Page 168
Raven and I step back, watching as the Eagle slides to the ground, his gasping breaths faint against the growing hush of the hall.
Blood leaks from the puncture wounds in his torso as I crouch, meeting his fading eyes as I press the dagger to his throat. “Die knowing that your own turned on you. You are powerless. And you will never be anything more than this.”
I drag the blade along his neck, wincing as more of his blood paints my face. The weapon slips from my fingers, clattering against the stone with a sharp echo.
A quick glance tells me Cynna and Kato have finished with the guards. I turn to thank Raven, my breathing still uneven from the fight, but the words catch in my throat. He’s staring down at his hand, his expression one of resignation as an ominous red light flares to life. The glow pulses, staining his features crimson. And then, it’s gone, leaving a blistered mark in the center of his palm.
“Raven—”
“Don’t, Nyssa.” Raven clenches his fist and clears his throat.
My gaze slides past him, drifting over the bloodstained marble, until it lands on my prince rushing through the ruin.
“Kal.” I close the final distance and throw my arms around him.
“Poison,” he mutters, the name pulling a sob from my throat.
“Kal. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He crushes me to his chest, and all I can do is hold him tighter.
Chapter 54
Aella
The four winged men continue to loom over me. Impossibly tall and unwavering, even as the ground trembles beneath the storm above. The whirlwind howls, its spiraling arms twisting skyward, but their presence seems to be carved from its wrath. One with it.
My vision swims as I stare up, disjointed flashes of their faces imprinting themselves in my mind. One of them steps closer, his voice low and resonant, cutting through the chaos with precise, unnerving clarity.
“You must release it.”
That voice—I know that voice.
Pull back, Daughter.
My grip on the storm falters, trembling in its vise, as though his words alone have found the weakness in my resolve.
But then the sky groans again and fractures the moment. My gaze snaps past the winged men, into the churning tempest above. Through the clouds, more luminous cracks continue to appear, spreading across the sky and breaking apart like glass under too much pressure.
A line of the prophecy unfolds in my mind, unbidden and unstoppable.
The realm will shatter, and she will rise…
“Oh, gods,” I whisper, the words barely audible even to my own ears as they’re ripped away and swept up in the wind’s fury.
I grit my teeth and pull hard on my theïkós, summoning every sliver of control I can grasp. But the winds strike back, more feral now, more ravenous. As if it isn’t simply a storm anymore, but something with a will of its own, pulling at the threads of power I once thought belonged to me. It tears at my mind, ripping apart the illusion of control as easily as the lightning shreds the dark.
The pressure on my wing vanishes as the man steps off with a grim sort of gentleness. Drawing on some reserve I didn’t know I had, I stagger to my feet, every muscle in my body taut with the effort of not collapsing. Pain lances across my back, raw and blossoming, as I find my balance.
“Aella!”
Lyxander is there, suddenly and unmistakably at my side, the steel in his sword catching fractured light from the sky. He stands ready, as though daring the men to take one more step toward me. But they, too, appear distracted, strain etched into their features as their faces turn toward the frenzied winds.
I take a shuddering breath and hold it, redoubling my efforts.
Slowly, unforgivingly, the storm begins to falter. The winds slow, thrumming rather than howling, the feral edge nowhere near gone but retreating to allow pockets of soundless tension to press into the space it leaves. Sand falls in delicate streams against the muted quiet.
And then, shards of something begin to rain from the sky.
