Page 279 of Between Two Kings

Basilisks believed in fate. That’s what Apollo had told her so many weeks ago. Was this Caspen’s fate? To let Leo take his place? Without Caspen, there would have been no Leo, and vice versa. The competition for Leo brought her to Caspen. The things she learned from Caspen brought her to Leo. There couldn’t be one without the other. A life without both of them made no sense to Tem. She would be forever off-kilter, forever uneven. Always missing a part of her.

“You can’t do this, Caspen. I’m not worth this.”

“I decide my worth, Tem. And it is far and away inferior to yours.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because it is true.”

Tears streamed down Tem’s face. She couldn’t move—couldn’t breathe.

Caspen’s thumb slipped into her mouth, then out, dragging along her bottom lip. The same thing Leo had done just an hour ago. “You should only know pleasure,” he whispered.

Tem couldn’t finish the line. She couldn’t. Because this wasn’t pleasure at all. This was pain. “Caspen,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me.”

“I must, Tem.”

“I can’t do this alone. I can’t do it without you.”

For some reason, he smiled. “You can do anything. Of that I am certain.”

Incomparable sadness swept through Tem. This couldn’t be happening. But she knew it was. There was no going back, no undoing what had just been done.

Caspen looked at Apollo. Tem watched as something passed between brothers: an unspoken vow. Then Caspen whispered, “Finish it, Brother.”

Tem’s spine erupted in chills as Apollo bowed his head in an overt show of respect. Then he turned to Tem, as if awaiting her permission. She would not give it; she would have no part in this. This was not the way she wanted them to end. They were not supposed to end. Ever.

She refused to look at Apollo, instead looking at Caspen as his brother did the same thing Tem had just done—siphoned his power until there was nothing left to take. A montage of images flashed suddenly through her mind: their happiest moments together. She saw them meet for the first time in the caves. She saw him slide her own fingers between her legs before tasting them. As I said. Heaven. She saw him pull her into his mind so he could see her the way he did. They’d slept together for the first time in his chambers, tangled in his sheets, just the two of them, with nobody watching. She saw how proud he was after she finished the ritual. She saw them transition together for the first time, in the lake, then lie on this very same spot on the shore. She saw him cup her jaw, look her in the eye, and say: You are perfect, Tem. I will not allow you to think otherwise.

Through her tears, Tem watched as the power of two kings left Caspen, and with it, his life. Caspen had always felt bigger than her—more important, somehow—more vital. Even now, motionless in her arms, he was magnificent. His golden eyes held hers until they couldn’t anymore. The moment they closed, a flash of pain seared her sternum. Tem looked down, and at first, she couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing. At first she thought she was injured. Then she realized the liquid on her chest was gold, not blood.

Her necklace was melting.

White-hot metal burned her skin as the golden claw dripped between her breasts in a shapeless mass. Tem cried out, grabbing at the molten charm, burning her fingertips. She ignored the pain, trying to keep its shape in her hands. Caspen’s necklace was melting too, pooling in the middle of his chest.

“Caspen,” she gasped, staring at the welts on her skin. “Caspen—”

The smell of burning flesh overtook her. She doubled over, trying to grasp the necklace with her fingers, but it was too late. The chain sliced into her neck as it melted, cutting and burning her at the same time. The claw was nothing but a mess of metal in her palms. Smears of gold seared her skin before solidifying and dropping to the sand in a waterfall of gentle clinks.

A horrible scream tore her throat.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Nothing would ever be good again—nothing would ever be right. A great chasm was opening within her, one she knew would never close. Tem stared at her palms, unadorned by constellations of pigment. Her freckles were gone. The blood bond that had tied Caspen’s life to hers was broken.

Her basilisk side was dead.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Leo gave her no timeline.

His letter arrived the day after Caspen died, just two sentences written in spiky red ink:

Join me when you are ready.

I love you.

The funeral was extravagant. Adelaide planned the entire thing, and Tem simply showed up. When it came time to release Caspen’s ashes into the lake, her hands shook so badly that Apollo stood behind her, placing his hands over hers so she could tilt the urn. She’d been staying in Caspen’s old chambers ever since—the ones he’d occupied before he became king, where they had slept together for the very first time. His sheets still smelled like him—like smoke. Tem wondered when that would fade.

Despite the comfort of his bed, she was having trouble sleeping. She spent hours staring at the mirror where he’d first pulled her into his mind, showing her all the things he found beautiful about her. It was the first time Tem had seen herself from his point of view, the first time she’d truly understood how much he loved her. Now, in his absence, she realized what a gift he’d given her that day. So much of Tem’s confidence came from Caspen. He’d been the first to tell her she was capable—to insist that she was perfect. It took hearing it from him before she believed it herself, and now she didn’t need to hear it from anyone. Now, believing in herself was enough. Caspen had given that to her, and nobody could ever take it away.