Текст книги "The wolf and the crown of blood"

Автор книги: Elizabeth May

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Текущая страница: 31 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

And I want it. I want to unravel him. To dig my fingers into all the dark and desperate places and put them back together again.

I want him to fucking own me.

My nails bite into Evander’s tensed thighs as I urge him deep. His grip turns brutal in my hair. His thrusts go erratic, control slipping. I take it all, welcome the slight burn, the fullness. I suck harder, swirling my tongue, scraping my teeth lightly along the sensitive skin. His breathing turns ragged.

A low growl tears from him. Then he’s coming in hot pulses against my tongue. I swallow everything he gives me, watching his head tip back, tendons straining. There’s nothing more beautiful than Evander lost to bliss and ecstasy. I soothe him through the aftershocks with little licks and sucks, and his grip on my hair gentles.

Then I sit back on my heels and raise my eyes to Alexios. I can only imagine what I must look like, naked and savage in my victory.

The god-king just smiles. “Well done, Princess.”

Evander slips into the water, his body loose and pliant now. Immediately, I gather him against me, cradling his head on my shoulder and burying my fingers in his feathers. A sigh shudders out of him as he rests his face in the crook of my neck, nuzzling close, scenting me. Then he shuts his eyes.

After a few moments, he relaxes and his breathing evens, then slows.

“Is he asleep?” I ask Alexios, stroking Evander’s tucked wings.

The god-king studies Evander. “Something like that. The magic works best when he’s not fighting it. He’ll be out for a bit.” Those red eyes cut to me. “Think you can handle him from here?”

I nod, fingers still mapping idle patterns along Evander’s back.

The god-king rises with a soft rustle of feathers and turns to go. But something has been bothering me since the Colosseum that I can’t ignore.

“They’re never going to accept me, are they?” I ask him. “The demis. No matter what I do or how hard I work, I’ll always be a Devaliant first.”

He pauses, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Truth?”

I hold my breath and nod.

“When they look at you, they see a descendant of the people who brutally murdered their families for power. Wounds that deep don’t heal pretty. Earning their respect will never be bloodless work, and even then, there are no guarantees.”

I swallow around the sudden tightness in my throat. A strange calm settles over me—I know what I have to do. “Then I’ll fight.”

His brows lift. “Fight?”

“I’ll waive my protection as Evander’s Chosen and fight in the arena like he did. Put me against any demi who challenges my place at his side. Let everyone see I can be a queen in more than just name.”

He studies me as if I’ve surprised him. “Then they get to use their full magic. If you have something to prove, don’t do it by half. Prepare to bleed for it.”

And die for it, he doesn’t say. But the message is clear, all the same.

I nod. “If I win, we’re done. You unbind Evander’s powers, forgive him for Hellevig, and give him his territory.”

“Deal. Tomorrow night, little sacrifice.”

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55

BRYONY

PRINCESS?” A MUFFLED voice filters through the door of Evander’s bedroom the next evening. “I’m here to dress you for the final test.”

Evander’s arm tightens around my waist, dragging me against his chest. “Tell Alexios to fuck off, Zephyr.”

I should answer, but I’m not ready to leave yet. After he woke up from the healing pool last night, I didn’t tell him about my deal with Alexios. But we returned to his room, and I’ve been saying wordless goodbyes with my body ever since. I fucked him slowly in the morning. Kissed him as if it was the first time—soft and searching, relearning the taste of him, the pressure of his lips.

For right now, this is mine. This quiet vulnerability. I want to freeze this moment.

This might be the last time.

My throat closes up. I focus on my Chosen: his heartbeat, his breath in my hair, the press of his fingers. I burn each sensation into memory just in case. Just in case I won’t have him in my arms again.

Just in case.

His teeth graze my pulse point, and I bite back a whimper.

A snort sounds from the other side of the door. “Wolf. Some of us have actual work to finish today.”

I twist in Evander’s hold until we face each other, my fingers trailing over his jaw. He kills me when he’s like this—rumpled and warm, his sharp edges gentled. Those amber eyes, still soft with sleep, are dark and hungry as he stares at my mouth.

The deal I made sits heavy on my chest. He’d lose his shit if he knew—probably chain me to this bed before letting me anywhere near that arena.

I can’t hide behind your wings forever. You can’t shield me from every hurt. That’s not who I am. It’s not who we are.

“You know I have to go,” I whisper.

His fingers flex on my hips, digging in deep enough to leave marks. “Bryony.” Then softer: “Don’t. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been behaving all morning.”

