Page 145 of The Silversmith

“No!” roared the man I loved and hated, again… and again… and again. Each agonized shout was a curved blade scraping out remnants of an open wound he had put there. Veins threatened to burst through his skin, the flex of his arms was deadly, his muscles tearing, as he vainly fought against shadows to get to me.

But I realized there was nothing—truly nothing—he could do against Molochai.

Which meant I was going to die.

I’d known this, though. I had understood the risk, offering myself up. Me for his wife. That was the deal I’d accepted.

“Fight him, Ella!”

Out of an instinctual compulsion to obey him, I began to reach for the temple, for my wheel of power, but then… I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

The Queen of Nyrida had plenty to live for—a noble betrothed, devoted friends, thousands of people to worship at her feet, a war destined to be won in glorious victory. The power to heal, move the land, the oceans, the fire simmering in the earth’s core and the very air she breathed. But when I tried to summon something—anything—to save myself, nothing came.

I wasn’t sure if any of those things were mine. Not really. Not when I couldn’t even make sense of who I was.

I stared at the cold ground, empty and lost. Eyes wet with tears. Wondering if the never-ending silence to level all these voices might be a relief. I prayed for calm, for Nyxar, for any of the gods to end it. I’d rather be dead than live without knowing myself.

But Gavin called my name, and something stirred in my chest—a distant memory, not my own. An invisible string stretched out of me and latched onto him, refusing to be severed. It was… familiar, as if, even before he saved me from the wolf in that barn, it had lived within me, reaching for him. Only just now had I let it break, cleaved in two by my doubts.

“Eyes on me!” Gavin demanded.

The invisible string grew taut, doubly strong. It heard his command. The connection dutifully obeyed, and so did I.

“Good girl, that’s my girl.” The violent trembles and suffocating tears wracked my body, but Gavin held his gaze. “I love you!” He gritted his teeth through the fractured despair in his voice and became a stone pillar of strength. “And I’m going to follow you!”

The sharp tip of Molochai’s silver blade punctured my stomach. Whimpering screams tore through me, and he shouted over my agony, over his own voice breaking.

“I swear on every star, every sky, every soul that has passed through this world, I will follow you! I will find you! Whatever it takes.”

Those three words were all it took. And I was suddenly somewhere else.

“Whatever it takes.”

It was odd, considering he’d said those three words before, and though they had made an imprint on my heart, they had never taken me… elsewhere.

This time, I watched fragments of a foreign life reel across my memory, unfamiliar images taunting me with things that never were and never could be mine. Gavin with his hair shorter, face clean-shaven, younger, unbearably handsome, carefree, scarless, and full of hope. A small, cozy loft above a blacksmith’s shop. A secluded field showered in sweet, summer rain. A small gray cat rubbing against my ankle. A silver ring on my finger. A metal blue jay on a string.

A promise to never let me carry the weight of the world alone.

The images disappeared as quickly as they’d come, torn from me while Molochai’s jagged blade sliced into my chest. Such terrible pain was so bright I couldn’t see or taste or hear.

I screamed until there was no sound left. At some point, the shock took over. I briefly tasted and felt the coppery warmth in my mouth, but my senses began to dull shortly after.

My vision blurred. The scene… fading… in and… out… and… Molochai’s voice… a sinister whisper.

“Your heart can’t heal if it’s gone.”

He reached into my chest, and he tore out my heart.

My body was thrust through the air, swiftly and violently. I was launched backwards, up, away from them both.

And all I could hear—somehow, even after my heart left my body—was Gavin’s agonized roar, fading in front of me, above me, then completely away. From another world.

Until my gutted body was plastered on the hard rock below.

***

Shattering was not an agony I’d expected to know. Not shattered in a figurative sense. Not soul-shattered, or with a shattered heart, but physically splintered from head to toe, composed of bloody fragments. A broken shell.