Page 28 of She Who Holds My Wrath

A sob rips from my chest so violently I choke on it. The sound tears through me, raw and broken, like something inside my ribs has finally snapped under the weight of everything I have tried to hold together. My hands tighten around the sheet, clutching the fabric like it might somehow tether her here. Like I can stop her from slipping away to the other side. My heart feels like it has split open and is bleeding straight into the dirt beneath my knees. Staring at her face, realisation slams into me.

“Her glasses,” I gasp through tears. “Where are her glasses? She needs them—she won’t see him without them. She needs them to find Korithax.” I stagger to my feet, tears temporarily blinding me as I whip around so fast my braid whips my face. I stare at the burning husk of the bakery, my feet moving without hesitation.

“Daisy, no.” Aran seizes me, pulling me back. “It’s collapsing.”

“LET ME GO!” I thrash against him, screaming and hitting his arms with my fists balled so tightly my knuckles ache. “She needs them! She needs to see him. Aran! Please! She needs them, she needs them⁠—”

My cries dissolved into broken screams, raw and ragged as I fall to my knees, my fingers digging into the ash-ridden dirt. His arms tighten as he falls to the ground with me, cradling me into him like I’m a wounded lamb. For a few heartbeats, he just holds me there as I pant through my pain, my chest hurting so bad it feels like I’m having a heart attack. I look up at him, my eyes pleading with him to let me go.

His emerald eyes lock on mine, determination settling on his face. “I’ll go.”

“Aran—"

“I’ll find them. I swear it.” He pulls away before I can stop him, vanishing into the smoke-suffocated building.

Bricks crash down, causing flames to spit burning orange sparks into the air. Each second seems to stretch into eternity as I stay on my knees with my fingers desperately digging into to the ash-ridden ground, as if holding on will give me a sense of stability. My eyes never stray from the broken building. I don’t dare blink. Don’t dare move.

“Please come back,” I whisper hoarsely. “Please.”

Time seems to stretch, my rapid heartbeat not calming for a single second whilst I wait. And wait. And wait. Minutes go by, and my anxiety can no longer take it. I can’t sit here a second longer and wait for him to return. I push to my feet, determined to go in after him. But just as I stand, a figure emerges, covered in soot and debris, coughing and spluttering from the smoke inhalation. His emerald eyes are streaming, leaving wet tracks through the grey dirt coating his skin. In Aran’s hands, shaking but held firm, are Marta’s cracked, ash-smeared glasses. I lurch forward, sobbing, and snatch them from him before crushing him into a hug, whispering thank-yous through hiccups as he wraps his arms around me.

Dropping back to Marta’s side, I brush the soot from her cheeks and carefully slip the frames onto her face, making sure they sit comfortably behind her pointed ears. The glass is fractured, but it doesn’t matter. She looks whole again. Complete.

“They’re not perfect,” I whisper, my tears spilling down onto her cheeks. “But at least now you’ll see him. Tell him, I love him. Tell him, I miss him. Please… please tell him.”

I lower my head onto her chest, clutching her already cooling body like she can still hold me. My sobs sound through the chaos surrounding us, my tears soaking into her burnt apron.

“I’ll miss you, too,” I whisper. “So much. Take care of him for me. Take care of Talia. Take care of my mom. And make them your tarts, okay? They’ll love them… they’ll love them just as much as I did.” I lay with my head on her chest for a while before a warm hand rests on my shoulder, pulling me back into the present.

“Daisy… we need to move, so they can take her.” I look up through blurred vision. Aran is staring down at me, raw grief swimming in his eyes. My gaze shifts to the soldiers hovering close, waiting patiently to take her. Heat simmers in my chest, my power thrumming in my veins at the sight. Why am I mad at them? Why do I feel rage when I see them standing there, waiting to take her away from me? To dispose of her like she’s nothing.

I close my eyes, trying my best to swallow down the anger. “Does she have any family?” I rasp.

A blonde demon with stark white horns and tanned skin shakes his head. “No official family. Everyone here loved her—but no blood relatives.”

“So what happens to her body?” My voice cracks.

“Burned with the rest, Your Majesty.”

I swallow hard, fighting the lump in my throat. I have to resist the urge to punch him in the throat for the way he said those words so casually. There’s no way. There’s no way I can let her just burn in a pile of bodies like she didn’t mean everything. She meant something to every single person in this realm. She was a home away from home, a safe place, a mother to many. She cannot just sit on a pile of bodies and burn, her ashes mixing into a pile.

“Let me. Please.”

“Daisy, you don’t need to—” Aran starts gently.

“I want to. Please.” My voice breaks entirely. “Just… carry her over there.” I point towards a quieter stretch at the village’s edge on the southern side. The soldiers nod, laying the sheet back over her before lifting the stretcher and moving carefully. I follow, my dress dragging through ash and debris until they lower her to the ground once more.

“I’ll miss you so much,” I whisper to the sheet that veils her face. “Everyone will.”

I let the fire thrum to life beneath my skin, aching for release. But I use every ounce of my energy to keep it soft. Gentle. Flames bloom at my fingertips, stretching out to kiss the linen. The sheet catches fast, fire racing over her, consuming without pain. A thin layer of sweat beads at my brow as I focus the best I can, ensuring my flame doesn’t lash out. This needs to be as beautiful as it can be for her. She doesn’t need chaotic, unchecked magic. She needs beauty and serenity in her final moments. I try my best to keep it going until nothing remains, but my head swims with exhaustion. I pull the flame back into myself, leaving the stretcher burning steady, until only ash will remain. Tears stream freely as I bow my head one last time to the woman who showed me nothing but kindness from the moment we met. To the woman who made me feel welcome in a realm that didn’t choose me.

“I would like to leave now,” I murmur, barely louder than the crackle of the fire.

Aran nods, murmuring something to the guards about gathering her ashes, then begins to wave a portal. I glance once more at the wreckage—the bakery, broken walls still smoking—when something bright catches my eye in a pile of rubble.

“Wait.”

I hurry forward, my breath strangled in my throat. There, half-buried under stone and mortar, a small orange horn juts through the ruin.