Page 145 of Spar of Hearts

Roderick’s heart thundered as he ran toward the dais, sword drawn, hair wild and windblown. Lady Rowan and Octavio were just paces behind him.

“Guards!” the Prince shouted. The guards in the arcade drew their swords and charged. Roderick turned and readied to fight, but the guards only got a few steps before a stream of silver magic froze them in place.

With a shrill caw, the Prince’s eagle flew toward Octavio, radiating its master’s magical aura. Octavio reached to envelop Lady Rowan in his arms, but she threw herself in front of him with a shout.

Beautiful violet magic surged from the ground, arcing over them in a protective shield. The eagle scratched, screamed, gnashed and thrashed against it, but Lady Rowan held fast, despite her trembling hands.

As Roderick charged toward the dais, his eyes locked on the cord binding Anya’s hands to the Prince’s in some kind of ceremonial weave. With a swift, precise slice of his sword, the cords piled to the ground. The priest stumbled away. Roderick threw himself between Anya and the Prince, levying his sword at the Prince’s throat.

Roderick’s chest heaved from adrenaline as the Prince slowly raised his hands and smiled wickedly, his eyes flicking to the stained glass. Anya’s followed, filled with terror he’d never seen before. But what? Why? What was it?

The sun’s full intensity shone through the lead-lined panes.

The Prince laughed, low and hollow. “Go on. Take her. See what happens.”

“Roderick, you can’t—” Anya wheezed. “The Prince, he—” She coughed so violently she fell to her knees.

“Is it the gesh?” Roderick knelt in front of her.

Anya didn’t answer; only lifted a hand to his scruffy cheek and held it there, seeming to revel in the warmth of his skin.

Like a goodbye.

“Tell me what to do!” He gripped her shoulders, then noticed the stillness of her chest. All the color drained from his face. She wasn’t breathing. She wasn’t. Breathing.

Another derisive laugh came from the Prince.

“I can’t hold this much longer!” Lady Rowan cried.

“Roderick! Hurry! Grab her and go!” Octavio grunted with effort.

Roderick’s mind picked apart the room, almost in slow motion as he strategized. The guards were slowly regaining the ability to move, testing their limbs in quicksand-like motions. If the Prince’s eagle broke through and attacked Octavio, the spell would surely shatter. But he couldn’t worry about that. He needed to get Anya breathing first.

He lifted her into his arms. Everything blurred. Sight, sound, smell, even fear—except for her. She was his home. His family. His pack. Her eyes grew heavy with surrender as she pressed a hand over his heart. He looked down at the spot where she touched, tears spilling down his cheeks.

“Hurry!”

“Sir!”

The Prince’s shoes clacked on the marble floor as he took a step toward them. “Hand her over, let us complete the ceremony, and she will live. I swear on my honor.”

Roderick looked at Anya. She shook her head weakly, tracing a hand down his cheek with a look of finality he couldn’t accept.

“Anya, I…” his voice trailed off as his eyes fell to her wrist, right where Annette had been rubbing her own earlier. His vision was blurred with tears, but he swore he could make out a faint glow under her skin.

The gesh!

His thoughts raced. He didn’t know much, if anything about magic. The most he’d experienced was in the last hour, in truth. He knew nothing about the bounds and abilities of ethereal love. But if there was anything capable of a damned miracle, it was that.

He lifted her wrist to his lips. “If this doesn’t work, I’m going to find you,” he whispered shakily. “I promise. In every life, in every body. This isn’t goodbye. This is only the beginning.”

Anya gasped as he bit down, plunging his fangs directly into the glow. The gesh writhed and resisted, shoving against her skin, but he held fast, swallowing her white-hot blood with a pained furrow on his brow. Anya took deep, heaving breaths, and he finally felt not one, but two distinct rushes of air in every inhale—his own, and hers.

He could feel the clip of her breath, the muscles in her chest, the very life in her lungs right alongside his own. He released her with a final gulping swallow. A sanguineous mix streamed down his chin as he smiled at her.

Then his left fang clattered to the marble floor, buzzing and rattling with all the magic of the gesh.

“Worth it,” he lisped, swiping his lips with the back of a hand.