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He released her throat, and his nostrils flared, catching her fist in his palm before she could destroy his face with a punch. She raised her other arm up, and his other hand seized her by the wrist. Currents of his magic pulsed in the places he held onto her, a subtle warning of what he could do.
He was holding back.
They were at a draw.
Naia couldn’t speak. Words didn’t seem to be enough to express the torrent of heartbreak he’d inflicted.
She stared deeply into her brother’s eyes, yearning to find even the slightest traces of love he had for her.
His brow furrowed slightly, and a faint frown appeared on his face.
A fleeting image of the young boy she had known, concealed beneath the layers he had enveloped himself in—tender and fervent, a person who loved with all his heart and experienced agony immeasurably. It was why he turned to necromancy. Finnian could never bear the ache of losing those he held dear. She had no doubt if Father had died, he would be a ghoul, too.
“After all these years”—Finnian’s eyes followed the tear trailing down the crevice of her nose to her lips—“you still cry so easily.”
She spit on him.
His jaws clenched, and a hardness devoured the softness in his eyes.
The glob of her spit sank over his brow and into his eyelashes. He averted his gaze, as if he could not stomach to witness the hurt flooding her face.
She took advantage of the moment and yanked her hand free to snatch the magical device from his right ear.
Finnian’s reflexes were swift, as he chased Naia’s hand with his own.
She took a step back, fisting his most prized possession. Still holding onto her by the wrist, he jerked her forward. His grip tightened around her bone, causing a jolt of pain to shoot down her arm.
Naia acted on instinct and swiftly delivered a knee to his groin.
His grip around her gave way, and he doubled over, holding himself up on his knees. “Naia!”
She took off running, not entirely sure where she was going as she hopped over the bodies of ghouls frozen like humanoid popsicles on the floor. Some were sliced into pieces, their bodies gradually regenerating.
Battered brains squished between her toes, reminding her of how she’d kicked off her heels in Alke Hall after Finnian had summoned the triplets.
She lost her balance and her legs twisted out from underneath her. The heels of her palms and knees hit the stone floor.
Wincing, she raised her chin. In her periphery, she spotted Theon’s arms coming up over his head. The ghouls crawling out of the shadows met a barrage of icy disks, decapitating them with a bone-chilling crack.
Finnian flicked his fingers, binding Theon’s hands together with quick, precise stitches.
“Fuck off, winter god.” Finnian sauntered towards Naia without haste, as if he knew she had nowhere to run to.
Theon rushed for Naia, but a powerful sweep of her brother’s arm caused him to lose his balance and collide with the unyielding stone wall.
If the god needed a reason to dislike her, this would be it. They’d met an hour ago, and this was the mess she’d forced upon him.
Naia squeezed her little brother’s hearing aid in her palm, tempted to shatter the device. There was no telling how many centuries it took him to find the rare crystal embedded in it.
She couldn’t, though. It was her dearest brother’s, a person she loved more than anyone in the world.
Her anger dissipated.
Revenge had not brought her here. Finnian was the only source of home she knew, and it was a hard pill to swallow that he no longer wished to be that for her.
Finnian marched towards her in enraged, swift strides, and she braced herself for whatever form of sorcery he would throw at her next.
His power accumulated, crackling the particles in the air. Naia finally looked up to see what it was. The sight was mesmerizing—a murky, swirling blue substance splitting into separate shards, all hanging suspended. The ends pointed straight at her, daggers awaiting Finnian’s signal.
