Chapter 55

Iblock her savage blow, the sound of metal on metal clashing through the jungle like the toll of a war bell. “You’re a monster,” she snarls, the battering rain rinsing the blood from her face and hair, her features ripped with the pure, undiluted hate she just threw at me.

“Yours, Orlaith.”

Another swing, and she almost guts me, the tip of her sword whipping past my navel—so close a hiss of breath powers into me.

Fuck.

I block her next blow that cleaves straight for my throat, a snarl punching up from deep inside my chest. “That was close, Milaje.”

“You killed her,” she whimpers, hacking at me with a shot I block, breath catching.

My heart stills.

“Who, Orlaith? Who did I kill?”

“Her!” she screams, her voice an anguished lash.

Another hack at my abdomen, this one nicking my hip—a hairline graze too shallow to bleed.

Just.

But I’ll take her sharpened blows until she’s empty of them and then we’ll start from scratch. Work out whatever it was that tipped the tide on her hatred back in my direction. If it’s a never-ending cycle that goes on for all eternity, so fucking be it.

She spins, whirring, slashing at my legs. I leap back, so tuned into her I don’t notice the basilisk carcass behind me until I’m stumbling over it, spine slamming against a tree. Her blade notches my throat, and she snarls, her warm breath assaulting my face.

I let my sword hang to the side.

Chest heaving, on her toes, she leans into me, sodden hair dripping the remains of bloody residue down her edges.

Brow buckling, I search her amethyst eyes.

She presses the blade deep enough that I feel my skin threatening to split, her eyes glazed, potent wrath staining the air. “And you’re going to kill him, too.” Her face crumbles, and I feel my heart mimic the motion. “You’re going to try and take him from me again, aren’t you?”

‘But I won’t let you.’

Her thoughts come to me like a toil of murky smoke blowing through my chest, and my frown deepens.

Him …

“I hate you,” she repeats, hissing the words through clenched teeth, and realization hits like a sledgehammer.

Her hate-filled barbs, her glazed eyes …

She’s talking to herself.

My ribs crunch around the heavy thump of understanding.

The world would be so much better if you just disappeared …

I let my weapon fall to the ground, gripping her fist that’s clenched around the pommel of hers. With my other hand, I seize the honed end of her sword.

Her gaze slides to the side, widening, upper lip trembling as wrath twists her beautiful face into a knot. I press, feeling the sharp slice into my palm, enriching the air with the smell of my blood. Thick.

Potent.

Hers.

Nostrils flaring, her brow buckles. She swallows, blinking the glaze from her eyes as they widen, lifting.

Looking right at me.

Terror flashes across those purple gemstones, shattering me to the core.

She stumbles back, her bloody sword thumping to the ground as she looks down at her quivering hands, stretching them, bunching them up. I stay leaning against the tree, breathing deep and hard, watching her sink into the depths—further and further away. Like a star falling from the sky in a tragic blaze of glitter and death.

That’s not for you, Milaje.

“Before you put the talon through my chest, you told me you killed your mother.”

Her head whips up, the roots of her seed squirming in my chest like I just prodded it with a stick.

Her eyes harden to flints, chin lifting. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me,” I whisper.

Her gaze fractures like crumbled glass, a faint whimper breaking free.

Her eyes plead for me not to look.

Mine wield the weight of an apology that will never be enough to lift the guilt ingrained in my soul.

“You didn’t kill her.”

I hear her heart skip a beat, something flashing in her stare that’s gone too fast for me to track. “Wh-what do you mean?”

I look at the jewel hanging around her neck, back to her face, ripping at the grave inside my chest with bare and bloody hands. Knowing I’ll probably never pull her back from what I’m about to say. A terrible truth I’ve held in my chest for far too long.

She’ll never forgive me, but that’s okay.

So long as she forgives herself.

“I used to purchase blood off your mother. Blood I’d use to build obsidian whelves like this one,” I say dashing my hand at the stones.

Her gaze flicks at it, back to me.

“Places for people to find solace from the beasts plaguing the continent.”

She frowns, shaking her head. “I don’t—”

“I set her up in a house I thought was safe. But I was wrong.”

So fucking wrong.

Tears puddle her eyes as she watches me—unblinking.

Unbreathing.

“I found her that night bearing a wound from a Vruk.”

Save her, Rhordyn. Please.

I’m trying …

“I-I don’t understand—”

“I failed her. Failed to keep her safe. Then I put my sword through her heart.”

A sound slips past Orlaith’s lips—bruised and raw. She blinks, and tears shred down her cheeks, melding with the rain slicking my shirt to her trembling frame.

“I killed your mother, Orlaith. Me.”