracks my ribs. I fly away from her, all the air knocked out of me, but I release the sword as I do, and as I fly backward, the sword flies…forward.
When I pulled it from the grass, I’d realized there was a band of gold around its hilt. Thank the stars, the fae can’t make anything without gilding it in one way or another.
If I can move a cup across a room, if I can direct the handle of a knife to cut its owner, then I can guide a sword.
I push it forward with my mind, pouring every bit of strength I have left into its trajectory. It flies like an arrow. A deadly, three-foot-long arrow. Cebba doesn’t seem to be able to make sense of what’s happening, standing stock still with her face scrunched in confusion, as its tip flashes in the dawning sunlight and skewers her through the chest.
She hits the ground like a sack of potatoes, the sword still standing tall, embedded in her prone body.
I drag myself towards where Ruskin lies, every movement making my body scream. I can see now how Cebba’s second spell took its toll. The golden threads radiating from his chest are taking over his body, creeping across his face and snaking down his arms to his wrists. His breath is shallow, and I ignore my own pain to lift his head into my lap.
“Rus, please, fight it,” I beg. “You’re strong enough, I know it. Hold on, and I’ll find a cure, I promise. I just need time.”
His eyes open to meet mine and I stroke the hair out of his face. Then, unable to look at him anymore, I bend my head, laying it over the spot where the dark magic lies.
“Think about Des and Halima. Think about your court, the kingdom. You can’t leave them behind.” My voice is catching with the sobs that want to come, but I talk through them, as though if I can just find the right words, I can reverse this terrible thing.
“You can’t leave me,” I say, the words battering their way out of my aching throat. “Because I love you.”
I know it’s true the moment I say it, and it makes this moment so much harder to bear.
“I love you,” I say again, not caring that it makes it feel like my own heart will split in two.
Ruskin swallows.
“I love you too, Gold Weaver.” His words are quiet as a sigh, but it feels as if he’s shouted them from the treetops.
Beneath my head, where I’ve buried my face in his chest, Ruskin’s body starts to glow.
Chapter 37
The glow is like the light of the sun now rising around us—it holds the same orange-red hue as it illuminates Ruskin from the inside out. I lift my head to get a better look, eyes fixed on the spot where the glow makes his skin translucent, picking out all the places where the golden threads snake through his veins.
Except they’re disappearing.
The light is dissolving them, the metallic tendrils fading before my eyes. The gold that threatened to claim Ruskin’s face retreats, while the marks running up and down his arms draw back. I run my hands over his chest in wonder, hope daring to ignite in my own heart. A hand takes hold of my wrist, and I look up to see Ruskin’s eyes on me again, more alert than before.
“Ella,” he says, the hint of a crease between his eyes. “What’s…?”
“The curse,” I whisper, afraid it might stop if I say it too loudly. “I think it’s lifting.”
The rosy glow brightens, until Ruskin looks like he’s housing a fire within him, his fingertips, the tops of his pointed ears, all taking on a radiance like nothing I’ve ever seen. Just when I think he might become nothing but a ball of light too bright to look at, he opens his mouth and groans. At first, I worry he’s in pain, and then, looking at the bliss on his face, I realize it’s the groan of someone finally being freed of a centuries-old wound.
The light dims, retreating back along the pathways of his body, running home to his heart where it flickers and fades.
