A single glowing white bind that drifts across the altar, into the courtyard, connecting to Wilder’s heart.
And he’s grinning.
Chapter 51
Elorie
Wilder’s eyesare wicked and bright. Around us, the night sky darkens even more. Or maybe it’s the sudden cloud cover overhead, blocking out the moon and stars. A brisk wind whips my hair around my shoulders.
“What did you do?” My words are drowned out by King Malachi, who bursts into a fit of laughter when there’s nothing funny about this.
Tightening my hand on the staff, I think maybe it’s a mistake. I chose the king. At his side, I’ll save my people. But the harder I grip the Staff of Sarrow, the stronger the pull toward Wilder.
My gaze moves to Malachi, who is no longer touching the staff. His hands are at his sides while he watches us with dark amusement. Wilder steps forward, meeting me at the altar, but I don’t dare look at him. No matter how strong this thread that binds us together is, I refuse to.
Wilder reaches past me, planting his hand over mine on the staff, and I almost lose the strength in my knees as something so strong surges through me that I can’t think.
I can’t see.
I can’t breathe.
There’s nothing but a blast of white light as my magic burns so hot in my veins it might be boiling me alive. It screams between my temples and rakes at the inside of my ribs. My heart hammers, shoving magic through the fibers of my being. There’s nowhere for it to go, so I drink it in large gulps, forcing myself to take it in.
At the center of the pain, there is a tie that binds me to myself, and that’s all that stops me from tearing apart entirely. One thread. One light. One other heart beating in the twisted, wicked madness coursing in my blood.
There is Wilder from birth to death to rebirth. A thunderstorm of emotion. An onslaught of magic. His heart binds with mine, and only then do I once again feel whole.
As quickly as the tidal wave rose, it crashes. Wilder removes his hand, and I stumble back. His markings glow on his skin, and when I look down, I see a small symbol seared into the center of my chest. It’s a four-pointed star with four crescent moons seated inside each of the curves. Each one faces a different direction. The mark is familiar, but I can’t quite place it.
“A hanging heart,”Wilder answers in my mind.
I thought I’d closed the thread, but when I look within, there are even more now. They’re endless. Like he’s woven through me.
A hanging heart.
My memory searches for why that sounds familiar. It’s mentioned in one of the stories I read back on Alyssium. A god’s mark—a tie between two souls. Where one goes, the other follows. Through life and death.
Glancing at Wilder’s chest, a new mark matching mine appears on him as well.
“A soul bind,” King Malachi says.
I shake my head. “But I chose you. My soul is bound to you.”
“It isn’t.”
My heart races as I try to make sense of what’s happening. The whole point of the Rite is to create a soul bind, to tie the magic of us to the realm and each other. So how did it tie me to Wilder?
“In promise. In blood. In soul,” Malachi says, almost maniacally as he steps off the altar and leaves me alone with Wilder. “If you can’t steal the magic. Steal the heart, right?”
“But I chose him.” I look from Wilder to King Malachi. “I chose you.”
“Did you?” The king glances from Wilder to me. “Were you choosing me when you offered him your blood? How about when you drank from him? I’m assuming you did, or this couldn’t have rooted.”
My heart thunders as I remember last night. Drinking from Wilder sealed some part of the Rite. And he was the one to offer it to me. He was the one who started me down that path in Ruse Village.
Was that my idea or his? He’s been in my head so much lately, I can’t tell the difference. Did he really manipulate this entire situation to steal the soul bind so it wouldn’t matter who I chose when it came down to it?
Was anything between us real, or was it all fabricated?
