Isbeth’s dark eyes went wide as they locked onto mine. Her lips moved, but I couldn’t hear what she said. Casteel whipped around, blood spraying into the air as a bolt of lightning struck the Temple—struck me.
Casteel’s pain and Kieran’s fear slammed into me as my armor and boots exploded from me. My clothing ripped as every cell in my body lit up, and the pain—it was all-consuming. It would kill me. It would kill them.
My lungs seized. My heart stuttered.
Blood pooled in my mouth. Teeth loosened, and two fell from my open mouth. The Temple didn’t tremble. It was the realm that shook violently. Weight settled in my shoulder blades, entrenching itself deeply, burrowing all the way to where the eather throbbed and swirled. My blood cooled and then heated. A hum hit my bones and spread to my muscles. My skin vibrated. A crack of deafening thunder rolled overhead. The air charged, and my body…changed. It started with a rumble inside me and then became a roar, like the sound of thousands of horses racing toward me, but no horse or soldier stood. It grew and grew as I pushed myself onto my now-bare feet. All over my hands and arms, splotches of shadow and light churned inside my skin. I lifted my eyes, seeing a strange shadow before me—the outline of my head and my shoulders and two…wings. Just like the statues guarding the city of Dalos that had once protected the Primals within. Except these were made of eather, a swirling mass of light and darkness. My entire form was suddenly nothing more than crackling, flaming silver light and endless shadows.
Vaguely, I became aware of Casteel and Kieran, their eyes wide and their awe bubbling in my throat and against my skin.
Thick, shadow-filled clouds appeared. Wind whipped, blowing my hair back and tugging at my torn clothing. And the wind, it smelled of fresh lilacs.
And then the very air itself split open, spitting crackling light as a thick, white mist seeped out of the tear, spilling over me, over the ruined ground to blanket the bodies.
A great, black-and-gray shape several times larger than Setti flew out of the chasm in the air, its wings so massive that they momentarily blocked the rising moon. Another deafening roar tore through the air as the draken glided over the Temple, opening its powerful jaws. A stream of intense, silvery fire erupted, spinning into a funnel that slammed into the creatures climbing the Rise.
“Nektas,” Casteel rasped.
My entire being focused on Isbeth. She stood behind the altar, almost transfixed. And the endless fury I felt from her joined mine.
Her. Seraphena.
The true Primal of Life.
The one I’d gotten the gift of life and healing from. Not Nyktos. His gift was the shadows in my skin, the death in my touch, and the coldness in my chest.
My will swept out from me, rushing over the Bone Temple and the grounds below and beyond. I took a step, and I did so as something infinite. Something Primal.
Power drenched the air as the aura receded just enough for me to see that the luminous sheen had settled and turned to a pearlescent, silvery, and shadowy glow. With each footstep, the stone trembled and cracked, and the mist followed me, settling over the bodies and cradling them.
I walked forward, feet bare to the blood, the shattered shields, and the broken swords. And then I glided, lifting from the ground. The battered bodies of soldiers, wolven, and draken—of my friends and those I cared for
—rose along with me. Delano. Naill. Emil. Hisa—
“It’s too soon,” Isbeth shrieked, and her fear—her terror—was just as strong as her grief had been, raining bitter ice upon me. She stumbled over the body of a dakkai and pressed against the altar Malec lay upon. “What did you do?”
I felt myself rise as Reaver’s and Malik’s bodies drifted from the pools of blood, my head kicking back. And then, everything stopped. The wind. The moans. My heart. The only movement was that of Nektas as he flew down the length of the Rise, leaving a wave of essence-fueled fire in his wake. My fingers splayed out at my sides.
I gave sound to my rage. To hers. The scream that ripped from my throat wasn’t just mine. It was ours.
The sound hit the air like a shockwave, shattering stone and toppling the newly rooted blood trees. Casteel turned, attempting to shield Kieran, but there was no need. They wouldn’t be harmed as my fury rippled above us, tearing the sky open. The rain came, blood-red and drenching.
And final.
Millicent slowly sat up, her pale eyes going wide as a dakkai raced from the smoke—two and then four and five, their claws kicking up chunks of stone. My head snapped in their direction, and that was it. The dakkais simply disappeared mid-run or leap, obliterated with just a look. Nothing was left of them. Not even ash as the wave of energy spread out, catching the remaining dakkais and the Revenants, turning them to dust.
The blood rain stopped, and not a single drop touched me as I turned my attention back to Isbeth.
“You.” The one word dripped so much power, so much barely leashed violence, that a cold shiver even ran down my spine. Because that was me…and it was also Seraphena. Her essence—her consciousness—moved inside me.
“It’s too late,” Isbeth said. And I sensed that it both was and wasn’t. She dragged her arm over her bloodied face. “It has already been done.”
“She knew what you plotted,” I told her. “She saw it in her sleep. Saw it
all.”
Isbeth’s terror choked me as she shook her head. “Then she has to know I did it for Malec. It was all for her son and her grandson that they took from me!”
“It was all for nothing.” I lifted my hand, and Isbeth’s body went rigid, her mouth open but issuing no sound. No words. Nothing. The clouds thickened even more as she rose, suspended several feet above the ground. “It was love that made you. She would’ve forgiven Malec for what he did by making you. But your hatred? Your grief? Your thirst for vengeance? It has rotted your mind more than the blood of a god could have ever done.
What you have become—what you have brought upon the realms—will not save you.”
Isbeth’s right arm jerked backward. The crack of bone was loud, and the flare of pain I felt was red-hot.
“What you have wrought and brought upon these realms will not heal you or steal away your pain,” I said, and her other arm snapped. “It will not bring you glory, peace, or love.”
Isbeth’s left and right legs broke at the knee, and I took in the pain, let it become a part of me.
“And for what you have done to those of her blood, you will be erased,” I proclaimed. Blood seeped from Isbeth’s eyes. Her nose. Her mouth. “Nothing of you will be recorded in the histories that are yet to be written. You will not be known, neither for the deeds you’ve done as a mortal nor for your infamy as a Queen. You are not worthy of remembrance.”
Isbeth’s spine cracked. Her upper body wilted backward, and the pain… it was absolute.
A sudden awareness pressed upon me. An awakening. One that echoed not through this realm, but in Iliseeum and deep within the City of the Gods as Nektas landed behind me. A presence filled me, and when I spoke, it was the voice of the true Primal of Life. “I was once taught that all beings are worthy of an honorable, quick death. I no longer believe in that. For your death will be dishonorable and endless. Nyktos awaits the start of your eternity in the Abyss.”
The presence eased from me as Nektas’s wings spread out, scattering the ashes of those who had been destroyed. In the following seconds, all I felt were opposites. Apathy and sorrow. Loathing and love. Relief and dread. I pitied the shattered woman before me, one who had been broken long ago. I hated what she’d allowed herself to become.
Isbeth had never been a mother, but I…I’d once loved her, and she’d loved me in her own, twisted way. That meant something.
But something wasn’t enough.
I lowered my hand, and dots of blood appeared all over Isbeth’s skin. Her pores bled. I trembled as her flesh cracked and peeled, as muscle and ligaments tore, as bones splintered and hair fell, no longer rooted to skin.
“Don’t look,” I heard Casteel saying as he tried to reach me. “Close your eyes. Don’t—”
But I looked.
I made myself watch as my mother, the Blood Queen, took her last breath. I made myself look until Isbeth was no more—until the realm fell away from me.
