Page 181 of The Reaping Rose

Lochlan’s jaw tightens—almost imperceptible from this far away. His knuckles whiten with his grip on his scythe. Around him, a few of his army have slipped back through the Gate, while Darvel’s army carries the mortally wounded through the Arch.

Malachi doesn’t bother stopping them, though I have no doubt he could with the orb. This display with the palemor was simply a game to break our spirits before facing us, and I hate that it worked.

Malachi returns his attention to me. Nothing but malice gleams in his eyes. “Your magic is truly endless, Elorie. Something of this realm, and also not. If only you could contain that which you wield. I can help you do that.”

He tilts the orb, and the color shifts from blue to white.

I grit my teeth. “No one being should wield that kind of power.”

“Maybe not. But a god⁠—”

Wilder chuckles, shifting Malachi’s focus. His smile falls as his dark eyes slide in Wilder’s direction.

With the full air of his confidence, Wilder smiles, raking his hair back. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt what I’m sure was about to be a thrilling speech?”

Malachi’s eyes narrow as Wilder shifts—his gaze tracking his movements.

“You’re still not over the whole god thing?” Wilder asks with a chuckle. “You’ll have to excuse me if I just don’t get it. King is tricky enough. But god… It seems like a lot of work if you think about it. You can barely hold together the realm you have, so what happens when you try and create a new one?”

Malachi steps forward, heat throbbing from the orb. But like he hits his own wall, he pulls back, holding the orb in one hand and pinching the bridge of his nose with the other.

“They do not,” Malachi mumbles, but I sense he’s speaking to something in his mind, as even Hazel glances at him with confusion. “I know you seek it, but they don’t—no, they don’t deserve it. I can’t. I won’t.”

When he flinches, Hazel shifts. The first movement she’s made since arriving on the beach. Her shadows churn at her fingertips. Liquid darkness climbs her veins. She stands in a black dress not fit for battle, and while the wind whispers around us, her hair does not move.

“No. It will open. I said—” Malachi’s teeth clench, a pulse of magic rolling off him.

My stomach sours.

Hazel’s eyes dart to her brother, no color in her alabaster cheeks as she looks him over. The slightest wrinkle appears on her forehead.

Is she worried?

He’s rambling like he’s lost his mind. There is no getting to him. No getting past what the orb has put in place.

Malachi drops his hands, and when his fingers leave the orb, there’s a momentary relief. I hadn’t even realized how much static hung in the air. Prickled my lungs with every breath. With his hands at his sides, everything quiets.

“Why did you want us here?” I take a step toward Malachi, and Wilder eyes me, but I don’t meet his stare.

Malachi’s dark eyes lift, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Want is an interesting word. What is it you want, Elorie Vale?”

“To heal what is broken.”

His smile grows, as if I’ve stepped into a trap, and he’s pleased about it. “So much is broken. You would not want to heal it if you truly understood that which has been severed.”

“You’re wrong.” My hands clench.

Malachi takes a step toward me; his hands halt at his sides. “You don’t understand what you want. The price that comes with it.”

“But you do?”

“I understand more than you could ever grasp.”

“So what do you want, then?” I ask.

Malachi shakes his head once. “That is the difference between us. I do not want at all. Not anymore. I already have that which I want. That which I need. Need… now that’s an interesting word. If the fates have already woven our ends, do we truly need anything at all?”

“Is this your grand plan?” Wilder hitches an eyebrow. “Lure us out here and force us to listen to you lecture about the fates and the gods.”