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“It was inevitable,” she hissed, fingers digging into the ground. “The tithe to pay for taking the crown. It always was.”
The murder of Haldor had broken Frila. She was not made for the burden of death. Only I was.
“Gildir will see that your human dies just as he has with all the others.”
I should have left her at that moment, but the hunger that cramped my soul was too powerful to ignore.There was nothing I had left to say to Frila. Words would not relieve my anger. Only death had that power.
I reached for Frila. Determination filled her eyes as my fingers closed in on the skin of her jaw. My shadows flared against her life-light, serpents thirsting for its energy. Willingly, she reached out her dirt-covered hands and gripped the sodden shirt at my chest. It was as though she longed for the release I could gift her.As soon as my touch graced her face, I devoured her. The rush of her life had me crying out into the night. The feeling was euphoric. I gripped her jaw tighter, leaving bruises across her cold skin as I drained the life from her.
I let go long after Frila died. Her skin rotted, melting from bones as muscles blackened and turned to ash.She crumbled beneath my hand.
Light broke through the thick clouds as they dissipated. At the back of my mind, I was aware of the many servants who watched on. Ana called out my name for aid as the fire still raged on.
My focus no longer belonged to them.
Shadows gathered around me, blocking out the world entirely. The silence I called for was welcome. It did well to drown out the turmoil that warred through my bones and blood. Yet there was only a single name clear enough to cut through the booming in my mind and the agony that clawed through my soul.
One name.
My mate.
Arlo.
30
Dread speared down my spine. It carved its way across my skin and flayed me in two.
Faenir.
Gildir seemed relaxed considering the chaos of the storm and the fire it caused, disinterest smoothing every line of worry that I expected to pinch his face. Everything about his laid-back demeanour made a shiver of alarm spread across my arms.
Myrinn stood by my side, silent as a guard of stone. I glanced sideways at her to see if she too sensed something amiss.She was looking wide-eyed at me, but not from surprise or horror… from sorrow.
“Dare I ask what plan you are referring to?” I glared towards Gildir.
He smiled in return. As he did so the four scratch marks across his jaw flexed as though he was a peacock, and the marks were his feathers.
“Well,” he said, voice light and full of amusement. “The one in which we separate you from your oh-so-deadly-mate for a chance to discuss matters.”
“The storm…” My tone practically glowed with accusation that I did not need to finish my sentence.
“I am surprised it took you this long to work it out. Was it not obvious that the weather turned alongside our arrival? Frila always loved a show and this one has been spectacular.” He raised his glass as though in cheers, then took a long swig with pride.
“Myrinn,” I said, unable to take my eyes off the elf as the truth settled upon me. “You need to help Faenir.”
“Faenir is not in danger,” her reply was cold.
“That is right,” Gildir added. “Frila simply needed to remove you from one another long enough for the necessary to occur.”
It no longer mattered what Gildir said as I looked upon my friend with horrified confusion. She could hardly hold my gaze, constantly looking down to the hands that she had clasped before her.There was no ignoring the way those hands shook.
“You knew about this?”
Myrinn swallowed hard. “It was never how I wished for this to end.”
“To end?” I choked on my words as my mind raced to piece together this puzzle. Myrinn’s betrayal stung. A dull ache echoed throughout my chest, and I gripped at it, unsure if the sickness caused it or the revelation.
“I am sorry.” Myrinn’s reply was short. I stood frozen to the spot as she turned her back on me and paced to the room’s edge.
