Chapter 33

CHAPTER 33

Thalia

I’ve never felt more helpless in my life as I watch Ferelith set up for a ritual. I know it will involve her bleeding me dry, and supposedly, it will take all my powers. I assume that includes the shadow magic Amell bestowed upon me, but honestly, I don’t think it’s there anymore. My blood is red again, and I feel absolutely no power. Not even the book calls to me.

I try to stand and get almost upright, but my knees wobble, and I collapse back to the stone floor. The magical beating, along with the control I unwittingly gave Ferelith when I offered my blood for Archer’s life, has me utterly sapped.

Ferelith ignores me as she arranges items on a table. A stone bowl, a knife, a black jar. No doubt the bowl is to collect my blood, but no telling what the contents of the jar are for. I learned from Heph, and to some extent from Amell, that blood magic isn’t all that fancy. Some baseline power and an incantation, which can be as simple as a request. Everything hinges on the blood—who it comes from and the amount. If freely given, not as powerful. Taken by violence, it holds extreme potential.

I glance over at the spell book. Ferelith has all but ignored it now that her plans have changed. She relished bleeding me slowly—probably over days to absorb the Clairmont magic—but with enemies breaching the palace, she won’t wait. If I’m planning to do anything, it has to be now.

Once again, I push myself up to a standing position, panting from the exertion. Ferelith hears it, glances at me, and then turns back to the tasks. I pose no threat to her, and I think she’s probably right.

Before I even take a step, I call with all my might to my powers, begging them to push past the hold she has on me. I even summon the shadows, not afraid to use them if they will just flicker to life.

Nothing.

A physical attack is all I have in me now, and I know deep in my soul it won’t work. I can barely stand, my left arm completely useless, but I have to try.

I take a deep breath, releasing it slowly and silently as I prepare to charge across the fifteen feet to Ferelith where my ultimate plan is to knock her to the ground. If the gods are prone to help me, let me get that knife in my hand to plunge into her insidious heart.

The door to the throne room bursts open so violently, the wood shatters and sprays chunks and splinters. I feel the blast of magic behind it.

I also recognize the magic, so familiar, I almost cry.

Bastien.

He steps through the opening as Ferelith wheels around, teeth bared in defense.

My heart soars to see him, alive and well, here to rescue me. His gaze comes to me briefly, in one quick sweep, he takes in my injuries and his face morphs into a mask of fury and retribution.

Bastien wastes no time, blasting what looks like white lightning from his hand toward Ferelith. He rarely uses his warrior caste magic, but he’s as adept at killing with it as he is a sword.

Ferelith spins to the side, the bolt grazing her arm, and she screeches with rage. But Bastien unloads more bolts, sending them from each palm in succession to drive her away from the table and toward the dais that holds the throne.

The sorceress is spry as well as amped with her own blood magics, and she easily bats each energy blast away. The bolts ricochet, crash into walls, and blow out chunks of granite and marble. Ferelith goes on the offensive, whirling her hands around her head to create a funnel of lime-green fire that she shoots in a focused stream at Bastien. He conjures a shield, crouches behind it, and remains safe, but licks of flame catch on paneled curtains that start to burn.

Unsheathing a dagger, Bastien rises above the shield and throws the blade straight at Ferelith. His aim is true, straight for her throat, but she holds up a hand, stopping it inches from striking its mark. The dagger hovers, turns, and with a wave of her hand, multiplies. Dozens of daggers now hover facing Bastien, and he stands poised, ready to deflect.

But they quiver in mid-air before slowly shifting direction, aiming straight at me.

“Fuck,” Bastien curses as Ferelith lets the daggers fly.

I’m powerless to stop them, but Bastien throws a blast of air my way. The stream of wind passes between me and the daggers, blowing them off course where they clatter harmlessly against the wall.

But Ferelith expected Bastien’s willingness to protect me over himself, and while he’s unguarded, she attacks.

I don’t know what she hits him with because nothing is visible, but Bastien’s back arcs in pain. His weapons fall from his hands, and I cry out as his skin grows pale and blue veins spread outward.

His face turns gaunt, and I know she’s sucking the life out of him.

“Stop it!” I yell, but my voice is so weak, it’s barely discernible over Ferelith’s triumphant cackle.

Bastien’s eyes slide my way. They’re dull, leaching of color, and with lips tinged blue, he says, “I love you.”

“Oh gods,” I sob, attempting to run toward him, but I stumble. “I love you, Bastien.”

