Page 8 of She Who Holds My Wrath

I glance down at Velentha. “I… I need my hands.”

Sariya and Elyistria take her in their arms, and I move quickly, opening a shaky portal to one of the guest chambers in the castle. They step through quickly, and the portal snaps closed behind me as I follow. They lay Velentha on the bed as gently as they can, and I rush forward, reaching down to brush blood from the corner of her pale lips. Her eyes flutter weakly, her lashes tickling her cheeks as she struggles to remain tethered to this side of life.

“I’ll fetch the healers,” Sariya says, already turning toward the door.

Elyistria watches me, her eyes holding an expression of weariness and betrayal. “Aran…” she says quietly. “You’re helping one of the Divine Six. Even now, after everything.”

“She’s not like them,” I whisper. “I swear to you, she’s not.”

“We no longer know you, Aran,” Sariya says from the door, her voice distant. “We can’t trust you. You’ve been hiding too much.”

Elyistria nods once, sadness flickering across her face. “I’m sorry, Aran.”

I don’t have a second to contemplate the meaning of her words before magic bursts behind my eyes, blinding and all consuming. Then everything is suddenly black.

The cell is cold.

Not freezing, not tortuous. Just... indifferent. A dull chill that seeps into the bones, a reminder that this place was built to forget about the enemies thrown down here.

I sit slumped against the far wall, my head aching from where the magic hit me. They didn’t even chain me. They didn’t have to. Elyistria’s magic was kind enough to knock me out whilst they used something else to paralyse most of my body, and even now, I can barely twitch my fingers. It’s evident they used one of the tonics from the healers’ quarters to bind me. They see me as a threat now, too.

I exhale slowly. The room smells of old stone and dread. The torch outside my cell flickers faintly, casting long, warped shadows through the bars. I feel like I’ve been watching them dance along the floor for days.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I told myself I could do this. That I could carry out the mission Saevyn gave me and bare it like a good soldier. I told myself that having my memories removed was the right move—that it would protect me, protect everyone. That knowing too much would only draw attention from the Divine Six. I convinced myself I’d remember when I needed to. Did I convince myself, or did Saevyn?

The memories of Korithax flood into me like a cold wave. Gods, I miss him. I close my eyes and the image comes unbidden—Korithax, the day he was born. Hellfire coiled around him like a second skin, his cry deep and defiant even as a newborn. The son of a traitor King and an otherworldly Queen.

He never knew that Saevyn placed me in his path from the beginning. I watched him grow, observing from a distance at first, watching him raised under Korran’s shadow. And then, when he came of age, I was brought in as his “assistant.” A glorified shadow. He thought he chose me. But the truth is, I chose him. And maybe, more truthfully, I grew to love him. At first, it was just a role. I kept my distance, telling myself that emotions would compromise the mission entrusted to me. That I couldn’t afford to get attached to the heir. But how do you not grow attached to someone like him? Someone who bore centuries of cruelty, and still found a way to lead with strength. Someone who endured his father’s hatred, Calrix’s bitterness, and the Divine Six’s impossible expectations. He never complained. Spent most of his life distanced from everyone. He never even took a lover before Daisy. He had said the throne left no room for softness.

I watched him crack under the pressure alone, and I hated myself for standing by. I told myself that I was doing my job, that I couldn’t interfere. But eventually, he let me in. Not with grand declarations, because Korithax was never good with words. He let me in with silence. With glances across a war table, with cups of bitter hellroot tea passed wordlessly with trust, or a glass of his favourite whiskey over ice. We became brothers in everything but blood. And now he’s gone.

My throat tightens. I run my hands down my face, and breathe through the burn in my throat from holding back tears I don’t have the energy to shed. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. Didn’t get to tell him the truth, or that he mattered more than the mission in the end. I didn’t get to say that I would have broken every damn divine law to save him. But I didn’t. Instead, I followed the plan. And now, I’m alone in a world I don’t belong in.

Well, not quite. I have Velentha. Gods, even her name feels like a rebellion in this place. She’s always been the fire to my ice, the reckless to my restraint. She was placed too, by Saevyn. Her memory remained mostly intact because she needed to know more—being one of the Divine Six. She had to pretend to be loyal, watching, waiting, risking everything. We were never supposed to fall in love. But how do you share secrets like that—ancient truths that could destroy empires—and not fall in love? We were each other’s only real tether in the madness of it all. Each mission, each lie, each fragment of truth we collected behind enemy lines bound us closer. When we met in shadows, it wasn’t always strategic—it was survival. And now the risk became too great, and she’s dying. If they don’t heal her in time, or if Sariya or Elyistria decide she’s too much of a threat… I lose her, too. I can’t lose her. I’ve already lost too many people, and I won’t lose Velentha, too.

