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He scoffs. A brutal noise, as grating to my ears as to my spirit.
The cloak shivers around him, almost vibrating.
Shaking.
With laughter.
I grit my teeth, anger singing through me, a welcome, bolstering accompaniment to my resolve.
Even the Fires themselves don’t believe in me.
“You certainly do need protection, Dove. If not directly from me, then from the host at large. You’re in the most dangerous part of your awakening.”
He pauses, and I already know he’s about to change tactics.
Commanding me didn’t work, so he’ll make an attempt at seeing the other side of the argument.
He won’t truly empathize.
He won’t put himself in my position.
I’ve seen him do it countless times with countless political opponents. I believe that skill alone earned him his newest title. High Commander of Legions. All the hosts now formally recognize him as their superior.
Because Malachi Umbra is fantastic atlookinglike he’s considered every angle, while in truth, he always and only pursues his own agenda.
He falls into his perfect, dimpled smile. Even his cloak of fire stops flickering, smoothing to steady indigo flames. “But for argument’s sake, let’s assume the mortal realmisn’tbursting with creatures who want nothing more than to siphon every bit of your potential power for their own selfish needs. Let’s also pretend that with most of your power still dormant, youaren’tsupremely susceptible to demonic influence.”
He pauses again, giving dramatic weight to his contrivance.
“Dove, youstilldo not have the skills to survive the mortal plane.”
My pulse speeds as heat flushes through me.
I don’t act. I say nothing, allowing my fury to lighten the weight of Malachi’s impending words.
“Not with your—affliction.”
The word makes my chest burn, and I clamp down on my tongue, biting until it hurts.
All to keep saidafflictionin check.
“You simply cannot blend in with mortals.”
My father’s brow softens, his shoulders lower, and the cloak lightens back to bright cobalt. “It’s best to leave the boy there. He’s made his mess, Dove. Let him languish in it. You must end it now before the Rites of Consummation. It will ache less, dear daughter. This I vow.”
Blood fills my mouth as I bite back the words I want to yell at him. Scream at him. How could he suggest such a cruelty?
But as always, pain only holds the affliction at bay momentarily.
It will always break free.
And this time, I don’t care enough to keep fighting it.
“Just because you’re miserable and alone doesn’t mean I should be, too. Losing your soul-bond with Mother?—”
He smacks the words off my tongue, hitting me so hard a spray of blood hits the floor with a sickening plop.
Pain radiates through my face, and I stare down at the teardrop-shaped splatters, gathering my will.
