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“A final gift to my favored child,” he said.

Elarian did not take it immediately. Her gaze lingered on it, transfixed by the ruby. She swore she had seen such a thing before, as if once it had belonged to her.

“This is a strange gift,” she said at last.

“Yes,” Reshva agreed calmly, “it is. But this is a strange mission. To release a Blade while their heart still beats…to hear the Knight-Saint speak again after decades of silence…” His gaze lingered on Elarian’s pale crimson eyes. “You stand at a great junction, Elarian. The only question is, what will you do with the freedom granted to you?”

Elarian swallowed at Reshva’s words.

Because as much as she told herself otherwise, she was fucking terrified of having freedom.

For so long, her life was a rigid set of rules, missions that always ended with black blood on her silver—except for one. Indeed, she even convinced herself that Lucan only lived because his death would mean she had lost her purpose.

The idea of freedom thrilled her.

It felt like falling.

And it would surely end her.

“I will end this once and for all, Reshva,” she ground out. “Lucan and the Bloodlord in the north.”

Elarian closed her fingers around the dagger-shaped earring. The metal pressed into her palm, slightly warm to the touch. Raising it to her right earlobe, she easily inserted the post and fastened the backing with a satisfying click.

“It suits you well, my sweet.” Reshva gently brushed his fingers over her cheek; a rare affection she had never quite come to understand.

“I will bring you his head, Reshva.” I will.

“I know. You are still my Blade.”

With that, Reshva stepped back. Behind them, Estarin’s Lover began to stir again through the leaves of silver and green, indifferent to the quiet goodbye happening below his lover’s arms. Urged on by the returning winds, Elarian turned away from the closest thing to family she’d had and slowly retreated from the Grove of a Thousand Fallen Stars.

Never once did she look back. Instead, she kept her eyes trained to the northeast and the path that would take her to the Evermist.

Somewhere beyond the thick mists and ground littered with ash and bone dust, Lucan Valmere waited in the shadows.

five

Inevitable Endings

The great hall had been dressed for a celebration unlike anything it had seen in recent years.

Thralls had worked tirelessly during the day until their fingers bled and even whips could not rouse them from the floor. They hung candles from the tall rafters and draped lush velvets and lace over the arched windows. Every gilt surface had been polished, then polished again until the room glowed like the rising sun.

Gold-leafed braziers burned low along the vaulted walls, smoke curling upward in slow, lazy spirals. Courtiers gossiped in small clusters, their measured laughter threading through the soft melody of a harp. The scent of spiced bloodwine clung to the air—thick and sweet beneath the sharper undertone of iron.

Fresh blood—anything less would never do for the Bloodlord Aurelion.

At the far end of the great hall, the dais had been raised higher than usual. A black throne dominated the marble steps, rivulets of gold streaking across its glossy surface like lightning. Large, clawed feet with thick talons held it aloft while a rising sun with flaming arms decorated the backrest. Next to it sat Lucan’s throne—it looked as if fit for a child by comparison.

Lucan entered the room without an announcement. Senna hurried in behind him, face slightly flushed and eyes guarded.

The conversation faltered for a breath then resumed, but it was enough for Lucan. He felt it immediately—the shift in their attention, the way their eyes all drifted to the floor, bending away from him as if his rot would infect them where they stood.

When the Bloodlord holds court, the Blooded Prince collects another lifeless lover.

It was a saying he had first heard centuries ago, whispered by a courtesan who thought she was being clever. She had not survived the week after. As much as he wished to deny it, he had rarely been able to hold back the need to carve his pain into another.

Lucan growled softly but kept walking.