Page 80 of She Who Holds My Wrath

Sariya steps forwards, her presence warm and steady against the lingering chaos. “We held the Hell-side as long as we could.” Her bright, sun-warm eyes soften. “You did well, Velentha.”

“Too well,” Elyistria murmurs, kneeling next to her. “No goddess should force that much power alone.”

Velentha doesn’t answer. She’s trembling too hard to be able to respond, cradled tightly against Aran’s chest as he gently rocks her back and forth like a distressed child and not a woman who almost sacrificed herself just to get me home.

I notice Lucifer finally release Maelkar, and it hits me all at once how truly wrecked he looks. Blood streaks his midnight skin, bruises already darkening to a sickly purple beneath it, cuts lining his body like a map of every single ounce of pain and torture he endured. And yet, he’s standing like none of it matters. But I can feel it. It’s in the way his shadows cling too tightly too him, coiled way too close instead of loose and playful. It’s in the way his eyes are just a little too bright, and his breathing is a little too controlled. It’s not natural at all. It’s practiced. He’s performing whilst holding himself together with sheer will, hiding every ounce of pain behind that familiar, unbothered mask. And I recognise it because I’m doing the exact same thing.

I move to his side instinctively and brush my fingers lightly against the back of his hand. A silent, I see you. His shoulders loosen just a fraction, so small no one else would notice. But I do. His eyes meet mine for a brief second, and the mask slips—just enough. Just long enough for me to see it.

Sariya clears her throat softly. “So,” her gaze settles on me, warm, but heavy with concern. “What in the gods name happened?”

She gestures to both Maelkar and I, both of us bloodied and beaten. All eyes turn to me. I can feel it—every stare, every unspoken question pressing in on me.

I explain everything in a steady, detached way that doesn’t sound like me at all. I keep my head high, my shoulders squared, my hands still at my sides as I recount it all—how we were drugged, how I woke up chained in that basement. What he did to me. The words leave my mouth like I’m reciting a story I read once, not something I lived through. I don’t falter or pause. I don’t let any emotion slip through the cracks.

I leave out the nightmares. I can’t say those out loud. I can’t speak about what he made me endure under his magic. Because if I do, I know something inside me will break, and I’ve worked too hard to keep that fracture sealed.

Maelkar speaks next, telling us what he endured too. I listen and don’t interrupt. But something hot coils in my chest as he talks. Anger yes, but something else, too. It’s a feeling I’m slowly getting used to feeling—calculated rage.

My fingers find his hand again, squeezing gently. Not for comfort or softness. Maelkar doesn’t do either of those things, and I’m not entirely sure that I do anymore either. It’s in acknowledgement. I know. I see it. I won’t forget it.

“Are you alright, Daisy? Your first kills… that must’ve been difficult,” Elyistria says softly.

The question hits harder than I expected it to. Because I don’t think I know how to answer it. The weight of everything that keeps happening is both suffocating and numbing. My heartbeat stutters once, hard, before I lock it down. There’s something inside me clawing at my ribs, begging to be felt. And many, many months ago, I would’ve allowed that feeling to surface. I would’ve cried and screamed. But not anymore. Those feelings aren’t welcome here now.

I smooth my expression into emptiness. “It needed to be done,” I say, giving a small, careless shrug. “For my kingdom.”

Silence. Nothing but stunned expressions staring back at me. Lucifer whistles low under his breath. Aran’s brows shoot up. Elyistria blinks, stunned. Even Maelkar glances sideways at me with a look of what I believe is worry. Sariya studies me for a long moment—concern flickering in her eyes—but she says nothing. None of them do. They don’t need to. I know what they’re thinking. That this isn’t the Daisy they know.

I swallow and straighten my spine, lifting my chin just a fraction higher. Unbothered. Untouched. Unaffected. “I’m going to go shower and clean myself up,” I say with a light tone. “I’ll meet you all soon.”

Before anyone can try and stop me, before anyone can ask me another question, I turn and slip into the hallway and head mindlessly to my sanctuary. My room is dim when I push the door open, but the moment I step inside, a warm voice greets me.

“Daisy!” Lyvia barrels into me, arms thrown around my shoulders. I freeze for a moment before hugging her back just as tightly. Gods, she feels so safe and familiar. She looks radiant, no longer dressed in her boring maid’s dress, but in her Spires uniform—black and gold robes flutter around her petite form. She looks incredible, and I can’t help but beam at her.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” she breathes, squeezing me like she’s afraid I’ll vanish. “When I heard what happened, I just had to come.”

I blink against the sting in my eyes, pushing back from her slightly. “Heard? What do you mean you heard?”

Lyvia stiffens almost imperceptibly. “Oh, well—” she laughs lightly, brushing her lavender hair behind her pointed ear. “Whispers in the Spires. News travels fast when it’s our job to record everything.”

There’s something strange about the way she averts her gaze, but I’m too tired to press. “Oh,” I murmur, frowning softly.

“So, you killed the creep from Aurora’s Veil then?” She smiles, brushing her hands nervously down her robes.

I huff a laugh. “Well, you know. After capturing me and Maelkar, and trying to force me into marriage, whilst also admitting he was working alongside the Six… I didn’t really have much choice.”

Lyvia’s eyes widen for a fraction before she claps her hands suddenly. “Wow. Well, I can’t stay long. I have so much work waiting for me, but I needed to see you. I’ll come back soon, I promise.”

“Lyv—”

But she’s already at the door, slipping out with a hurried smile before I can stop her. The silence she leaves behind feels colder than the mountain wind. And something about the way she reacted has my nerves on edge. But I can’t focus on anything other than the need to scrub myself clean from all of the blood sticking to my flesh.

The hot water scalds my skin, and still, I can’t get warm. I scrub and scrub, but Kaelith’s blood, Selunea’s blood—violet and cerulean—clings to my thoughts, still feeling like it’s crusted onto my skin even as it washes off my body, and down the drain.

My hands shake too. Not from fear, not from guilt, but from the absence of both. Shouldn’t I feel worse than this? Shouldn’t killing him be breaking something inside of me? Shouldn’t the image of his head on the spike of his throne haunt me and make me feel sick? But all I feel is… relief. And that realisation terrifies me more than anything.

I brace my hands against the onyx stone of the shower wall, water pounding down my back. You should feel more. You should feel something. You should feel real, human emotions. But instead, there’s a quiet numbness settling beneath my ribs. A growing emptiness. A hollow kind of ache. Like the sunshine part of me, the soft, glowing piece Korithax loved, is flickering. Like it’s ready to go out entirely.