Slátra leaps up. Continues to circle me as I roll onto my side, onto my hands and knees.
Battle my way to a stand.
“Fight me,Kaan Vaegor.” Her voice is barely loud enough for me to hear—spoken from between near-pinched lips—but the words hit like a spray of stones. “You mustfightme.”
I turn, tracing her prowling motions. More deflated than my lung that’s squeezing through fast, crackling breaths. “I can’t bring myself to—hurt her.”
She rips off her mask and tosses it aside, black hair billowing with the smoke. “You’ll do more damage if you don’t!”
I sob. The sort of sound Pah would’ve beaten and burned me for.
Frowning, she looks to the ground and scans the smoldering terrainbefore she kneels, gripping the hilt of another weapon. A smaller sword grinds free, lifting a weight from my shoulders.
Sword to sword … I can keep her at arm’s length.
I’m attacking the weapon, not her.
I raise mine, all the confirmation she needs to launch forward with savage composure.
We fall into a clanging battle like Raeve and I fell into our dance at the Great Flurrt—every shift of our bodies an intimate give and take. Except we’re dancing with blades, slashing at each other with all the gusto of two folk fighting death.
The crowd blurs.
Their cheering clamor dissipates.
Everything feels a little less heavy.
Again, Ignos gathers between her shoulder blades, those flaming wings an extension of her body, flicking and dancing with our explosive duel—our teeth bared, screams and snarls blasting free.
But try as I might, it’s hard to forget that each clang brings me closer to being parted from her. Knowledge that makes me feel like I’m about to be shoved down one of the dark holes Pah tormented me with. Only this time, no escape, no matter how hard I stutter and scream.
This time, Raeve will be in the hole with me. Eventually. She swore her grief would be loud if I left this world first, and I believe her.
The thought makes me stumble, the crowd gasping as I realize I’m entirely out of breath—chest blazing, so much wetness leaching through my binds that I’m surprised I have any blood left for my heart to pump.
My sword clatters to the ground.
I fall to my knees, hands plunging into embers I barely feel as I try to catch my breath, lungs squeezing through short, sharp jerks.
A torched parchment lark flutters past, snatching my attention. It wobbles straight for Slátra and splashes against her arm, making her flinch.
She snarls, looking up into the crowd.
I follow her gaze toward the jutted balcony crowned by flaming bowls of oil, finding Arkyn perched behind the gnarly balustrade, topped with his macabre crown.
He dips his head, a silent command that pitches ice through my veins.
It’s time …
I drop my chin, grinding breath while I listen to Slátra collect my sword off the ground. When I lift again, she’s before me, fisting dual weapons while a gusty storm of embers tangle with her loose hair, whipping it about.
On my knees for her, I rest my hands in my lap, chest wrestling with each wet heave.
She raises both swords, sets the blades at my throat—one on either side—my skin tingling, heart hammering with such explosive might I’m certain the entire world can hear it.
For the final time, I savor the fullness of those red lips, wishing I could see them smile. See those cheeks dimple from the force of it.
What I wouldn’t give for a proper goodbye. To dig my nose to the crook of Raeve’s neck and plant a kiss behind her ear—
