Page 11 of She Who Holds My Wrath

I rake a hand down my face, pacing faster. My chest aches with a hollow I can’t fill. Gods Korithax… I truly believed I could do this. That I could fulfil Saevyn’s orders. That I could stay steady, untouchable, no matter what the Divine Six threw at us. But I was a fool. All I managed to do, all Velentha managed, was bring Korithax and Daisy together. And even that nearly broke me with what I had to do to make it happen.

Korithax was a stubborn bastard, all sharp edges and loneliness. He pushed the world away because Korran had carved that belief into him from childhood: “Love is Weakness. You are unlovable. All you are is a weapon.” I watched it eat him alive over centuries. I watched him take women to his bed like a duty, never keeping them, never letting anyone close. And I told myself I wouldn’t care. That I wouldn’t let the mission get personal. But it did. I became his shadow, his confidant, his brother. I saw the small ways in which he changed. The way he softened when no one else was looking. The way he looked at Daisy like she was sunlight breaking through an endless storm. He was hers the moment they met. She was his. Soulmates. A twist neither Velentha nor I ever foresaw. And now he’s gone.

I lean my head against the bars, the cold biting my skin. I can still feel Velentha’s presence in the back of my mind, a shadowy tether that keeps me from unravelling completely. If that thread ever went dark… I don’t think I’d survive it. I don’t understand how Daisy is surviving it, in all honesty. Losing Velentha, losing that bond? It would tear me apart. She filled in a part of me that vanished when I was a child, and I don’t ever want that hole to reappear.

I can’t even be angry at Sariya and Elyistria. They’re doing what they think is right for Zeriavoss. For Hell. But with Velentha wounded, and me rotting down here, I have no idea what’s happening with the grimoire. Or the Divine Six. Or the war. And that terrifies me. The lack of knowing, the lack of control, the lack of everything. It’s driving me insane.

The creak of heavy hinges shatters the raging thoughts swarming my mind like an infestation. I whip my head towards the stairwell, my heart hammering beneath my ribs as I await to see who has finally come to see me. Relief floods me at the sight of Velentha—until I see the way the guards are dragging her. The way they grip onto her arms so tightly it’s surely hurting her. The way they are pulling her towards the cells without a care for her wellbeing sends a wave of pure rage coursing through my veins.

“Get your hands off her!” My voice cracks into a snarl as I grip the bars.

“Shut your mouth, traitor,” the one I recognise as Davrid, spits.

Loyalty. It’s paper-thin down here. My blood boils as they throw her onto the floor of the cell next to mine. She lands with a soft grunt, her silver eyes flashing in the torchlight. The sound of the cell door slamming and locking is a punch to my chest. They’ve done this on purpose. Placed her next to me. Just close enough I can probably touch her through the bars, but far enough where I can’t wrap her in a tight embrace and cradle her to my chest like I so desperately want to do.

“Really, Aran?” Davrid sneers. “One of the Divine Six’s whores?”

“Watch your godsdamned mouth,” I growl, low and lethal.

He just laughs, striding out with the other guard I don’t recognise, leaving the door clanging shut behind them. Their footsteps fade away, and the silence they leave is deafening. I drop to my knees instantly, pressing against the bars and reaching an arm through to try and touch her. “My love. Are you alright?”

She crawls to the bars, her pale lips trembling. My hand finally touches her. I move my fingers gently, brushing a knotted strand of chin-length black hair from her face. Her silver eyes shimmer, wet with tears, and my heart twists painfully. She’s so beautiful, so perfect. Even now, with her matted hair and tear-streaked cheeks, the faintest stain of blue blood still staining the corner of her lower lip.

“I’m fine,” she whispers. “Are you?”

“I am now,” I murmur, my thumb gently tracing her cheek. “What happened before you got here?”

She exhales shakily, nibbling her lower lip before speaking. “Seraphiel called an urgent meeting. Everyone was already seated when I arrived. She told me to stand in the centre of the room… and I just knew. I knew something was wrong when they all stared down at me. I tried to use the Sight, but it wouldn’t work. It’s like something was blocking me.”

Ice pools in my stomach as I listen to every word.

“She called me a traitor,” Velentha continues, her voice cracking. “Said she knew what I’d done.”

“How?” My voice is a rasp. “That’s not possible. We were careful.”

“She used Særathi magic. Their combined power, their blood… they tried to see the outcome of the war. Instead, they saw me coming to retrieve the grimoire to return it.”

My other hand tightens on the bars. “Shit. How could they have possibly managed that?”

“They’ve started using their blood together. It enhances their magic. They can tap into pieces of the Særathi’s power. Not all of it—but enough to be dangerous.”

My pulse pounds erratically. “And she just told you this? Why?”

Her voice drops to a trembling whisper. “Because they were going to execute me.”

The word ‘execute’ rings in the stone. My throat goes bone dry as a violent image of her being killed by those evil fucks flashes through my mind. I wipe at the tears streaking her face, trying to ground her. “You escaped⁠—”

“Barely. Calrix stabbed me with a dagger laced in the same poison they used on Korithax.” She swallows hard. “I used my own blood to open the door here that’s been sealed. My soul signature still slipped past the wards. They tried to follow, but Sariya and Elyistria’s barriers held.”

Rage burns hot in my chest, mixing with helplessness. “I never should have let you do this.”

She shakes her head, covering my hand with hers. “There’s more.”

A chill spider crawls up my spine. I know that tone.

“The…” her voice shatters into a sob. I hush her softly, wiping away another silver tear, my heart breaking with every tremor of her shoulders. “The army they’ve created,” she whispers. “They’ve already used two spells from the grimoire.”

I lean closer, trying to offer as much comfort as I can whilst my chest constricts with anxiety. “What spells?”