I lean my head back against the wall, the stone biting into my scalp. I try to focus, to think past the ache and the rage. The grimoire is still with them. They’re trying to decode it. If they get enough before I’m branded a traitor, maybe this will still be worth it. Maybe Daisy can still become what she needs to be. I grew to adore her too, in the little time I’ve spent with her. Her presence was an instant calm in a life that’s been filled with chaos. In such a short amount of time, she became like family to me. I know the fire in her isn’t just grief, though. It’s her legacy. She has pieces of Dasmyrin in her soul. I’ve seen it shine through in the way she walks, the way she looks at the world with that defiant spark, even through tears. If anyone can rise from the ashes of Korithax’s fall, it’s her. But I know she’s not ready. She needs time and guidance. And gods help me, she truly does need Maelkar.

I grimace at the thought. If anyone can both train her and drive her to madness, it’s that sadistic bastard. I don’t trust Maelkar, but I have to for now. Because this war is coming, whether we’re ready or not, and the Divine Six will stop at nothing until every thread of resistance is snuffed out. And I will not let Korithax’s death be in vain. I will not let Velentha’s sacrifice be meaningless. I will do whatever it takes to finish what Saevyn started. Because I know one thing for certain, just like she did—The Divine Six cannot take over this universe. Nobody would survive.

Chapter 4

DAISY

Sleep doesn’t come easily, and when it does, it comes in jagged fragments.

After everyone left me, I decided it was best to just try and rest before I tried to resume life tomorrow. I had a bubble bath, the water so hot I came out pink and sweating. It helped distract me from the never-ending pain residing in my chest. The place that’s reserved especially for Korithax and Talia.

Lyvia had helped me get ready for bed, her sad eyes saying everything she didn’t voice. She pitied me. But there was also a weariness, like maybe she feared me, too. I guess word got out fast about my outburst. I couldn’t fault her for fearing me. Because I fear me too. I fear the feelings that sit inside of me, the power that writhes beneath my skin like a living, breathing thing. I fear what this grief is going to do to me, what it’s already doing to me. I barely survived the loss of my mom, struggling through life painfully after she died. I guess in a way, I lost my dad too—just not to death. So now, to lose two more important people in my life, it just seems unfair. Even before my life as Daisy, life never seemed to be on my side as Dasmyrin. What cruel fate decided I had to endure so much pain, so much betrayal and hurt?

Every time my eyes close, I see blood. I see Talia’s lifeless body in my arms. I see Korithax’s body disappearing in front of my very eyes as the Divine Six tore him away. I hear my own scream echoing back in the cavernous throne room, raw and animal, like it didn’t even belong to me.

When I finally give up on attempting a restful sleep, the sky outside my window is turning pale with dawn. My body feels leaden, my mind foggy. I drag myself out of bed and into the adjoining dressing room. It’s ridiculous how many dresses are hanging in there, all shimmering silks and embroidery that look like they belong to someone else. A real queen. Not me. I’m assuming the help pulled everything from my original rooms and placed them all in here. Nobody has yet been brave enough to ask me if I want to move into my old room. The one I shared with him. I pull on the plainest thing I can find—a soft, grey dress that falls to my knees. It feels wrong to wear anything beautiful. It feels wrong to pretend I’m anything but a shattered, broken girl.

When I return to my room, the little table by the window has a tray sitting in the middle of it. Breakfast. A single plate of warm bread, a soft egg, and a steaming cup of coffee, exactly how I like it. I stink into the chair slowly, staring at the food without touching it. Eating alone feels…wrong.

A flash of memory strikes me: breakfast with Korithax, his towering frame folded awkwardly into the chair in our room. He had tried the coffee, taking his black, grimacing after every sip. But he drank it because I did, and he said that it was like trying on a piece of my life. I teased him endlessly for it, how he as a whiskey drinker couldn’t handle the bitter taste of coffee. He’d argued for ten minutes straight on how his whiskey was smoky and delicious, and didn’t taste like burnt soil like my coffee did.

My throat tightens as I lift the cup, inhaling the sweet scent of caramel. Talia’s face flashes into my head. Our coffees on campus, her mocking how sweet I enjoyed mine whilst Ezra would sit stuffing his face full of pastries, acting like nobody could see him. My chest aches like it’s being pried open. We’ll never do that again. Never sit as a trio, laughing over nothing and pretending like the weight of the world wasn’t looming over us.