Page 172 of The Reaping Rose

“You want me to stay here while you potentially walk into danger?”

“It’s a trap.”

“Exactly,” I argue. “A trap Malachi set for me. He won’t reveal his hand until I’m in play; he’ll just try to kill you. You’re not going without me.”

Wilder glances at Greer, then Callum, like they might back him up. Both stand silent, arms crossed over their chests, not offering any assistance. He sighs, dropping his chin and dragging his hand through his hair.

“Malachi needs me,” I remind him. “And for whatever reason, he thinks I need him too, so I doubt he’ll kill me the moment we’re face-to-face. We need to see how this plays out.”

“That’s not reassuring.” Wilder’s eyes narrow.

I step to him, gripping the front of his leathers. “I’m going through the Arch first, whether you agree or not, King Riven. Try to stop me.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, no matter how much he tries to fight it. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Such a smart male.” I lift onto my toes, kissing him. “Now let’s go destroy the orb so we can get to work healing the realms.”

It sounds so simple for something that’s not. But here, surrounded by those who are walking into battle with complete faith in their king—in me—I refuse to let them sense doubt. We will win this. There’s no other option.

Wilder laces his hand through mine, glancing at Darvel, who stops beside him.

“Where do you want me?” Darvel asks.

“Wait with the warriors. We need someone commanding them when they come through.”

Darvel nods, pausing before he turns back to the awaiting army on the beach. He grips Atlas’s shoulder, and they meet gazes. Atlas’s jaw tightens as his father nods at him once before turning and walking away.

Wilder rips his sword from its sheath, and I reach for two daggers. We ready our weapons, standing at the Arch. It doesn’t swirl like the one to the Mortal Realm, which was a bath of shadows and darkness. This Arch shines with light akin to the vision Malachi painted over his palace. It sparkles. A stained-glass collage of colors.

Honeysuckle hangs in the air on the other side as Wilder and I step through.

Light swims in waves of yellow, red, and orange. It’s as if I’m moving through a sunset of colors. Until we reach the other end and the beautiful mirage fades like it did when Malachi stripped all light from the Ley Court. My feet find blood-soaked sand. Death saturates the air. Overhead, the stars are buried in artificial darkness. This is nothing like the awe of Starlight Reach.

Wilder looks over at me, but there are no words for the scene around us. Bodies, blood, burned trees lining the forest. The Well has not just reached Mal Remere; it has reaped all life from the ground.

Behind us, the sea churns. Angry waves rip against the sand.

The Arch moves as Callum, Greer, and Atlas step through next. Then, there’s a beat of silence. Nothing but the caw of birds in the distance.

“He’s not here,” I whisper, looking at the war-torn beach.

Glancing up, the full moon hangs heavy in the sky, closer in Lyrichia than in Vaelier. So large and bright, it bathes the sand in a cool glow.

“Could we have got it wrong?” My eyebrows pinch.

Wilder shakes his head. “He’ll be here. Something isn’t right. Do you feel it?”

Right as those words leave his lips, the hair on my arms stands on end. A whisper travels the wind, as if the breeze is a tongue that laps at the back of my legs. It tickles my spine with its breath and then exhales against my neck.

I grip my daggers harder. “What is that?”

“Elorie Vale, daughter of the stars.” Malachi’s whisper travels along the wind, although he’s nowhere in sight.

At first, I think I might be the only one to hear him until the rest of the group begins looking around, desperately trying to find where the voice is coming from.

“I was hoping you’d come alone, that it would be just us. We have so much to put back together. So much unfinished business. Oh well. I suppose if you wish to make this difficult, I can accommodate.”

The whisper fades as the waves lap harder. My spine prickles.