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That’s not for you to use anymore, says a voice, one that sounds like Blaise, but…different somehow.
That is a ridiculous notion. Of course it can be used.
It’s not for me to use anymore either. I’m giving it to my friends, Blaise’s voice says, though the parasite has no idea how the girl expects to give her desperation to her friends. Stupid girl.
The parasite scrambles around, assuring herself that the shame can’t have simply vanished. It has to be around here somewhere, and when she finds it, she will regain control.
Tell me, what’s the antidote for shame, Cindy?
The parasite scowls at the nickname that soils her beautiful name. Cinderella is what she wants to be called. A beautiful name for a beautiful form. It belongs to her. As does Blaise.
You don’t know, do you?
The parasite does not.
Perhaps that’s why, when Blaise reaches for it, the parasite is not quick enough.
Perhaps that’s why the parasite, much like its siblings before it, is too late to stop Blaise from absorbing her.
CHAPTER 107
EVANDER
“Come for me, all right?”
That was what Blaise mouthed to me just a moment before the inky shadows swarmed her face, and Blaise stepped into the light.
It only took that moment for me to realize that was all Blaise had ever wanted from me. Locked up in that wretched attic—for me to burst through the doors and come for her. Strapped to a dais in the dungeons of Mystral—for me to burst through the cell bars and come for her.
I didn’t think before I nodded yes. Didn’t need to.
Because when she opened the adamant box at her side, fear and determination engulfing her expression, I knew what she’d just released.
And in that moment, I decided I’d rip that parasite out of her myself if I had to.
And then Blaise had given herself over to it.
Or, at least, that’s what I thought she was doing.
But when Blaise falls from the balcony and hits the ground, she changes, and it isn’t into Cinderella or really anything I would have expected from the parasite.
There’s a flash, bold enough to stun even the wyvern’s attention. Something tugs at the back of my mind, reminding me that perhaps it would be best to slay the wyvern while it is distracted.
It takes effort, but I rip my eyes away from Blaise long enough to scale the length of the wyvern’s wing. It realizes what I’m trying to do, but not soon enough. As soon as it whips its head back toward me, I use the opportunity to trap it with a cluster of thorny vines and slash my sword through its neck.
There’s a great cry, one that pierces my ears and rumbles the entirety of the colonnade. And then the wyvern’s head falls, soaking the ground in dark ichor.
Not a moment later, the body of the wyvern slumps too, launching me into the air. My feet find solid ground, and I run for Blaise, my mind whirring with how in Alondria I plan to help her rid herself of the parasite.
But I’ll do it.
I will come for her.
I won’t fail Blaise again.
Won’t leave Blaise alone, locked up in a dark pantry, a dank attic, again.
I promised to come for her, and I’ll hold to that promise.
