Page 118 of Born of Starlight
We will die on this wall.
I will never see her again.
The Central Queen rested a hand on my shoulder as if knowing where my thoughts had wandered.
That’s right, shedidknow.
“All hope is never lost, Fenris. I dream of a realm where we can find sustainable peace…and even if we go down in flames today, those who come after us will not bend to enmity. They will remember this day. They will avoid repeating it.” She squeezed my shoulder once more. “Asterie is fighting too.”
They sounded alike—Sybilla and Asterie. It was admirable. Insane—but admirable. “I hope that we live to see that dream come true,” I answered with a weak smile.
Then, a tingling feeling shot up my forearms. My hands were glowing, and red flames shot from my fingertips in an unruly flash. I closed my fists before the flames could hurt the Queen.
“Fenris, are you alright?” Her alarmed question was drowned by the roar in my ears. Every nerve in my body sparked—like a burning sensation sinking into my bones.
The ground shook beneath my feet. My senses hadn’t felt this sharp since…Sources.It was before the other half of my power had been siphoned from me.
Smoke billowed like molasses above us. All movement around me slowed. Despite the darkness, my vision adjusted to howbrightthe world seemed. Even Sybilla’s outreached arm lagged as though she were swimming through mud. Then my heart clenched, and the whole world surged to life—every muscle ached as if my body was readjusting to its form.
Sybilla’s mouth was agape as she stared at something over the wall.
Van had tripled in size—he towered over most of the buildings and was taking out dozens of soldiers with a single swipe of his clawed paw. Soldiers were attempting to point cannons at the towering beast approaching them.
When Van let out a roar, it was accompanied by flames that set the soldiers and their cannons ablaze.
My flames had returned to him. How?
I looked down at my hands.Fenris the Destroyer…whole again.
Whole.
But, if I was whole, that meant the other half of me had returned. I paled as Sybilla grabbed my wrists.
No. That wasn’t possible. Not without…fuck.
A memory flashed of a peculiar volume on Asterie’s desk the morning we fought in the Central Tower’s arena. I had thought then that she would try to unbind herself from me out of anger. She’d been reading about the Lacero curse—a type of magic you need to make a deal with Death to wield.
“She’s unbound my power,” I shrieked.
Sybilla’s grip on my wrists grew tighter. Rage simmered in me. I wanted to rip the Central Queen’s throat out for convincing me to stay, to not go after Asterie right away. Sybilla met my gaze with cold determination and a lack of fear.
She grew still as she listened to things I could not hear. “I am not your enemy, Fen.” She glared before her expression cracked. “I can feel Emmerick again—he’s near. He’s in pain.”
If Emmerick was near, that could mean Asterie was close too.She couldn’t be dead—my mind raced for any other explanation for how she might have been able to return my power to me.
If Firose never possessed part of me in the first place, if I’d never loved her, then none of this would be happening.
“You are not my enemy,” I numbly repeated.
Sybilla forcefully let go of my wrists before grabbing her bow. An arrow whipped past me, and I turned in time to see it catch a northern soldier between his chest plate and shoulder armor before he fell to his death.
I stepped to the battlement wall and looked down.
In the chaos in the city below, I spotted a large figure illuminated by the light of the burning city. Stepping through the smoke, a form of pure muscle, brute strength and short black hair. Emmerick’s ankles were chained. My blood boiled when his captor’s golden hair caught the wind below the northern crown.
Firose held the chains like she was leisurely walking a dog through a battlefield. Lynx and northern guards flanked her as she made a show of it.It was probably a trap.She was looking for a reaction, and I was ready to give her just that.
Then my attention caught on a lifeless figure in a familiar green cloak lying in Emmerick’s blood-soaked arms. Her body was limp and her fingertips, blackened from the magic she’d wielded, hung toward the ground.
