Page 166 of The Shattered Rite
When Thalen had first ordered her death, it had felt impossible. Like killing sunlight. Like severing a future not yet written. She’d been too bright. Too vital.
But now?
Now it would be a mercy.
Not out of compassion.
But as a gift.
He could end her softly. Gently. He could make her final moments tender. Private. He could kill her in kindness. A final mercy, wrapped in whispered words, by the hands she’d already let hold her.
The thought curled through his mind like a tendril of smoke.
He could make her death a gift. For her. For himself.
She deserved that much.
Didn’t she?
He brushed her damp hair back from her face, fingers lingering too long against her cheek. Her skin was warm, flushed from the bath. He leaned closer, breathing her in. She smelled like river herbs and grief.
She was intoxicating.
He stroked her jaw, speaking softly.
“You don’t have to fight anymore,” he murmured. “I’ll carry this weight for you.”
Her breathing steadied in sleep.
And he knew:the deeper she trusted him, the sweeter her ending would be.
It wasn’t madness. Not really. He’d hidden that darkness from her. From himself.
But now, seeing her so soft… so willing…
He wanted to destroy her.
Not out of cruelty.
But because it was the only way to keep her for himself.
He sat beside her for a long time, listening to the ring hum against his pulse.
Planning.
Waiting.
And when she woke, she would find him there.
Exactly where she needed him to be.
Chapter 26: The Hall of Scribes
"What is written endures; what is hidden destroys."—Scribe Liraeth, Keeper of the Silent Hall
Eliryn woke slowly.
She felt the warmth first—the heavy weight of blankets draped over her body, the residual heat of a bath she didn’t remember entering or leaving. Her hair was dry now, brushed smooth and neat over her shoulders. Her mind was fogged, fragile as spun glass.
