Page 101 of The Dead Saint

I loved you in the ruins of a city. I loved you beneath a burning sky filled with stars.

I love you now when the world is ending.

Sorcha opened her mouth to ask him if what filled her exploding heart matched his. But neither one of them spoke, their gazes locked in understanding. He came to stand beside her, the back of his hand brushing hers, as they stood together overlooking the Wastes. Tears filled her eyes as she pulled in a breath, lungs constricting. The sounds of boots on stone reached her—the group reaching the top of the stairs with their heavy burdens and terrible intentions.

“Finally,” Prince Eine said, breathing heavily from the climb.

His greedy gaze swept the room, taking in the two of them standing together. A tight smile flitted across his features. He was enjoying the torture of it all. The way they looked at each other and away, the inescapable fate rushing toward them like an arrow. Soon. It ended here, a journey of months and thousands of miles, brought to a point where the world could only turn in one direction, and there was no other way out of this tower beyond death.

“You have no idea how long I’ve lived for this moment.” Kira appeared next, one hand lifting her skirts as the other went to her throat, eyes dancing across the mural overhead. She radiated joy—glowing, intense, painful exultation. Her eyes dropped, finding Sorcha. The smile was directed at her now, and she came forward, holding her hands out—golden bracelets tinkling, rubies catching the light. “You are such a gift, Sorcha. Let me help you with this.”

“I want nothing from you,” Sorcha said, pulling back from the woman’s grasping fingers. The anger in her tone flattened, voice dropping. “You died in the Citadel. To me, you’ve been dead for months. You abandoned us.”

“That’s not true,” Kira said, glaring now, reaching up to adjust the veil still attached with a ribbon of gold woven through her hair. Beautiful even now, with her vicious heart exposed, a woman Sorcha had wanted to be more than anything. “I made a choice. And even though you might not be able to see it now, it was the right choice.”

“The choice to let us all die?”

“You have no idea what I’ve been through, Sorcha. What it’s taken to reach this point.”

“You could have talked to me! Explained things!”

Kira’s eyes narrowed. “You could never understand.”

“You made the choice to keep me ignorant.”

“Lifetimes. Whole entire lives strung out like beads on a necklace, wrapped around my throat, suffocating me.” Kira’s hands moved to her pale throat, elegant fingers digging into the flesh. Her eyes glittered madly, chin lifted. “Let me help you, here, at the end. Let me help you.”

“No,” Sorcha said.

The word bounced off the floor, hitting the walls and then the high-domed ceiling over their heads—catching in the bones of the Saint, thrown back by the glimmering gold. The tower shivered, stone vibrating against stone, and in the distance, thunder boomed across the Wastes.

Kira closed the distance between them and grabbed Sorcha’s wrists, cold fingers biting into her skin and holding her in place. Her face reddened with anger, eyes hard with malice.

“You stupid girl,” she hissed, spittle collecting in the corners of her mouth. “You need me.”

“I don’t.” Sorcha fought to keep her voice calm and level. “I understand enough.”

“You think so? Then what does the Amor Aeternus say about this moment?”

The Amor Aeternus. A book made from the Saint’s heart—living rubies and gold. It was a myth. Whispered about between the priests and priestesses, briefly mentioned in the texts shelved in neat rows in the library. Once, when she had been a child, she’d asked Rohan about it. The man had laughed and told her it was only a legend—the Saint’s blood crystalized and solid, imbuing life well beyond the allotted years. An object capable of showing the past and present, a way to look at the world through the eyes of a deity. But the man had said it would have been destroyed in the war that killed the Saint. If it had ever existed at all.

“It’s a myth,” Sorcha said. But her tongue was thick in her mouth, heart beating erratically as unease overtook her. “Rohan said it never existed.”

“I have it,” Kira whispered, reaching for Sorcha again. This time, Sorcha went, their faces almost touching as Kira continued. “I have it with me now. It’s not a myth. Not a story. I made it. He gave me his heart. He will be reborn here, birthed out of your blood and sacrifice, but he will not be complete. He will not be whole. There are more relics to find. Another sacrifice to make.”

Gave her his heart? How? When?

Sorcha shook her head. “Someone would have told me. I’m the vessel.”

Her whole existence came down to it, her reason for being—an empty object in which to collect the life of a god. She studied the rituals. She’d practiced each task they’d given her. She’d focused on each lesson, not wanting to fail or disappoint them. All of them.

But especially this woman.

“Do you think you would learn everything so soon? There are libraries that you have never even seen. Only a few know the Amor Aeternus is even a reality. Even fewer have seen or touched it. Less have read it.” Kira let out a shuddering breath. “I’ve kept his heart close.”

Sorcha held her breath, skin tingling.

“Beyond this place, beyond this life, more will be required of you,” Kira said. “Death is not the end.”

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