Everywhere, the battlefield is shifting.
The nýmphí move like shadows, slipping between bodies, nails slicing tendons and throats, dipping their hands in the blood I left behind. They cut, stain, let them rot.
They are losing.
They scream and wail, clawing at their melting flesh, writhing as their own bodies betray them. But it takes time. So much time, and my blood is limited. I can only give so much before I collapse.
The ground is slick with blood and corpses, with monsters half-dead, twitching, melting into the dirt. I don’t know how long we fight. I just keep moving. Slash. Strike. Smear. Kill.
The battlefield becomes a slaughterhouse. Pain claws at my shoulder, my muscles ache, my breath is ragged, but I do not stop. The creatures fall, one by one, until only silence remains.
The last monster before my eyes looks familiar.Commander Barric.The tsar is the true monster.
He murmurs, “Blood of creator?—”
I slash his throat. A silence thick with the stench of rot. A silence that rings louder than screams. The battle is over. Barric was the last one.
We have won.
“Theron!” My voice rips through the silence, my heart hammering against my ribs. I turn. Where is he? The battlefield is a graveyard, heavy with blood and decay, but my eyes see only one thing. Him. Theron.
He runs toward me, stepping over the broken corpses. He’s drenched in blood, so much blood. His fur is soaked, matted, dark, but he is still running, still breathing.
We did it. We won.
I don’t think. I just run.
Fisting my ruined gown, I sprint to meet him. My vision blurs with exhaustion, with relief, with everything. Just a few more steps.
Just a little closer.
“My mate,” Theron breathes, his voice raw, his hazel eyes burning into mine. Just a little??—
A shrill whistle cuts through the air. An arrow. My head jerks up, my instincts screaming. Too fast, too close??—
A flash of light erupts from my crystals. My fingers snap up, but too late. For a moment, I don’t move. The battlefield spins. The world goes still.
The arrow broke my crystals. No . . .
But, we won. I don’t understand.
My breath shudders. My legs weaken. My head sways. Just out of reach, Theron stumbles. No??—
He sways, then falls to his knees.
No.
No.
This can’t be happening. I haven’t restored the balance. I haven’t spent enough time with Theron.
I haven’t had a child.
Is this how it en??—
63
ASHES, CHAINS, AND A LIFELESS CROWN
