Page 212 of Tears for a Broken Sky
The robe hit the floor like a death knell.
Vael smiled, slow and hungry. He stepped toward me, his hands moving to my cheek, then lower, fingers trailing my collarbone like he owned me.
I didn’t flinch.
I just stared at Thorne.
His jaw clenched, breath shallow. The green of his eyes—gods, they wereshaking. I could see the war in him, raging silent behind his stillness. His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword but didn’t move. Not yet.
I was close enough now.
Close enough to die trying.
His hand hovered near his sword, shaking. Not with fear—but with resistance. He was still fighting it.
If he couldn’t break free, then I would.
Vael turned his back, stepping to the altar to lift the ceremonial blade—long, slender, and cruel. “Kneel,” he said. “Offer your palm.”
I didn’t kneel.
I moved.
I dove—not for Vael, but for Thorne’s blade. My fingers closed around the hilt and I spun, turning the steel on Vael with a scream.
He caught my wrist.
Laughed.
“You think I wouldn’t see this coming?” he hissed, twisting my arm so hard I cried out. The blade fell from my grip, clattering to the stone.
“Poor girl. Still so predictable.”
He shoved me back against the altar, gripping my jaw. I tried to bite him. He slapped me. Hard.
Blood filled my mouth.
“I’ll cut you anyway,” he sneered. “I will strip you bare. I will mark you in front of the gods, Elira, whether you want it or not.”
He raised the blade.
The air stilled, like a world in slow motion. I saw it swing, arcing through the air towards my flesh. And for one mad second, I thought to offer my neck. Just to take the one thing he wanted away from him.
That’s when Thorne moved.
Like a viper—fast, precise, lethal.
A whisper of steel from a sheath was all the warning Vael had.
Steel met flesh with a sickening sound as his sword sank deep into Vael’s back.
The gasp Vael let out wasn’t pain. It wasbetrayal.
He turned, disbelieving. “You?”
Thorne didn’t answer. He twisted the blade deeper, eyes flat, unreadable.
Lightning flared across Vael’s skin—a desperate, reflexive strike—but Thorne lifted his sword andcaught it. Steel sparked white-hot, absorbing the current before Thorneturned it back, flinging it back into Vael’s chest.
