And much like he’d done to Nox earlier, she dissolved Evander’s shadow ribbon with a thought.
His eyes widened as he took in Elyria, prowling toward him like a wraith sent by Noctis himself. She wasn’t just wielding her shadows. Shewasshadow.
And she was pissed.
“Varyth Malchior may be of Malakar’s line,” she said, her darkness swirling over her like a second skin. “And the dark sorcerer’s magic may have trickled down over the generations, eventually saddling him with the powers he so magnanimously shared with you. But me?”
Her fingers curled into a fist, her shadows gathering, layering, solidifying in the empty space beyond it. Creating something sharp. Something new. Forged from her grief. Forged from her love. Forged by the darkness that had once nearly consumed her. “I got it straight from the source.”
She lunged, thrusting the shadow-forged blade forward and plunging it directly into Evander’s heart.
For a moment, everything was still. Evander’s eyes were pinned open in shock, his mouth parting as if some word sat on the tip of his tongue.
No words came out.
Hot black blood sprayed Elyria’s face as she withdrew her fist—and the shadow-forged blade attached to it—from Evander’s chest.
Her shadows dissipated.
Evander fell to his knees, shock etched into every corrupted plane of the face she used to touch and kiss. The face she’d once thought she would’ve loved forever.
The water orb burst in a wave, and Cedric fell to the floor, unmoving. There was a moment of terrible, heartbreaking silence, and then he retched, water spilling from his mouth. Next came the gasps, his breath ragged and spluttering.
It was the most beautiful sound Elyria had ever heard, followed by the worst.
Evander groaned, a long, harsh, soul-weeping sound. His wings crumbled into ash, his body sagging as blood poured from his wound, surrounding him in a viscous pool of black.
Elyria knelt beside him, hands shaking, body heaving. His blood painted her legs. Fat tears carved tracks down her cheeks. She placed one bloodstained hand on his chest, over his heart, right where she’d stabbed him.
It was not an attempt to stifle the wound—not that it would have made much difference had she tried. It was a reminder for herself of what once lay there.
“This isn’t what I wanted.” Evander’s breaths were uneven as he lifted a hand to her face. She didn’t stop him, didn’t turn away. “He told me so many things. Made me so many promises. And I didn’t...I thought we...” Recognition sparked in his eyes, understanding of what he’d done crashing into him, overtaking him. Regret and sorrow broke across his face—the final remnant of the real Evander.
Elyria never knew it was possible for a heart to break so many times.
“Kit.” With a whimper, he shifted, attemptingto turn his head toward his sister. “I’m sorry.” His words were garbled, spoken through a mouthful of blood. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know,” Elyria said.
Evander’s eyes met hers once more as he drew a shaky breath, and Elyria knew it was one of his last. “Tell her I’m?—”
“I will.”
“And Elle...” Her name was barely more than a wet whisper now, the dark veins receding from his skin, his eyes shifting back to brilliant gold.
Her throat tightened. “Yes, Ev?”
“Thank you.”
And then he was gone.
45
LONG OVERDUE
ELYRIA
Elyria once toldEvander that he felt like good luck. When he laughed and asked her what she could possibly have meant by that, she grinned.
