Page 99 of The Dead Saint

Sorcha turned her green gaze to the prince. His face was set, blank and smooth, except for glinting knowledge deep in his eyes.

Kahina Kira snorted, drawing Sorcha’s attention back, sending rage coursing along each vein.

“Are you enough of a child to want a confession? Or do you need an apology to ease your soul?” Kira’s voice was harsh now.

Sorcha’s tongue felt thick—mouth full of saliva—as Kira became the harsh mistress she remembered from early childhood. Sorcha refused to cry, focusing on the anger building in her chest, the heat and burn of betrayal—the sorrow of abandonment.

“I want nothing from you.” Sorcha looked at the prince again, meeting his eyes, and repeated it. “Nothing.”

“You will need my help,” Kira said, taking a step forward. “You will need me in the days to come. This is not the end.” She extended her arms, offering the warmth she’d withheld. “There is more to do. So much you wouldn’t have been able to understand until now. I can finally tell you the whole story.”

A sneer touched Sorcha’s face, distorting her features, muscles twisting. “You mean my death? Will you help me die? That’s something you never taught me. You never explained that my death would be the last piece of this magic.”

“We all die,” Kira said, voice low but fierce. “But some of us return.”

“But not me,” Sorcha gritted out between clenched teeth. A noise caught her attention, and her gaze flicked behind Kira. Adrian watched them, hand on his sword, but it was impossible to read him—to understand what he might be thinking behind his black eyes. “Why haven’t you tried before?”

Kira shook her head, reaching for Sorcha, flinching when the younger woman took a step back. “It’s never been that easy. It had to be at the right time, beneath the right stars. We’ve waited hundreds of years for this moment.”

The golden star on the horizon. Of course, it was important, but it was also just a star millions of miles away. What would a celestial body know of a dead god and his little religion determined to resurrect him? It all washed over Sorcha, leaving her hollow. And it was as the creature in the bog had said—she wasn’t special, she was only in the right place at the right time.

Sorcha turned away, turned to the cart where the relics glittered, glinting in the sun as it moved toward the horizon. It would set in a few hours, another night spreading through the world, and the golden star would shine as brightly as a small sun. But she would not be here to see it.

He was there in that moment when her attention was drawn to the relics. The Saint’s voice, touching her mind—reaching across the vast distance between life and death. The words were unintelligible, but she understood the tone and rhythm—promises and endearments. She’d carry his voice with her now forever, the murmuring nothings, taking them into her own personal darkness.

“Sorcha,” Kira began but paused, clearing her throat. “This can’t happen without you. Time is limited, the window is small, and we need to act now. You can change the past and bring back Ines and Rohan. You’re being given a chance that anyone would take.”

“The Saint will return,” Sorcha said, staring unflinchingly at Kira. “And I’ll be dead. You never taught me that part.”

“I don’t know what will happen with the Saint,” Kira admitted. “But yes, you will die.”

“The Saint will bring the empress back.” Prince Eine’s voice was steel, cutting across them, reminding Sorcha where and who she was with. “It’s time to begin.”

* * *

DEATH IS NOT THE END.

The words over the arch were huge, cut into the stone in hard, straight lines. They appeared to glow from within, as if beneath the solid surface of the tower, molten lava surged and flowed.

Sorcha shivered, a pit opening in her stomach, expanding to sink down to her toes. The people behind her were afraid. No one knew what would happen when the Saint breathed again. Not even Kira. And now they knew even his chosen vessel would not survive his rebirth. What would it mean for them? She could feel their uncertainty, a counterpoint to Prince Eine’s single-minded determination and Kira’s strange peace. She didn’t envy them. Didn’t pity them. Everyone had made a choice to be here.

In the distance, thunder rumbled, rolling out across the landscape and echoing in the tower. The horizon was black, the volcanoes on the horizon smoking. She could stand here and wait for it to arrive—delay the final moment—but there was no point. More than anything, she wanted to complete the one mission of her life. Even as another part of her screamed in defiance.

“Sorcha.”

She closed her eyes as Adrian’s voice washed over her, consuming her. In the dark, when there had been no one else around, he’d said her name like that. With longing. With intention. Mine. She hadn’t expected to hear it here, with Eine and Kira between them, with Revenant poised to kill them all.

“No!” Kira commanded, voice rising sharply. “Do not stop her. She must go in alone.”

A shaky breath escaped Sorcha, sweat pricking along her scalp and beneath her arms. Had he taken a step toward her? If she turned and ran to him, would he wrap her in his arms? Would he drag her to Nox and Epona so they could ride off into the Wastes as if this were some lover’s story? Death would follow them. And she would be dragged back to stand in this exact spot once again.

Forward. It was the only way. With Adrian’s gaze hot between her shoulder blades, Sorcha passed beneath the words—their promise and threat—and into the dim interior. The building trembled, stone grating against stone as thunder rolled closer. Her heart raced, thudding painfully in her chest, the scent of dry decay rolling over her. She hesitated on the threshold, glancing over her shoulder.

Adrian stood beside the prince with hands clasped, stoic and calm, seemingly detached from the situation despite having spoken her name. Revenant stood beside him, glaring at her. But it was Prince Eine’s face that made her heart skip with fear. He wore an expression of ravenous intent—pure hunger and determination.

He’d worn a similar look each time she’d met him. But it had intensified. She’d felt like an object at every turn. Now she was even less than that. Her only worth lay in opening a door he wanted to walk through. Sorcha, a key and missing puzzle piece, was on the verge of achieving his desire, and she could be pushed aside.

Soldiers were removing the relics from the cart one by one—preparing to carry them to the top of the tower. Sorcha wasn’t sure which idea frightened her more. The Saint coming together and standing up in a world hundreds of years after his death or the pieces failing to align and Prince Eine killing her. Would Adrian be ordered to cut her down? No, Revenant would do it gladly and ensure it was as painful as possible.

---