My throat closes. “You have to let me fall, remember?”

Please don’t hate me for what I’m about to do.

I force myself out of his hold. Shivering, I pull on the borrowed clothes a servant brought last night and crack open the door. The first thing I notice about the demigoddess on the other side is her eyes—one silver, one black. She’s got dark hair and a face that’s all sharp angles and cold beauty. A hint of a tattoo peeks out where her coat collar doesn’t quite cover her neck.

“This way,” the demigoddess says—Zephyr, Evander called her.

She leads me down the corridor and into a massive chamber with tall windows. Chandeliers and orbs of light drift aimlessly overhead, illuminating the multi-hued fabric spilled across the tables. Unfinished garments float by themselves, held up by nothing I can see. Dresses, armor, and training clothes are all suspended in the air in various stages of completion.

Two other demigoddesses are sprawled lazily against the workbenches. I recognize Arcadia—it’s impossible to miss those silver wings. The other one is petite with dark gray wings.

The dark-winged female’s face scrunches with disgust when she sees me. “She’s so small. Why is she so small? I thought the Wolf liked something he could sink his teeth into.”

Arcadia’s lip curls. “Hardly seems worth the trouble, does she, Vespera?”

“Maybe I should find out why he’s keeping her around. Ten seconds is all I’d need.”

“Five.” Arcadia rakes me with a glare. “If that.”

“Stop, both of you,” Zephyr cuts in. “The Wolf would rip you to shreds, and I’m not cleaning up the mess because you’re feeling territorial. Take your usual fuckery elsewhere.”

Arcadia’s stare doesn’t leave me. “I won’t challenge her, Z. But I’ll enjoy watching them tear her apart in the arena. You should stay for the show.”

“Out,” Zephyr snaps.

The two demigoddesses exchange looks but comply. The door closes behind them.

I let out a relieved breath. “Thanks,” I say to Zephyr.

“This is why I keep my real workshop away from this cesspit,” Zephyr mutters. “Strip. I need to fit you for armor properly this time.”

I peel off my clothes, trying not to fidget as she studies my body as if she’s able to calculate my measurements by sight alone. Maybe she actually is. “This time?”

“Yes, this time. But he was thorough.” She says the second part to herself. “Got your sizes to the quarter inch when he asked for your wardrobe, though he wouldn’t say who it was for.”

I gape at her. “Wait—you made my clothes?”

“The nightgown was one of my better pieces. Did he enjoy it?”

Heat crawls up my neck. Gods, the way he’d looked at me in the armory when that robe hit the floor… Then both of us grinding against each other like we were starving for it.

“I—ah—put it to good use,” I say, clearing my throat.

Her mouth twitches. “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

She settles onto a stool and extends her hands. Power fills the room as shadows twist from her palms and spill onto the floor in a wave of black tendrils. A pool forms, spreading around her feet and glittering with starlight.

A loom rises from the darkness with silver veins and old symbols pulsing along the frame. Zephyr caresses the instrument, and I watch as threads of light spill from her fingers, twisting into intricate knots and shapes in the center of the loom. My mouth falls open—she’s forming armor right in front of me.

The leather pieces float upward one by one. Shoulder guards engraved with markings, vambraces, chest plate, all perfectly sized for me. The set shimmers like she bottled the night sky and worked it into metal.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, reaching out. The leather is smooth and warm to the touch.

“It’s functional,” she corrects, collecting the bits of gauzy underthings that materialized along with the armor. “This is what you’ll wear beneath.”

The underwear is comfortable against my skin as I slide it on. Then comes the leather armor. Zephyr tightens the buckles and straps as if she’s done this a thousand times. There’s a brisk professionalism to her movements that sets me at ease.

“The underlying layer is imbued with defensive magics,” she explains as she works. “It will function as a second skin and distribute impact to shield you from injury. The main pieces are as light as I can make them while providing protection, but don’t let any of those demis land a direct hit. Even the best armor only goes so far.” One finger taps thoughtfully against her chin. “How much combat experience do you have?”

“Enough to know every bone in an arm makes a different sound when it snaps.”

“It won’t be enough,” she says simply.

I don’t think her words are meant to hurt—it’s only the truth. The sky is blue, water is wet, and I volunteered for a violent end.

