Page 106 of She Who Holds My Wrath

Another strike, another waver in the steel. I grind my teeth. “Another one.”

I stalk to the weapons rack and yank free a fresh sword, rolling my shoulders as heat coils down my arms. When I turn back, Elyistria is blocking my path, lifting her hands to halt me in my tracks.

“I think,” she says slowly, “I have something that might fix that.”

She moves to a carved stone stand near the far wall, where several covered weapons rest beneath layers of silk and dust. With careful hands, she pulls back the dark fabric draped over the largest one.

Light spills from her palms as she touches it, soft at first, then brightening in thin ribbons across the metal as if her magic is waking something ancient, rather than creating it. She lifts the sword and turns back to me. It’s breathtaking.

The blade is pale silver, flawless, and gleaming. Its surface etched with extremely faint, ancient runes that seem to breathe when I look too long. The hilt is forged from dark metal shaped into elegant, sharpened curves, and at its centre sits a ruby, deep red and glowing faintly, like a captured heart.

My breath catches. “What is this?” I ask as she strolls over to me, handing me the beautiful creation, my fingers tightening around the grip.

The moment I touch it, something flares. Images crash through me violently.

A battlefield beneath a burning sky.

Blood soaking into scorched earth.

A woman standing tall amid ruin, white flame in her veins, the same ruby blazing in her sword.

Dasmyrin.

“Was this—” My voice breaks. “Was this hers?”

Elyistria smiles, sad, but with a fondness in her eyes. “It was Dasmyrin’s, yes. I’d… forgotten I still had it.” Her luminous blue eyes linger on the blade. “The stone is a Pyraxis Heart. An ancient crystal that was created to house divine flame without breaking its vessel.”

She tilts her head, her pale glowing hair falling over her shoulder. “Try it. See if it holds yours.”

My pulse pounds as I slowly let my flame slide down my arm, into the hilt, and into the ruby. I stare in awe as the blade doesn’t waver. It drinks the flame, holding it as if welcoming it home.

I look up at Maelkar and smirk. “Ready?”

He grins. “Always ready, Hellflower.”

We clash. Fire pours into the sword, more than I’ve ever dared channel into a weapon, and it holds. The runes burn bright, the ruby blazing. No warping, no cracking. Just pure, clean, lethal power.

When we finally stop, I’m breathless, sweat dripping down my spine.

“This is incredible,” I say quietly. “Thank you. For keeping it safe.”

Elyistria inclines her head. “Of course.”

Footsteps echo again, and I glance over to the door to see Aran striding towards us. He scans the room immediately. “Where is he?”

I turn away, grabbing the glass jug, and pour myself a glass of water with steady hands. “I don’t know.”

I make sure my voice sounds flat and unbothered. Like it means nothing to me. Like I don’t care where he is or what he’s doing, or whether he plans to come back at all.

There’s murmuring behind me, hushed voices with careful tones. Something inside me snaps.

I straighten, gripping the glass together than necessary. “Stop talking like I’m not here,” I say sharply. “I don’t know where he is.”

I turn just enough for them to see the coldness in my face, the indifference I’m forcing into place. “And I don’t give a shit where he is, either. I have training and a war to focus on.”

The lie burns all the way down. The room goes so silent, I can hear every person’s heartbeat. I place the glass down with a thud just as Aran explodes.

“Are you fucking serious, Daisy?”