To live was to swear the oath of death.
A cup from which every soul was destined to drink. So why, then, did it feel like she had been cheated? As if she had gambled away something precious?
The stone was hard. Her lungs dragged breath after stubborn breath. The arrow shaft protruded from her chest and she laughed bitterly at the irony. Dizziness rolled through her with a flood of pain, but she felt the cold embrace of death, a stillness in the chaos.
She would never apologize to Yasmine for failing her brother. Never again kiss Lana’s cheek. Never see a world of magic. Her last moments were recorded in a series of blinks:
Kifah. Her bald head shining with the moon’s glow.
Blink.
The elder. Shrieking as it tore through Arawiya’s greats.
Blink.
The sky. Its endless stars glittering with prospect.
Then a sound: the broken voice of a sad, sad prince. A king, unthroned. It filled her with an ache worse than the arrow. She should have said the words when she had the chance, because she meant them. With every last fiber of her bleeding soul.
Her world went dark