She sighs. “Look, I know what you’re doing this for. And I get it, I do. But you’re human. Squishy. Breakable. This”—a rap of knuckles against the leather breastplate—“will reinforce your skeleton, but it won’t magically put you on par with a demi. There’s only so much I can do to keep you from getting splattered.” Her hands smooth over the armor, making minute adjustments. “Use your size to your advantage. You’re small. Dodge fast, and they’ll start taking each other out. Friendly fire’s killed more fighters than you’d think when the target is quick enough. They won’t play fair, and neither should you.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“I’m older than Alexios,” she says with a shrug. “I’ve seen some shit.”

My breath catches when she cinches the final strap. “Why help me at all?”

She gives me a small smile. “Because I’ve known the Wolf since he was a demi baby on his mother’s knee. He’s an idiot, a pain in my ass, and about as subtle as an avalanche. But this? He doesn’t do this. Doesn’t let anyone close enough to matter. But he Chose you. Claimed you.” Her expression sharpens. “So don’t fuck it up.”

*   *   *

The crowd’s roar crashes over me as I step into the arena.

Ancient runes in the sands flare and glow blue beneath my boots. Magic burns my lungs with each inhale, an electric thrum that skates across my skin. Torches flicker along the walls of the fighting pit, illuminating the obstacles in the dirt—pillars, boulders, seared rocks. Places I’ll need to take cover and rest if I’m going to survive this.

Shouts draw my attention to the hundreds of demis packing the tiered balconies and floating platforms. Wings of every color blur together—green, blue, red, gold, black. Some are shoving each other to get a better look, others are chanting loud enough to make my ears ring.

“FUCK HER UP! FUCK HER UP!”

“Charming,” I mutter.

Fine. They can scream until their throats bleed for all I care.

My attention moves to the raised platform where Alexios lounges on his black throne with his red and black wings spread. He’s got his chin propped in his hand, watching me intently. Does he want me to win or lose?

“FUCK HER UP!”

Alexios grins slowly, and my lip curls in a snarl. Right, it probably doesn’t matter to the sick bastard. It’s all entertainment to him. I can’t believe I let him watch me suck Evander off. Bastard.

The chants are so loud that I almost miss a male voice shouting my name.

Evander.

He’s at the arena’s edge, yanking against chains bolted into the pit’s thick stone wall. And he’s beyond furious. His lips move in what I’m pretty sure is every curse in at least a dozen dead languages. Now he knows about my bargain with Alexios. The price I’ll probably pay.

“When this is over,” he mouths, “I’ll kill you myself.”

My lips curve into a smile. When this is over.

I can’t hide behind your wings forever.

A metal screech echoes through the arena. The portcullis rises at the far end of the pit, revealing nine demis stepping into flickering torchlight. Skin bared, no armor in sight. To them, I’m no threat at all. Just one more fragile human to slaughter.

Good, Amara’s voice whispers through my memories. Let them underestimate you. Use that arrogance against them.

The demis fan out in a loose semicircle. A mix of males and females, all crackling with magic that warps the surrounding air. A female with electricity jumping between her fingers. A male with fire in his hands.

“Ten gold the human pisses herself before I even touch her.”

“Twenty says she’s begging for mercy inside a minute.”

I drop into a fighting stance—Amara’s drills beaten into me after all those brutal sessions. Muscles coiled and ready to move. Ready to kill.

Amara’s words hammer through me: Get dirty. Get mean. Kill them before they kill you.

Alexios lifts a hand. The crowd goes silent, the sudden absence of sound almost as deafening as the roar had been.

The demis attack.

The lightning demigoddess strikes first, electricity leaping from her splayed fingers. I hit the ground and roll. CRACK! The air at my back explodes, and the sharp stink of ozone burns my nose.

“BREAK THAT BITCH!” the crowd chants.

No time to think. I sense the second assault coming—the crushing pressure of gathering power that makes my ears pop. Instinct has me scrambling behind a large, red-winged warrior.

The blast hits him. The impact reverberates through my bones as his body goes flying. He crashes into the sand twenty yards away, wings crumpled and neck twisted.

One down. Eight to go.

“Thanks for that,” I call out.

“Lucky dodge, little girl,” the demigoddess snarls.

Another female hurls jagged spears of ice longer than my forearm. I throw myself to the side, but I’m not fast enough. Pain radiates through my shoulder, but Zephyr’s armor absorbs the blow.

I shake it off and keep moving.

Keep. Fucking. Moving.

I make my legs pump faster, ducking and weaving between their attacks. Lightning cracks inches from my face. I leap as the ground beneath me explodes—too close. The sand’s cratered with smoking holes, patches melted into glass by the lightning demi’s onslaught. Two more demis fall in the crossfire.

“MAKE HER BLEED!”

