Page 81 of She Who Holds My Wrath

I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my forehead to the cold tile. Breathing deeply, I try my best to feel something. But nothing comes. And that’s the only thing that truly scares me right now. This war, this never-ending fuck up of an existence, is turning me cold, and I don’t know what to do with that.

I stand like that for what feels like hours, before finally deciding to drag myself from the scalding spray, and sluggishly walk into the oversized dressing room. I dry off mechanically, pulling on soft clothes, and twisting my hair into a loose braid. I move through the actions like a ghost of myself. Like someone else is wearing my skin and doing everything for me.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I throw myself back with my arms splayed wide, letting out a long breath. Death. Death. Death. Death. War. War. War. War. My brain goes over every single thing that’s happened to me in the last seven months. How everything changed from October to now. It’s May. Time has come and gone and all that I have achieved is a cosmic scale fallout, death, powers I don’t want, and a sister I can’t connect to because part of me can’t let go of the betrayal she also put me through. And I know it wasn’t her fault; she was young and doing what she thought was best for her. For us. For everyone. But it doesn’t stop me from resenting her for it.

And even after all of this is over, if we win this war, then what? I’m left running a kingdom I didn’t ask for, with a crown I don’t want, and I’ll still be left mourning the people who died because of it all.

All for fucking power and control. It’s insanity.

I feel my fire roil beneath my flesh as my anger rises to the surface again. And despite the exhaustion, the numbness, the painful ache that never goes away, I have to finish this. Because they’ve taken so much… too much. I won’t rest until every one of their heads joins Kaelith’s. If the sunshine in me is dying, then let it burn into something that can end them all.

Chapter 31

DAISY

The sound of steel rings through the indoor training arena.

We train in here more than the outdoor ring now, because last week I nearly set a training soldier alight when Maelkar pissed me off. We’re the only ones that train in here, since the outdoor arena is larger and has more space for our soldiers to practice.

My arms tremble with effort as I parry another vicious strike. Sparks burst between our blades, skittering across the onyx floor like tiny, frantic stars. My lungs are burning, and sweat sticks to my tunic at the back. Every single muscle in my body throbs. I can feel the change in myself. The strength building where there used to be softness, the way my arms hold a little steadier than they did weeks ago, the way my legs don’t buckle quite as quickly under pressure. I had strength before, thanks to years of cheer that drilled discipline into my body, giving me balance, control, and endurance. But this? This is something else entirely.

Maelkar doesn’t train me gently. He doesn’t ease me into it or let me recover when I falter. He pushes me harder than I ever would’ve pushed myself. Harder than anyone ever has. And my body is responding.

“Again,” Maelkar drawls, his shadow-wreathed sword bearing down against mine. “You’re thinking too much, princess.”

“I’m literally not thinking at all,” I grit out, pushing back. “That’s half the damn problem.”

He grins, all bright-white teeth and wicked delight. “Good. Stop fighting it. Let the anger drive your body. Your enemies won’t politely wait while you work through your feelings.”

“I don’t have any feelings,” I snap, twisting and ducking beneath his swing. “They’ve all made sure of that.”

His shadows lash at my ankles, tripping me half a step. I stumble, catch myself, and swing up with a snarl. Our swords collide again, my wrists ringing from the reverberations.

It’s been weeks since Aurora’s Veil. Weeks since Kaelith’s head hit the stone flooring with a sickening wet thud. Weeks since Selunea’s blue blood slicked my hands. Weeks since I stood under scalding water unable to feel anything but relief.

Since then, my days have been reduced to a rhythm: wake, eat, train until my arms shake, attend war meetings, pretend I’m fine, and stare at the ceiling until sleep finally drags me under like a riptide. Sometimes, I need help from the alchemists, who gift me sleeping tonics to make my sleep dreamless. I always wake feeling groggy, but it beats tossing and turning and seeing nothing but death in my nightmares.

I’ve even visited Vesindiyah a few times. Although she doesn’t stay long, she often swoops down in the fields to give my hand a warm nudge. Enough to say, ‘I’m still with you.’ The farmers have spoken about how the beasts now fly in formation a lot, practicing swooping and diving, as though Vesindiyah is staying true to her promise to be by my side when the war truly comes.

It’s been eerily quiet since Kaelith’s kidnapping. No more attacks, no more spies. No reports from the other realms, either. I’ve had several meetings with the realm leaders who all say nothing seems suspicious, but they have all upped their protection, each realm inside an impenetrable protective ward. But we all know, when the Six strike, it won’t be at their doorstep. It’ll be here. They’ll attack me and my kingdom, because I’m the one that started all of this. Korithax always defied them, and so have I. And I just know they have taken that personally enough to bring the war here.

I’ve been working with Elyistria, Velentha, and Sariya, trying to find a way to transport my people away from here and to other realms. But since the leyline collapsed, it’s been almost impossible to open another one. I fear for them. The children especially. They don’t deserve to have that level of destruction brought to their doors. They’ve already seen too much after Cinderspine was attacked. But unless we manage to find a way to teleport them out, they’re trapped, all thanks to that fucking curse on the Celestial Gates. We’ve even discussed sending them to Earth, since Aran and Velentha can open portals there. But there’s nowhere hundreds of demons could go and not be noticed. No amount of reading in the Spires or grimoire-scouring is helping us find a way to get the people out, or to break the curse on The Gates.

“This is getting boring,” Maelkar sighs, lazily deflecting my next strike. “Hit me like you mean it, Daisy.”

My focus snaps back to the present. I’m sharper now. Faster. My footwork is less pathetic, and I can block Maelkar nine times out of ten times when he tries sweeping my legs out. I can even knock him back sometimes. But the more I improve with a blade, the more it feels like something inside of me is fraying.

“I am!” I snap.

“No,” he counters, shadows flaring around his boots as he circles me. “You’re hitting me like a pathetic queen worrying about consequences. Try hitting me like someone who’s already killed a gods’ favourite toy and stuck his head on a spike.”

“Former toy,” I growl, lunging at him.

He whistles low, deflecting my swipe. “There she is.”

Heat prickles beneath my skin. I think about Kaelith’s hands on me. His voice, his lies. The feel of his blood spraying warmth across my arms when my sword finally took his head. My grip tightens on the hilt, and when Maelkar lunges again, I move without thinking. My body simply reacts. I pivot, duck, then twist inside his guard, and slam the hilt of my sword into his ribs hard enough to make him grunt.

He staggers back a step, shadows shuddering ever so slightly. “Better,” he concedes, lifting his shirt to reveal his toned onyx body beneath. “You almost bruised me. I’m so proud.”