He gasps, tries to suck in air, and as he blows it out, I hear the words very clearly: “Trust the shadows.”

That seems to jolt Ferelith, her head whipping my way. “Shadows? What shadows? What does that mean?”

I don’t know who Bastien’s message is originally from, but I trust him. If he says trust the shadows, then I must.

Knowing there’s nothing inside me to call upon because of Ferelith’s blood hold, I lunge not toward her or Bastien but to the spell book.

Still smeared with my red blood, I dive onto the floor, trying to ignore the shock of pain through my bruised ribs and left shoulder. I slap my right hand on the cover and beg for its power to fill me.

The blood on the cover darkens until it’s black as pitch. Ferelith screeches, and I look over my shoulder to see her release her hold on Bastien. He crumples to the ground like a rag doll and doesn’t move.

Ferelith comes at me, but I return my attention to the book. Open for me, I ask silently.

The lock springs, the book opens, and the pages flip wildly.

“Give that to me,” Ferelith screams, only feet away.

I don’t feel the shadow magic. I don’t even feel my regular magic. Unsure of what to do, I go on instinct and slam my palm down on the pages, crumpling a few in the process.

The blood on my hands and up my arms—my blood that Ferelith had spilled already—turns black and slithers downward. Past my elbows, over my forearms, along the backs of my hands, spiraling down my fingers, soaking into the pages of the book.

In the path of the blood’s withdrawal from my skin, I feel a healing warmth left behind. Cuts seal and bones mend, so by the time the last drop sinks into the parchment, I’m fully restored.

And then I feel it.

The darkness.

Inky and crying for violence, I don’t shy away from it. Instead, I trust in myself, in Bastien, and in what Amell taught me.

I welcome it.

I don’t read the pages that my palms are pressed on, but I know what they say. Not the specifics and it’s far too much to recite by memory, but I know it’s a spell that will cause immense damage once it’s cast. I also know that the book picked this spell for me, flipping pages and stopping at this precise place.

I don’t hesitate. I spin just as Ferelith is on me, her hands outstretched and magic crackling at her fingertips.

Thrusting forth the darkness coalesced inside me, I stream it toward her in a spray of sparkling black shards that cut into every inch of her body. Her skin peels away in strips, and one jagged piece catches her in the left eye.

She cries out in pain, clawing at her eye, trying to remove the glass as blood pours down her face.

I use her distraction to ask the book for more. Pages flip, land open on another spell, and I slap my palm to it.

Power floods me, and for a second, it’s overwhelming. I panic, wondering if I can contain it. Then I realize with utter clarity I should not contain it.

I have to end Ferelith once and for all.

Show me what to do, I ask the book.

It answers. Shows me in my mind in vivid detail what I should do.

The part of me that fully accepted the shadows is gleeful over the violence I must unleash. The original part of me—the part that makes me me—is disgusted.

And yet, I have no choice.

I rush toward Ferelith, now temporarily blinded and moaning in pain. Drawing my hand back, I launch it straight at her. Strength bolstered and amplified by the darkness, my fist hits her squarely in the chest, pulverizes her sternum, and my fingers wrap around her beating heart. It’s not warm the way a human heart should feel but rather so cold, it burns my skin.

Ferelith’s good eye rounds in horror, and she looks down to see my hand inside her body. I feel the thump of blood in the arteries—once, twice, three times—then I pull the organ free with a massive heave.

She drops like a stone and I stare at the heart in my hand. It starts to shrivel and dry up until it resembles a piece of dried leather. It disgusts me and I want to fling it away, but I know it must be destroyed. I will forth fire and the withered organ is consumed by a flame that doesn’t hurt me at all. The heart incinerates, turning to ash that blows off my palm as I conjure forth a focused breeze.

I don’t waste time, brushing further remnants off on my jeans as I rush to Bastien. He’s on his side, and I pull hard to turn him onto his back.

His skin is pale and cold to the touch, but I hear the faint thump of his heart when I press my ear to his chest.

“Come on, Bastien,” I cry, tapping his face with my hand. “Don’t you dare die on me now.”

He doesn’t move and his breathing is shallow.

“Thalia,” Kieran says as he rushes through the doorway with his sword drawn. He takes in Ferelith’s body on the floor and then Bastien. “Fuck.”

Sheathing his weapon, he runs to his brother’s side and drops to his knees. “What happened?” he asks.

“Ferelith did it with her magic,” I say, tears rolling down my face. “I killed her, but whatever she did to him…”

“Undo it,” Kieran orders, the expression on his face so fierce, I rear back slightly.