My lungs burn. My vision blurs, and my knives are slick in my hands, but stopping means dying. I don’t have the power to meet these demis head-on, so my only chance is to be quicker. Smarter.

Make the bastards kill each other.

Searing cold slams into my hip, and my entire left side goes numb. I stumble, barely managing to roll behind a partially melted pillar.

“Hiding already?” someone shouts. “Get out here, bitch!”

I use the moment of cover to gulp down air. My legs shake as I push myself to my feet.

Create openings. Make them react to you. Amara’s lessons blare in my head.

I glance around the column. Four are still standing, the rest were blasted to pieces by their own side’s attacks.

One male is shooting flames while another female’s hands glow with dark energy that makes shadows burst from the sand in inky vines. The ice demi is hanging back to wait for a clear shot. And the last bastard? He’s sucking in power—I can feel the bite of it against my skin. A massive surge between his upraised palms, glowing blue as pure force magic forms.

I have maybe three seconds before he unleashes it.

I’m moving before I know what the hell I’m doing—just sprinting straight at him, sand flying everywhere. His jaw drops, because what kind of idiot charges to her death? This idiot, apparently.

“What the—”

Right before he lets loose his power, I dive for the ground and slide between his legs. The force wave hurtles over my head…

And slams directly into the ice demi behind me.

Her shriek cuts off as the concussive blast literally turns her inside out.

Lurching upright, I plunge my blade into the force-wielder’s back and wrench it hard. Once, twice more, taking ruthless advantage of his distraction. He tries to shove me off, but I’ve got my second knife ready. I jam it under his chin and let his corpse fall.

Two left.

The remaining demis regroup, trading looks. Reassessing the threat level of one small human who’s managed to survive this long.

“END IT! END IT!”

I bare my teeth in a feral grin. The left side of my body is still partially numb from that previous attack, but I can’t stop. Not now.

The shadow controller strikes first this time. Inky vines explode from the sand to ensnare me, one wrapping around my ankle to yank my feet out from under me. The impact knocks the wind out of me.

More black vines snare my arms and legs, pinning me down.

The demi grins. “Let’s see how pretty you are when we’re done with you.”

The flame-wielder laughs, conjuring fire between his palms. “I say we make the Wolf watch his pet human burn.”

They’re getting cocky. Overconfident.

Use it.

Teeth gritted, I strain against the shadows, scrabbling desperately for another dagger. Darkness digs into my skin, tightening, tightening. There—my fingertips brush metal.

For a heartbeat, Evander is with me. His hand on mine, steadying. When you let the knife fly, it’s not about forcing it to hit the target. It’s about trusting that all that careful preparation and intimate knowledge will guide it.

The flame demi raises his hands, magic building to an inferno—

I throw.

The blade buries itself to the hilt in his neck. His eyes go wide with shock as the flame dies, and he falls to his knees in the sand, choking around the blade.

The shadow controller’s concentration wavers for a fraction of a second, and the dark tendrils loosen their grip. I wrench myself loose just as the last demi’s energy gathers in her hands.

“FINISH HER!”

She unleashes a wave of shadow. I dive behind the flame-wielder where he’s still scrabbling for my dagger lodged in his throat, using his body as a shield. Ice crystals form on my eyelashes. My breath comes out in white puffs.

But the fire demigod takes the brunt of the impact, flesh cracking under the onslaught of icy shadows.

Only the demigoddess is left now.

She’s gathering another blast—fuck that. I launch myself over the frozen corpse and drive my knife up and into her gut.

For a moment, our eyes lock. Her mouth opens and closes as blood spills over my hand.

“Should’ve worn armor,” I snarl as I twist the knife, yank it out, and plunge it right back in. And again, just to watch the light fade from her eyes.

When her corpse drops, I hunch over, breathing hard. Barely able to catch my breath without pain radiating through my ribs. The crowd’s angry roar barely penetrates the ringing in my ears.

I look up at Alexios on his dais.

“I won,” I shout up at him over the din. “I want Evander out of the cuffs. Now.”

He rises from his throne. Those red and black wings spread wide as he descends the steps to the arena floor. A hush falls over the crowd as they all watch their king step into the pit.

“You still have one final challenger,” he says, smiling slowly. “Me.”

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56

BRYONY

DID YOU REALLY think,” Alexios says, voice soft, “that I’d let you walk without testing you myself?”

Of course not. This was his plan all along, wasn’t it? I’d waived my protection in Scillari as the Wolf’s Chosen and agreed to face any challenger. Might as well have trussed myself up with a pretty bow and laid my head on the chopping block for him.

