Page 84 of She Who Holds My Wrath

“Your Majesty,” he says icily. “If this is a trick, I swear to every god themselves⁠—”

“It’s not a trick,” another voice cuts through the darkness.

Aran. He appears by my side so suddenly I barely register it, but when I turn to face him, my breath catches. His face is pale, eyes red-rimmed, like he hasn’t stopped crying. Behind him, the goddesses stand—Sariya and Elyistria—their presence steady but heavy, like they’re bracing for something. Even Lucifer is there, but the usual smirk that never leaves his face is gone.

Aran looks at me and my heart aches. He looks distraught. “It’s him,” he says quietly. “Velentha did it. She brought him back.”

Velentha. The way he says her name has my stomach bottoming out. It’s as if… “No,” I say, taking a stumbling step back, my head shaking frantically. “No, you’re all lying. She wouldn’t… she couldn’t.”

“She did,” Aran replies, his voice breaking. completely “She went to the Temple of Echoing Souls, put his body there, and gave her life to draw him back, didn’t she?” he says to Korithax.

My heart stops. Actually stops. The world narrows, sound dropping out, everything going distant and hollow. His words both make sense and don’t. How could she? Why would she?

Korithax nods, handing him a crumpled piece of parchment. “She left this for you.”

Aran takes it with shaking hands, his fingers trembling so badly the paper crinkles loudly in the silence. His eyes scan the words, and I watch as his expression crumples, grief cracking straight through any control he had left. Tears fall freely, slipping down his cheeks, his breath hitching as he looks up at me.

His emerald eyes are filled with so much pain it makes everything inside me go cold. “He’s real, Daisy.”

The room tilts, and for a second, all I can see are fragments. Velentha’s tired smile by the leyline. Her promise of being too stubborn to die. Aran’s soft, secret happiness whenever he looked at her. Now she’s gone.

I swallow hard, my eyes burning. “That’s not fair,” I whisper, frantically shaking my head. “That’s not—she was supposed to have time. You were supposed to have time.”

“We didn’t,” Aran responds, sounding so detached and broken it splits me in two.

Korithax takes a tentative step closer, the moment making my power tense like it wants to recoil and lean in at the same time. “Daisy,” he says gently. “Feel for our bond.”

I clamp my jaw, speaking through gritted teeth. “No.”

“Please,” he murmurs. “If you still hate me after, I’ll walk away. But at least know who you’re hating.”

The fucking nerve of him. I want to scream, to throw something, to hit him, to hit someone. Instead, my eyes slam shut. And despite my inner conflict, I reach inwards, towards the place that’s felt almost hollow and painfully aching for months. The place where, once, his hellfire coiled with my own flame. After he died, that spot, turned into a dull, grey ache. A ghost of warmth.

Now… now it’s roaring. That screaming tug I felt moments ago wasn’t fake. Power’s pounding there, hot and wild, beating in time with a heartbeat that isn’t mine. It feels like someone took that void, split it open, and poured molten starlight into it. It hurts, it’s glorious, and it’s so, so familiar. And it’s tethered. A burning line that stretches from my chest across the space, straight to him. To that impossible darkness-wreathed creature standing a few feet away. Every time he breathes, the tether pulses.

Alive.

Alive.

Alive.

My eyes fly open. He’s closer than he was. Not touching distance, but almost. Close enough that I can see the faint, dark veins of shadow swirling lazily beneath his skin like ink in water. Close enough that I can see the fear in his eyes. Not fear of being dead. It’s fear of me.

“It’s you,” I breathe, knees buckling. I drop my sword arm uselessly to my side. “It’s really you.”

He moves. One moment, he’s several feet away. The next, he’s right in front of me, dropping to his knees so fast the stone cracks under the impact. He doesn’t touch me. His hands hover inches away, huge and shaking.

“Can I?” he asks quietly.

Something inside me unravels. “I hate you,” I sob, the words ripping out against my will. “You died. You left me. You promised you’d be always here and then you just—left.”

“I know,” he rasps. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Sorry?” My laugh breaks on a sob. “You fucking died.”

I don’t know why I’m saying these words. It’s not like he died on purpose. But I’m so angry. All the rage, pain and sadness… it’s all overwhelming me. And I can’t take my anger out on the people that deserve it, so it’s coming out at him. And I just can’t help the rage that’s pouring from me.

“I know,” he repeats, his voice so raw and broken. “I remember it. Every second. I remember your hands on me, your voice. Then… The Void.” A shiver runs through him. The shadows under his skin ripple angrily as if echoing the memory. “I tried to get back to you. I tried so hard, but I couldn’t. I was trapped. Until Velentha dragged me out. She gave me her life to do it.” His eyes squeeze shut. “I am so, so sorry, little flower.”