Page 62 of Godsbane
“I would rather DIE!” I shout at him again and the floor beneath us trembles.
“And that’s exactly what you’ll do if you don’t get yourself under control right now.”
Kieran must have slipped the dagger from my thigh at some point during my stupor, its edge now pressing against my throat. Warmth dribbles down the column of my neck as the cold steel bites into my skin. It’s barely a nick, but the dark side of my magic rises in response to the iron tang of blood that laces the air. I lean into the alloy blade, my blood trailing down the markings—Arcasia’s markings that now glow blue.
“Kill me or get out of my fucking way, Kieran.”
The otherworldly voice that leaves my throat isn’t wholly mine. Thick vines of ivy trail up the wall behind him. Everything I imagined using my power for in the garden hovers just within reach.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Rollins?” Cal’s voice cuts through the haze like a knife as it rumbles down the large, empty hallway.
Fury, the likes of which can only be rivaled by the Dark God of Death, drips from his form. His entire body vibrates with power. Thin black shadows swirl around my feet in response, skating over my porcelain skin in a delicate graze. With only a thought, the ends sharpen into dagger-like points, poised to strike.
“Back the fuck away from her, Kieran, or I will kill you where you stand.”
Black overtakes Cal’s irises as he stalks towards us, power crackling in the air around him like lightning. Is this what he looks like on the battlefield before he takes on his enemy? Is this the last thing the legion of Synalian soldiers saw before they met Death?
“Do both of you have a death wish?” Kieran mutters, his russet eyes burning as red as his suit as he backs away from me. “Marks has eyes everywhere.”
Kieran lunges at Cal but only gets a single step before my blade falls from his hands. Blood drips from the corners of Kieran’s mouth as he gasps for air, clawing at his throat in a manner that feels all too familiar. Cal’s arms shake violently as Kieran drops in a heap to the floor.
The air is electric and my own power screams back in response, more than eager to join the symphony. Magic calls out to me, the siren song almost too strong to resist. Something old and strange shouts at me to release my hold and join whatever ripples through the cold granite hallway. To shake the foundation with only a thought, to kill with the inky apparitions that flit around me.
Shouts and pounding feet echo on the stone floor. Cal’s eyes snap to me before barking a single command, every word dripping with violent, unruly power.
“Run.”
Shadows flood the room, casting me into total darkness. A scream rings out through the pitch black, a scream that I recognize as my own. I turn and run, my feet covering more ground than should be possible in the short amount of time. I take the stairs two at a time, not slowing until I find my room.
Locking the door behind me, I dive into my bed and pull the silk sheets over my head.
Whoever I was this morning is no more. Whatever hold I had on my power, on my life, is gone. Violent sobs wrack my body, tears flowing freely until my body passes out from exhaustion.
And it’s there, in the Ruby Governor’s manor, that I die.
CHAPTER 23
Dark envelopes me wholly. I am numb, adrift in a bottomless void of emotion so vast that I doubt I will ever plant my feet on solid ground again. Wave after wave of icy indifference washes me further and further away from the shore.
The poisonous heir to the Emerald Region of Corinth is dead. No black will drape the temples nor will jewel-colored flags fly at half mast.
But the people will grieve.
Not for her, but for the way of life they hold so dear. For the misogyny so embedded in their blood that the very thought of a woman as their ruler turns their dreams to nightmares. For the gods they love so deeply whose names will become curses instead of prayers.
Their longstanding hope that she would submit to the will of a husband or be killed before she was elevated to governor is now extinguished. And in the cold light of a late winter day, we all wake to a reality we didn’t choose.
A muffled knock sounds at the door, but I don’t bother to respond or even remove the blankets from over my head.
“It’s time to get up now, Governor. You’re expected at breakfast.”
Anna’s sweet voice drifts through the layers of bedding and into my covered ears. I can’t stifle the shudder that wracks my body at the formal way she addresses me now. Delicate fingers slowly pull back the blankets, exposing my swollen, sensitive eyes to the eerie light of day.
Are the colors of this new world different? Somehow both brighter and wetter?
Prying the matted hair from my face, stuck by the gallons of salty tears that I shed in the dark, I adjust my eyes to take in the scene outside the floor length window.
“It snowed last night, my lady.”