The crowd roars. Hundreds of voices howling for blood—my blood. They know I’m not walking away from a challenge with an Eternal. They’re going to watch me die, and they’re going to savor every second of it.

Evander hurls against his chains. Metal screeches. His wings spread wide, and power flares around him before the magic-suppressing shackles choke it down, again and again.

“Stop,” Alexios commands him. “You’re only hurting yourself.”

“Let her go.” Evander’s voice is ragged. “You agreed the trials had to be possible for a human to win.”

“I agreed my trials had to be possible to win. She asked for this one. Came up with it all on her own, in fact. I exploit loopholes, and your Chosen practically drew me a perfect map right to this moment.”

A calm settles over me as I catalog the damage from my previous skirmishes—the cuts and bruises, the exhaustion dragging at my limbs. Even if I could fight, it’s pointless against Alexios.

But I don’t care if I lose. I’m done kneeling. Done letting males with crowns carve me into shapes that suit them. When Idris gutted me on the Duehavn, that was the last time I’d ever die on my back.

So I raise my head and meet Alexios’ stare. “I accept.”

“Bryony, don’t—”

Evander’s shout is cut off with a flick of Alexios’ fingers. The god-king’s attention doesn’t waver from mine, and some dark and hungry emotion flickers in those crimson depths as he watches me.

“Then let’s go over a few lessons first.”

The air thickens. Pressure builds in my skull. With another casual movement of his fingers, power coils around my neck, squeezing until I gasp. Black spots dance in front of my eyes.

“Lesson one,” the god-king says. “Human bodies are fragile. The Wolf’s soulbond gives you his lifespan, but it doesn’t make you a god. You’re still breakable.”

Just before darkness can drag me under, he releases me, and I fall to my knees in the dirt, heaving air into my burning lungs. The reprieve lasts exactly three heartbeats.

Then his boot slams into my ribs.

Zephyr’s armor buckles beneath the impact. The pain eclipses every thought until I’m left with only animal instinct—curl into a ball, knees to chest, shrink down, make yourself small. Maybe then he’ll lose interest.

But he’s holding back. He could have pulverized my bones with that kick if he’d wanted. This is restraint for a creature like him.

He kneels beside me. “You know what I love about knives?” He trails the knife down my neck, shoving away bits of broken armor. “They’re intimate in a way powers can never be. Personal.” The steel bites into my skin. “Almost like foreplay. Wouldn’t you agree?”

I don’t react. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“To kill with steel, you have to get up close and dirty.” He begins to carve into me. I choke down a cry, blinking back bursts of light. “You understand that intimately, don’t you? It’s how you killed your uncle. How he tried to kill you. When you shove a blade into someone and watch the light leave their eyes, you learn something about them. And about yourself. Like you’re both peering into each other’s souls. The way a person bleeds shows you who they really are.” He drags the tip of the weapon lower, leaving a burning trail in its wake.

I’ll never forget this moment. This lesson. Even if I lived a thousand years, I’d remember the shape of this powerlessness.

“Fuck you,” I manage through gritted teeth.

He laughs. “Ah, there it is. There are the sweet words I used to hear through my Claim.” The blade sinks deeper. “I’ve been dying to make you pay for every time I heard them.”

Darkness dances at the edges of my vision, begging me to slip under. Some distant part of me hears Evander’s shout.

And still, the god-king carves his lessons into my skin. He doesn’t hit bone or pierce anything vital. Because this is a message, isn’t it? This is a reminder for the human who foolishly believed she could win a game with the God of Storms.

“Lesson two.” His voice stays conversational. “When a stupid little girl dreams of ruling beside a god, that fantasy comes with a price.”

Think of something else. Think of Evander’s hands on your skin, his wings wrapped around you, the heat of his mouth when he kisses you. The way he looks at you like you’re cherished.

As if Alexios senses my mind going elsewhere, he grips my hair hard. “You want to wear a crown in this realm and rule by an Eternal’s side for the rest of eternity?” There’s a stinging pain at my shoulder blade as he cuts away the decimated parts of the armor there. Making room for more marks. “Then you’ll have to bleed for it. Break for it. Beg for it.”

Agony whites out coherence, and I can’t I can’t I can’t—

“Look.” Alexios uses his grip on my hair to wrench my head around. “Look at him.” Evander thrashes, muscles straining as he tries to tear the bolts to his shackles out of the rock. “Look how desperate he is. How hard he’s fighting for his human. How far do you think he’ll go to keep you breathing? What piece of his soul will he trade?”