“Undo it?”

“You killed the greatest and most vicious sorceress our realm has ever seen. Your power clearly surpasses hers. So undo whatever she did.”

I take in a shuddering breath.

Blood magic. Her powers are fueled by blood magic, and that’s what she used on Bastien.

My powers are born in the shadows and exceed hers. Whatever she cast, I can unwind it.

Feeling as sure as I felt when I laid my hands on the spell book, I splay my palms on Bastien’s chest. Closing my eyes, I envision all evils being withdrawn from his body. I call like to like, pulling darkness from him and accepting it into me where I know it won’t cause harm.

Immediately, I push light back into him. I push my love, devotion, and loyalty straight into his chest where it will hit his heart first to be carried throughout his network of veins and arteries until he is filled with it. I give back to him what he gave to me all those years ago.

Bastien takes in a deep breath, and his eyes flutter open. They catch on Kieran first, then he bolts upward. “Thalia.”

“Easy,” Kieran says, helping his brother sit up.

“I’m right here,” I add, and his head whips my way. “I’m okay.”

He sags with relief against Kieran’s arm but just as quickly, he lurches toward me. His hands grab my shoulders, and he pulls me hard into his body. “You’re safe,” he murmurs into my hair.

“Safe, and Ferelith’s dead,” I reply, touching my hand to his face. “How do you feel?”

“Fine. More than fine, actually.” Kieran tries to help him to his feet, but he pushes his brother off with a growl.

Kieran and I share a smile.

When Bastien’s standing, his hand slips into mine, and the three of us walk over to Ferelith’s body.

Kieran kicks it with his boot. “Yup. She’s dead.”

“I can’t believe I killed her,” I whisper, reaching inward for the inky darkness that swirled through me not long ago. It’s humming on a low frequency but seems mostly satisfied. “It was the weirdest thing. My blood was red when Ferelith…”

Bastien growls, a reminder that he doesn’t need to hear those details just yet.

“At any rate,” I continue, “I was so confused. My blood should’ve been black because of my fae blood and Amell unlocking the shadow magic. I thought it had abandoned me.”

“I think it was because you didn’t trust it,” Bastien ruminates. “Amell said you needed to trust it. So what happened?”

I shake my head, still confused as to how it all went down. It only lasted a matter of seconds before I ended it. “I saw Ferelith killing you, and it was the catalyst I needed. I went to the spell book from Amell, touched it, and… my blood turned black. It ran down my arms, into the book, and then it opened and flipped to a page. When I touched it, it gave me a spell to use against her.”

“Gods, that’s creepy,” Kieran says.

Bastien punches him in the arm, and not lightly. I ignore them both, staring down at Ferelith’s lifeless form. “It gave me another spell. One that gave me such strength… I ripped out her beating heart.”

“You what?” Kieran asks in astonishment.

I look at him and nod. “Punched in, pulled it out, and turned it to dust.”

Kieran nudges his brother with his elbow. “Thalia is the biggest badass I’ve ever seen in my entire life. If you don’t take her, I will, brother.”

“I’m taking her,” Bastien says gruffly, pulling me hard into his side. His hand comes to my face, and his gaze actually makes me breathless. It’s no longer cold but filled with the love and warmth I thought I’d never see again.

And then I see the regret. The remorse.

I shake my head. “Don’t. Don’t go there.”

“I never should’ve doubted we could get this back,” he says quietly. “I know you’ve forgiven me for sending you away, but forgive me for ever letting you believe that I couldn’t love you again. I hate that I hurt you.”

“I never gave up hope, Bastien.”

“No, you didn’t,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to mine and cupping the back of my head. “Thank the gods you didn’t.”

I let him hold me, not wanting to ever move. If time could stand still, I’d happily exist just like this.

But Kieran clears his throat and draws us apart. He grins evilly, and Bastien glares.

“Why don’t you go do something useful and spread the word that Ferelith is dead?” Bastien suggests pointedly.

“I’m still waiting for the good part,” Kieran quips, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Get out of here, or I’ll make you get out of here,” Bastien growls.

“But you love her, right?” Kieran prods, and his tone is quite serious. “Because that’s the important part.”

“Yes, I love her,” Bastien grouses and I can’t help but laugh. “I’d like privacy to tell her again.”

“Again?” Kieran looks slightly disappointed.

“He said it while Ferelith was killing him,” I explain.

