Page 179 of The Reaping Rose

I charge a group of ravagers, who have three of my men cornered. We take them down from all sides, and the surge has my fingers sparking. But when I tunnel into the darkness in the threads, there is nothing but the faint song of the orb hiding in the trees, calling out for me.

Or am I calling to it?

The connection is taut to the point where I can’t deny its existence. The closer we are, the more it tampers with my magic.

Lochlan’s army joins Darvel’s at the beach, holding the line for now, while I make my way to Atlas. The firelit blade in his hands sputters.

“Something’s affecting my magic.” He grunts, shoving the blade into the claw as it strikes.

Its razor-sharp teeth barely miss the top of Atlas’s head.

“It’s the orb. Whatever it’s doing to the magic in the realm is affecting us all,” I say. “Malachi must be drawing closer. He’s making it more difficult to wield.”

Greer looks at her palm, and even if Callum says nothing, the sweat beading at his temples tells me he’s feeling the effects too.

“What if we don’t call on this realm, then…” Elorie sheathes her daggers, holding her hands out in front of her.

Her silver eyes meet the overcast sky. The moon is half hidden in clouds, but at her glance, they begin to part. She wiggles her fingers, and through the threads, her thoughts wander.

They search.

Whispers tickle the back of my mind as she travels deeper into the fates.

Glowing sparks of light tickle the tips of her fingers. They spread up her palm, flushing them with white light, brighter than the palemor’s scales.

“That’s it,” I encourage her, stepping close and offering my hand.

My magic may be drained to the final flecks, but through our soul bind, she can reach the magic of my realm. She can amplify what we harness together. Our fingers lace, and my chest tugs at the hanging heart rune. A glowing thread connects us, weaving us together.

“Can you handle this?” Her silver gaze meets mine.

There was a time when she could barely read my thoughts. Now she’s wandering the pit of my darkness, wading in the dying aether, floundering inside me.

“Don’t worry about me,” I assure her. “Do your worst, Starfire.”

Elorie barrels down, tunneling into herself and pulling me with her. She drives so deep, so fast, my vision spots. Aether wielders are thought to be among the strongest in the realms, but as Elorie wrangles her celestial magic, it’s as endless as the stars.

Her cheeks light. Those three freckles glowing.

And I stare in awe of my mate. Of her power and her strength. Of her beating heart, stretching farther than this beach or this realm. She doesn’t stand here and fight only for Alyssium or Lyrichia or for me and my crown. She stands here for all.

Elorie’s fingers clasp around mine as she reaches for the sky, glowing with the light streaming from her. The moon pales against the obsidian night, and the eyes of the gods might turn to face her as she becomes a beacon of starlight.

Her fingers stretch, and then, with a wave so blinding everyone turns their head, she holds her arms outward, sending the magic of the stars with it.

Ravagers burst into nothing. They shriek and curl in on themselves before turning to dust. The palemor screams, rearing its head back, and it’s the opening Atlas has been looking for. With a firelit blade, he drives true through the scales and pierces the palemor’s heart.

Throbbing waves of light continue to flood the beach. Each one pushes me back a step. The army fights through the blasts, some dropping to their knees. Elorie’s skin is pearl-white and glowing; her feathery wings stretch wide behind her.

A single cut splits at her hairline, moving like a silver river toward her eyebrow.

“Elorie.” I reach for her, cupping her cheeks.

Starlight sears my palms, but I don’t let go.

“Listen to me, Elorie,” I shout through the thread. “Come back. You’re Cleaving. Hold on. You need to stop.”

Another cut fractures her palm. It rips the path from her thumb to her finger. But no blood comes out. It’s not a wound of the body; it’s the soul.