The blade stops and withdraws.

Then Alexios is hauling me up, dragging me across the sands to Evander.

“Heal her, Wolf,” he says, tossing me at my Chosen’s feet.

Alexios releases the shackles. The instant they fall away, Evander holds me against his chest. His power rushes into me in a wave of light and heat, seeking out every wound, stitching me together from the inside out.

His hands roam as he checks for any injury he might have missed. Erasing the evidence of Alexios’ brutality.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers against my hair. “You’re okay. I’m so sorry. I’m so—”

But before he can finish, the cuffs snap closed on Evander’s wrists again. Alexios’ power seizes me around my waist and reels me in until we’re pressed chest to chest.

“You sick fuck,” Evander snarls, lunging against the chains.

“Do you see now, Princess?” Alexios tips my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “This is what happens when a human bonds with a god. He’ll put you back together, and I’ll rip you apart. And we’ll do it over and over and over because he’d rather watch me shatter every bone in your body than lose you. Tell me something. Is that love?”

I look up at him. “You don’t know anything about love.”

His smile is cruel, mirthless. “Oh, I know all about sacrifices for love, Princess. More than you, I think.” He wraps his fingers around my wrist. “Lesson three. When gods play with mortals, we do it because we’re bored. Because we like the sounds you make when we hurt you.”

He wrenches my arm and snaps the bone. A scream slips out of me before I can stop it, my vision blurring as bile scalds my throat.

“There it is.” Satisfaction thrums through his voice. “Scream for me. Beg if you want to make it interesting.”

He shoves me away, and it’s only stubborn will that keeps me standing. I grit my teeth against the pain.

“This game only ends when I lose interest,” he continues, circling me slowly. “Or when you decide the Wolf isn’t worth it. How long would you last if we gave you the choice? If I broke you, and he fixed you, how many times do you think it would take before you begged him to end it? A hundred? A thousand?” He snags my chin between his fingers and whispers, “When every kiss comes with a fist, how long would your love last? Would you start to resent him and count all the ways he’s complicit in your suffering?”

Something snaps inside me—the last thread of restraint.

I draw my last dagger from its sheath at my hip with my uninjured hand, and I let him see every dark, howling thing inside me. Every ugliness and hidden hurt, the broken bits and pieces he carved his claim into. The monstrous parts that can shove aside the agony of my body to make room for cold purpose.

“Four hundred and sixteen,” I tell him.

His brow lifts in a silent question.

“That’s how many times an Oracle shoved a knife into my heart from ages five to twenty-one. How many times I spilled my blood on your altar, crossed into the Void, and told you to get fucked.”

I slash my dagger across his chest. The blade parts fabric and flesh, leaving a thin crimson seam behind. And he lets me, standing there without so much as blinking—as if I’m beneath his notice.

“No one taught me how to be brave,” I hiss, hacking at him again. Graceless. Brutal. “No one asked if I was okay. No one held my hand through the pain or told me to be strong. I did it because my people needed me to. I did it even as you used me up and threw me away like garbage.”

Slash. Slash. Stab.

My blade carves into his skin. I hurl all my strength and impotent fury against him like waves crashing against stone.

And he heals and heals and heals.

“You think I haven’t proven myself?” My voice echoes through the quiet arena. Hundreds of eyes are riveted on me. On us. “I proved it every single day I woke up in a world that wanted to butcher me on the altar. That saw me as someone to carve into.”

I force myself to keep going. If these are the last words I ever say, I’m going to make them count.

“I proved it by walking into your palace with my head high while everyone here waited for me to break. I went to Nyholm and played games with a fucking death god to be with Evander.” An exhale shudders out of me. “I can’t change what my ancestors did. I can’t bring back the people they butchered any more than you can resurrect everyone who died in the war.”

Alexios goes rigid. His face gives nothing away.

“But I’m done paying for the sins of a dead dynasty with my pain.” My eyes fall on Evander, this god I’ve learned to love more than anything. “I just want him. I love him. And that doesn’t change whether I’m breathing or a corpse on the pyre. So you can rip me apart or put me back together, but it won’t make a difference. He’s mine, and I’m his. That’s the only truth that matters.”

I let my dagger hit the sand. My chest heaves with each breath, but I won’t bend or kneel.

“So do your worst, you bastard.”

Alexios smiles, and the bottom drops out of my stomach. Then his hand closes around my throat.

“Then prove it. Give your life for his freedom.”

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