The Matron laughs. Soft. Pitying.
“There is no other way.” She moves closer, her presence a weight in the air. “Either he binds himself to the wards, or everyone dies. Those are the only options. I designed the ritual specifically to ensure?—”
“You designed it to ensure your victory.” My voice comes out cold. Hard. “You designed it so that even in destruction, you’d take everything from us. But you forgot one thing.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
I look at Kharvek. See the answer in his eyes before I speak it.
“You built him to channel blood magic without internal cost. The ritual is blood magic. The wards are blood magic. Everything you’ve created is blood magic.” I turn to face her. “What happens if instead of stabilizing the ritual, he accelerates it? Channels it through himself and directs it somewhere specific?”
The Matron’s expression flickers. For the first time, uncertainty crosses those ancient features.
“That would kill him.”
“Would it?” Kharvek’s voice is rough. Thoughtful. “You designed me to sustain workings that would destroy anyone else. What if this is what I was made for? Not to preserve your system—to end it?”
“The power involved?—”
“Would be massive. But not infinite.” He steps forward, away from me, toward the woman who made him. “You’re afraid. Ican see it. You thought your fail-safe was perfect, but you didn’t account for one thing.”
“What?”
He glances back at me. Smiles.
“I’m not alone anymore.”
The Matron’s composure cracks.
Not completely—she’s too old, too controlled for that. But I see the fractures. The uncertainty. The dawning realization that her perfect plan has a flaw she didn’t anticipate.
“The resonance.” Her voice tightens. “You think that link between you will be enough to survive channeling two centuries of accumulated power?”
“I think it’s worth trying.” Kharvek’s hand finds mine. Squeezes. “Better to die free than live as your anchor.”
“You’re a fool. Both of you. You’re throwing away everything?—”
“We’re choosing.” I step up beside him. Present a united front. “Finally—after everything—we’re choosing what happens to us. You can’t control that. Can’t predict it. And it terrifies you.”
The sky pulses. Brighter. Closer.
The children whimper behind us. The ground shakes. The ritual is minutes from completion.
“Last chance.” The Matron’s voice has gone cold. Empty. “Accept the binding, or I watch everyone burn.”
Kharvek looks at me. Asking. Waiting.
I answer by rising on my toes and pressing a kiss to his scarred lips. Hard. Certain. Full of everything I feel—the love,the terror, the absolute certainty that I’d rather die with him than live without him.
When I pull back, his eyes are blazing.
“We end this,” I whisper. “Our way.”
“Our way,” he agrees.
We turn to face the Matron.
Behind us, the children watch. Forty-three lives hanging in the balance. Dena’s eyes burn into my back—I can feel her gaze, her faith, her unshakeable hope that we can do what we’re promising.
