Caryan just says, “I will bring you down. All of you.”
“All of us? I doubt that,” she hisses right back, turning to look at Riven.
He’s gone utterly still, his gaze trained on the woman like a weapon. But a streak of sharp red pierces through his aura like a spear.Pain.Searing and hot. He hasn’t bothered to veil it.
“The exception makes the rule,” Caryan responds coolly.
His shadows form around Shiera, yanking her body up to him, her right arm close, outstretched, her wrist turned upwards like an offering. A knife appears in his hand, conjured like his shadows. He cuts deeply along her extended arm, then he licks the blade.
When he’s done, he turns his attention to the other Nefarian, repeating the same procedure with him. Caryan’s eyes briefly flick to Riven, and I know that he’s seen what the man saw at the ruins the way Caryan’s gaze flits on to me and stays there for a heartbeat. Riven, kissing me. What I said to him, about my mother.
“Didn’t find what you were looking for in there, angel?” Shiera snarls, spitting at his feet.
Caryan just lazily draws his head back to her, as if she’s nothing but a nuisance. “I do not need to. That you came here, willing to sacrifice your lives, shows me that you’re running out of hope. I will wait. Wait until the last scraps of that hope have whittled down to the marrow of despair. Then I will come for you.”
He turns his back to her, then pauses, as if he just remembered something. “I promised my people a celebration tonight. Well, you are going to be the spectacle. Think of your third man—your lover, yourmate, was he—while you burn and burn and burn. Know that I broke every tiny bone in his body into pieces and that I shall keep him that way until the day I come for the rest of you.”
His gaze goes back to Riven then, who still stands unmoved, his face unreadable but his aura still burning alive with pain. “Kill them, Riven. Slowly.”
I dig my nails so deep into the palmsof my hands that I draw blood. I can see Riven wants to disobey the command, and briefly, I wonder why. But all he does is incline his chin in a nod. His eyes flick to me one last time, and I can barely stand the torment in them before he walks up to Shiera.
“I hope this sacrifice was worth it,” she whispers very quietly to him. A private comment.
“I can only say the same to you. Goodbye, Shiera,” Riven retorts. There’s no kindness in his face—the immovable mask of the Dark Lord’s right hand.
Then, on his silent command, I watch black flames start to eat away their clothes. My stomach turns over, my heart can’t take it. I turn away before it starts to burn their skin, slowly as Caryan ordered. I wait for their screams, but they don’t make a single sound.
I flinch when, after a felt eternity, I feel a gentle hand on my healed arm.
Riven.
He guides me away, back to the horses. Ronin and Kyrith flank us. They mount their steeds and ride back to the Fortress with us. I hold on to Stormhunter’s mane the whole time, clinging to his reassuring warmth underneath my cold body.
I can’t stop shivering and don’t, even when I’m long back in Riven’s quarters, in front of the fireplace, the flames for once red, as if, after what he’d just been forced to do, Riven couldn’t stand the sight of his magic anymore.
Eventually, he joins me, standing next to me looking down into the flames.
“You loved her,” I say quietly into the laden silence between us.
His face is unbearably sad when he looks at me. “I did. Once.”
“You… you are a Nefarian too,” I breathe.
“Half. I’m half-elf, half-Nefarian.” His answer sounds only tired. He turns away and sinks onto the sofa, leaning his head back, closing his eyes.
After a while, I get up and curl next to him. “What… what about your wings?” I whisper.
He looks down at me, his remarkable eyes serene.
I push, “You will be able to fly again.” I don’t say it like a question, becausenois not an option. I know he loves flying. I would if I had wings.
He gently runs his hand over my cheek and his fingers come away wet. “I will, my little love. They will heal,” he says and finally, for the first time after this horrible night, I feel like I can breathe again.
As his fingers bury themselves in my hair, drawing lazy circles, I allow my eyes to drift shut.
“Thank you for saving me tonight,” I murmur before I drift into oblivion.
48