If I tell them what I know, it could hurt Ronan’s chances, but he’s an excellent military leader. He’ll find a way to overcome it. I believe in him.
But if I don’t, Larus will die, and Octavia, a woman of uncommonly generous spirit, who had no history with us, but who has helped us at every opportunity, will die as well.
I won’t let that happen.
“I’ll tell you everything. Everything you want to know.” Larus and Octavia continue protesting, but they stop when they hear the finality in my voice. “Seth, don’t lie. Just tell them everything you know. It’s the only way.”
I can only hope it’s enough.
Seth is led from the room as Adria uncovers the map. I move the markers to where they ought to be, but I do manage one lie, and it’s a pretty major one: I under count them by about half. Although Seth has been involved with the strategy, I know he’s out of date on the Brakkari legion planning, having slept through a recent meeting. He won’t know where those soldiers will be deployed, and hopefully, he’ll have the sense not to mention them.
For the first time ever, I thank the gods for Seth being, well, Seth.
Adria removes the markers once more, and then she allows me to watch as Seth puts them nearly exactly where I did. I breathe a sigh of relief as he moves the last of the Minar legions in place without a single mention of Brakkar.
We’ve done it. We’ve managed to give them enough to go on. Let them assume the Brakkari legions are among these numbers. Let them underestimate the support Ronan has among the refugee Selarans and the Orsa. They have always underestimated him, just like they’ve underestimated me.
And, I realize as my mother draws her knife, just like I’ve underestimated them.
I barely have time to scream, “No!” before she drives her knife into Larus’s chest, striking him right through the heart.
Chapter Forty-Five
Ican’t breathe as I watch Larus clutch at his chest with his bound hands, his body collapsing beneath him.
I rush to him, barely noticing the movement of the others, barely hearing Octavia’s screams. “Larus. Larus listen to me. It’s going to be alright.” I lift his head into my lap so he can see me. Blood drips down his chin as he coughs.
Oh, gods. I need my magic. Not my shadows, but Ronan’s magic, or the new power we awoke in Avaris. I beg it to come back to me. I tug on the thread between me and the phoenix, but the phoenix is still trapped, its magic of no use to me now.
I dig deeper, searching for my bond with Ronan. I know it must be down here, buried somewhere inside of me. I know it must be as eternal as the bond I made with the phoenix. I can deny it. I can suppress it. But I know I can’t sever it.
And yet it won’t answer me. The distance is too great—not physically, but emotionally. On a spiritual level. I pushed it away, and now, at the moment when I need it the most, I can’t call on it.
This is the price I must pay for my choice. I turned my back on destiny, and this is the price that destiny has demanded.
Gods, it’s too much to bear.
“Sylvie,” Larus chokes out. His breathing is ragged and shallow, the blood pouring from his wound soaking my hands, my sleeves, as I desperately try to stop it. As I fruitlessly call to magic that won’t come. That can’t come.
That I’ve killed.
I look up at my mother. She’s watching this dispassionately, frowning with vague disappointment. This is a test, I realize. She’s testing my magic, testing to find out if I have some power beyond her control.
They never intended to let him live.
I turn back to Larus. There will be time for my anger at my mother and sister. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Larus. You shouldn’t have saved me.”
Larus gasps, his lungs gurgling with blood. I sob, barely able to look at him. “Sylvie,” he says one final time, his voice barely a whisper. I look at him, and his eyes are filled with love, not fear. “You were worth it.”
Then his body stills. His shaking gasps end, and the light fades from his deep brown eyes.
He’s gone.
I stay there for a long while looking at him, my mind knowing he isn’t there, but my heart refusing to let go. Seth comes over and puts his hand on my shoulder, and then he kneels down to me, holding me while I cry.
I turn to wipe my eyes on my sleeve, and I see Adria backed against the library shelves, her face drained of color, her eyes far away.
I want to scream at her. I want to punch her and kick her and stab her right through the heart. Because Mother may have done this, but she would have too. She tried herself in the throne room.
