Page 153 of The First Scar
He might be fighting the command, but the command was winning.
His focus dropped to something on the ground—
My daggers. Lying where Brannick had dropped them.
Heisgoing to kill me himself. Of course he is. That’s what heroes do—they slay the monster before it burns the kingdom down.
Fine.Fine.At least it would stop. At least my power would stop tearing everything apart.
Eryndor's fingers closed around the hilt of one of my daggers.
He didn't look at me.
He raised the blade—
And drove it straight into his own chest.
The worldstopped.
My heart hammered a single, frantic beat.
Time fractured into a thousand ringing edges. I stared at the hilt buried in his sternum, and the rest of the world dissolved. The screams. The magic. The war.
All of it fell away until there was only the drum beat of my heart.
Boom.
My vision grayed at the edges.
Boom.
Darkness.
Boom.
Light.
Light exploded from his chest.
He hadn't aimed for his heart. He’d aimed for his leash.
He’d driven the blade straight through the Oath-stone.
Onyx shards burst outward, glowing like embers, then guttering to ash before they hit the ground.
His body seized, convulsed, went rigid.
For one horrible heartbeat, I thought he was dead.
Then he gasped. A ragged, tearing sound that cost him everything he had left.
His eyes found mine. Open in a way I'd never seen—defiance, raw and bleeding, with nothing standing between it and me.
He ripped the dagger free.
And lunged for my ropes.
The blade sawed through the first braid—rough, desperate strokes that sprayed frayed fibers into the air. His hands were shaking. Blood from his chest wound dripped onto my wrists, hot and slick.