“So, under duress,” Kieran surmises. “Doesn’t count.”

“It does count.” Bastien releases me, grabs his brother by the arm, and physically escorts him to the door. Given that it was decimated earlier by Bastien’s magic, he does nothing more than shove him through the opening with another order to spread the word.

Kieran winks at me and then disappears.

Bastien turns and walks to me, right into a long kiss, gathering me in tight and crushing his mouth to mine. It’s better than our first kiss—maybe it’s a first kiss again, of sorts.

When he pulls back, his expression exudes so much emotion, I feel like I’m going to burst with joy. “I love you, Thalia. I might have lost it for a bit, but it was inevitable it would come back. No one could be around you and not love you. I’m just the lucky guy who you happen to love back.”

“So much,” I say, drawing his head down for another kiss. When we part, I say, “We have so much work to rebuild Kestevayne and the peace within Vyronas.”

“There might be others who will try to use blood magic for power,” Bastien says.

“Which means I need a strong man to sit on the throne with me.” I stare at him. “It means we should marry with all due haste.”

Bastien grins. “I’m not so old-fashioned that I mind you being the one to ask. I’m also not foolish, so I accept. But we should make this official again.”

And to my surprise, he conjures to the palm of his hand the pink diamond ring he’d given me all those years ago under a pressian tree before I gave my virginity to him.

Plucking it up, he takes my left hand and slides it onto my ring finger.

I stare down at it in wonder. “How… where… is that…?”

Bastien nods. “I took it back from Laina that day you returned and had been keeping it safe.”

My heart soars to know that Bastien had some emotional pull to me when I returned, otherwise he would have never procured the ring from Laina to save it. “You had glamoured it before I went through the veil.”

He nods again. “I needed you to wear something a bit more subtle in the First Dimension, but I’m sure you have figured out it was to protect you. The stone was bespelled.”

“Yes, I had figured that out.” I glance up at him. “We need only find a Conclave member to perform the ceremony, so let’s get looking.”

Bastien laughs and gives me a swift kiss. “Let’s at least have a few days to make a joyful celebration. We have a lot of cleaning up to do here at the palace.”

I shake my head. “Clairmont. It has to be back in Clairmont among all the people who you led for seven years and who worked so hard to fortify the troops with my protection magic. That’s who needs to be at our wedding.”

“Agreed,” Bastien says. He kisses me again, and this time, it’s even better. He lifts his head, lips pressed in a flat line. “We have to invite your father or else he’ll kill me.”

“He told you that?” I ask, shocked.

“He told me a lot of things. He also helped us defeat a horde of demons inside the castle. So I’m feeling very inclined to grant his wish.”

I’m stunned. “He helped us?”

Bastien nods. “He said he’d pay a price for it.”

My heart twists. What does that mean? “He wasn’t allowed to interfere.”

“He did because he cares for you.” Bastien takes my hand and leads me from the throne room. “Makes me sort of appreciate the bastard now.”

I laugh as we walk through the obliterated doorway. “Where are we going?”

“To do what a queen does in times such as this. You’ll make the rounds to the troops, visit the injured, talk to the families of the dead. Then you’re going back to Clairmont where you will rest because you’ve worked yourself into the ground and just went head-to-head with Ferelith.”

“I’m fine—”

“Maybe so,” Bastien cuts in. “But I saw how you looked when I first arrived, and you were a mess. I tried my hardest to kill that witch for what she’d done to you.”

“You exposed yourself to save me when she unleashed those daggers,” I point out, stepping in his path. He stares down at me as I put my hands against his chest. “You made yourself vulnerable. You nearly died, and no words can ever express how much I love you for it.”

“I’d die a thousand times over to save you,” he replies, followed by a brief and chaste kiss. “But now, you have duties, and then I’m forcing rest on you. You can fight me if you want, but you’ll lose.”

“Will you rest with me?” I ask, moving to his side as we walk again.

“Rest is the last thing that’ll happen if I get into a bed with you,” he says sternly. “But if you’re a good girl and get some food and a good sleep, I’ll consider it.”

I laugh, moving into his side and wrapping both my arms around his waist. “Bet I can make you consider joining me before food and sleep.”

“Probably,” he mutters with a dour grimace, which indicates he knows I have power over him. “But only because I love you.”

Those words… I used to take them for granted. But I know how easily they can be stripped away, and I’ll never not cherish them from here on out. Every time he says them to me, or I to him, I’ll always remember how close I came to losing everything we worked so hard to build.