Page 190 of Prince of Darkness and Deceit

Still, conviction drags more magic out of me than I thought possible. I remind myself that my power is no weak thing. It is formidable. Just as formidable as the Fae. Just as formidable as this curse.

A spark reignites in my chest, and my mind flashes back to the cell—to the manacles. To General Ironheart’s sword.

A reckless thought follows close behind. Unease rises a moment later. This is a risk. A dangerous one. But maybe…maybe it’s the only way.

I take a deep breath and pull my consciousness back to reality. My eyelids part, and the dim world swims into focus. Draven crouches opposite me, hands hovering helplessly over Darius’s body. His face is stricken, desperate.

“Draven,” I rasp.

His head jerks up. His nostrils flare.

“I need an astlerium weapon,” I say, voice strained.

He stares at me. Too long. Too still.

My body trembles with exhaustion, but my magic continues pouring into Darius like a river that refuses to run dry.

Before I can repeat myself, silver gleams.

A dagger.

My gaze lifts and locks with Rian’s. Silver flecks swim faintly in the smoke of his eyes. He flips the weapon so his hands wrap around the blade, then he extends his arm.

I don’t thank him. I can’t. Lingering fear makes it hard enough just to look at him.

Our fingers brush when I take the hilt of the dagger. My stomach clenches. His hand flexes as I pull away. I pretend not to notice.

White light continues to flicker over Darius’s torso, patterned like a fisherman’s net, but the majority of my power focuses under my hand, flowing into that solid mass behind his sternum.

On the other side of the cot, Draven continues to stare, but he remains silent. So does everyone behind me.

My heart thrums wildly. I know what I must do, but I pray to the Gods to give me the physical and mental strength to do it.

I summon every ounce of power to rise to the surface. Any remnant that my body had been reserving, I call it forward.

Despite the complicated past between my people and the Fae, no soul deserves to suffer at the hands of the vile darkness ravaging Darius’s soul.

The God Judan will judge Darius when it is his time to arrive at Velmira’s doorstep. But it will not be today.

I lift the dagger, clutching the hilt with both hands. The light veers from me into the blade, flooding the gleaming surface until it glows like a shard broken off the sun itself.

“Please let this work,” I murmur.

Then I drive the dagger down.

“NO!” Draven’s voice tears the air as I plunge the astlerium blade into Darius’s chest.

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Horror rips through me as fierce and consuming as the fire that destroyed all those homes just days ago.

For one horrible heartbeat, nothing happens. The dagger’s hilt, slick and real, protrudes from Darius’s chest.

What if I was wrong? What if the Fae-weakening metal combined with my light magic wasn’t the solution to that indestructible mass embedded next to Darius’s heart?

What if I just killed him? What if I just killed the Shadow Prince?

The anxiety I’d held at bay while focusing my magic erupts violently, constricting my lungs, making it next to impossible to breathe.