Is that mercy? “Why the change of heart?”
My gaze trails his defined muscles as he stands to full height, and my heart thuds when his gaze softens. “The decision is beneficial to me,” he states, although I cannot see how. “She will go with you to the mountain courts.”
“Let me get this right. You’re going to let us both leave with our lives?”
“Depending on your sister’s willingness to aid the prophecy.”
I shake my head. “She doesn’t want to die.”
“Good. Now, help me find the memories Nyxara took, or I may not be able to help her,” he says. “Before I change my mind.”
Drake crosses my mind, but I save that plea for later. Not that I should have to ask him for anything. He imprisoned his siblings in Tenenocti after all, so this is his fault. Still, I can’t help but wonder if I would have done the same in his position.
My fingers flex as I brace myself to delve into the buried parts of his psyche, but touching him feels far more intimate than before. So much that I hesitate before landing my hands on his chest. “Thank you.”
He stills, his muscles rigid, his breath catching. He clenches up around me upon hearing the words.
I move to pull back, but his firm hands land on my hips, holding me in place.
I don’t realize he’s not breathing until he lets out a long, heavy exhale, and his chest moves.
His fingertips press deeper into my back, guiding me forward to close any gap between us. I oblige, his touch tingling electric over my exposed skin, and as he brings his head lower, his lids close as he holds onto me, every touch desperate.
His heart pounds in my ear, thumping harder against his ribcage, then picks up speed, matching my own as he squeezes tighter.
Breathing in his smoke-tinged evergreen scent, laced with ocean spray, I run my hands slowly over the bulges and curves of his back. My lips glide over his collarbone, as all sense of time and space fall away. My magic hums, purring as we hold each other, and I close my eyes, familiarity tingling through my bones.
A memory flashes between us of Tenenocti Island, and I jolt in Death’s embrace. I travel my eyes to meet his, and I am frozen, his eyes alight with the longing of a man who has spent a lifetime parched, now savoring his first drop of water.
His hold on me tightens, and I close my eyes as the vision unfolds. I hold my breath as the world around me changes, the temple’s white bricks glittering under the afternoon sun, and the Graywar trees surrounding it in full bloom, blue leaves covering their long, twisty branches.
The God of Will stands with Azkiel, and as I draw nearer, Volan raises his deep voice. He’s even more muscular than his brother, his dark hair tied back, the long braid hanging down his back, which is covered in painted symbols.
“You make us look weak,” Volan shouts at Death, who stands his ground. “Our powers are sacred.”
“Love is not a weakness. You do not know how it has felt, not being able to touch anyone,” Death hisses and my anxiety spikes as they grow closer, both poised to fight.
“Essentria was right to cast you out,” Volan spits, his fists balled at his side. “You allow your heart to rule your brain.”
“At least I have one.”
“Insult me again!” Volan challenges.
“I would,” Death retorts, his eyes darkening, “but you still won’t understand it, you fucking cave dweller.”
The vision fades, and I’m slammed back into reality with such force that Azkiel has to hold me up. I glance up at him, watching as a silent tear falls down his cheek.
“Love is not a weakness,” I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper. “He was yelling about your powers. Why?”
“I do not recall that argument,” he admits, then steps back, his hands landing on the altar as he steadies himself. “I remember nothing from that year, only after, when I landed back in Ennismore. They were already buried, and all I had was a note I wrote myself to never let them awaken.”
Azkiel lingers over me, his scent captured in my robes, his touch remaining on my body. My magic purrs, my fingers trembling, and I shake my head to scatter the thoughts and refocus on the present.
I sigh as Death’s hurt rolls through me as if it is my own. “At least you won.”
He blinks twice, then lifts his eyes to meet mine. “Won what?”
“Your argument against that cave dweller.”
His lips curve, and the first genuine laugh escapes his lips, a sound so perfect I’m surprised it came from him.
THIRTY-FIVEAzkiel
It’s been two days without a sign from the elders or the sister.
I walk out of the sacrificial chamber, grimacing when I notice the traitor sleeping between a stone pew and a statue, covered by the torn remnants of his robes. In him, I sense Astraea’s magic, so pure and beautiful that it pains me knowing some of it belongs with him.
Killing him will be so easy. The desire to do so crawls into my veins. All I would have to do is lean over and lay my fingers on his skin. It would also remove the guilt Calista will inevitably face when she has to choose her sister over him.
No. I need my witch in her right mind for when the elders come, and they will.
My palms twitch when I think about hunting them down. But that’s exactly what they want—us, away from the temple so they can carry out the sacrifice. I was a fool for not seeing it sooner, when I could sense Essentria’s creation magic in Calista’s sister, but I put it down to Arabella inheriting two of my sister’s powers.
The longer the elders hold the girl, the more I know Calista is not the prophesied one. That does still not explain why she holds my magic—power I can sense from here as it thrums out of control.
Rain lashes around me, creating puddles in the mud. The sun sets over the island, painting the sky in a deep orange.
I find her, sitting on the wall, hidden behind thickets of brambles, a dagger in her hand. Her eyes clash with mine when she spots me.
