I raise my weapon and charge.
He moves like a ripple of light. I swing, and he’s already beside me. The cleaver cuts through the air. He catches my wrist, his grip iron-hard, and smiles.
“Vann! Stop, please,” Arlet calls, voice cracking. The sound of her voice is sweet. Her words ripple across my skin, like warm honey drizzled over my head.
“Don’t hurt him!” she shouts, grabbing Arion’s hand just as it begins to glow.
It makes Arion pause. He turns and looks at her with a flaring expression. I use the opportunity to break free from his grip, twisting away.
“You…” Arion begins, voice low and dangerous, looking between us as if putting together our connection. “You would risk your life to save his,consort?” He has the gall to look betrayed. It strikes me as odd. He had access to Thorne’s information. How could he not have known that we are…whatwe are?
As they move, I grab onto Arlet’s hand. This is not my fight, but I will take advantage of the distraction.
As soon as our skin touches, a zap zings through me with perfect electrical force. She looks at me as if she would pull away. Gods, she’s so gaunt. She looks even more so up close, where I can observe the powders and creams rubbed onto her skin. She’s beautiful, but this is all wrong.
“Arlet,” is all I can manage as I scoop her into my arms and begin to run away. The sounds of fighting are behind us as we run through the garden. Somewhere, I hear one of them call for Arlet, but they continue to fight with the king.
“No. Let me stay!” Arlet twists against me as I move, her voice sharp and furious, cutting through the chaos like glass.
“Do you even know what you’ve done?” she shouts, her fists pounding weakly against my chest. “You’ve ruinedeverything! They’ll come for me now—they’ll killeveryone!”
The sting in her words burns worse than the pain in my side. That’s my mate. She is a woman concerned for those in her home. The smoke, the firelight, the screams—it’s all folding in around us, and still her voice is the only thing I can hear.
“I was trying to?—”
“You were still trying to be a hero!” she spits, wiggling out of my grasp as we veer behind a marble column half shattered by magic. “And now they’ll die for it. You’ll die. Do you even care?”
Her tears cut through the paint on her cheeks. I press my back to the cold stone, trying to catch my breath, the taste of ash sharp on my tongue. “Enduvida will be all right. We will figure things out,” I manage. “I couldn’t stand there and?—”
“And watch him bind me? That wasmychoice!” she says, voice trembling. “I had a plan, Vann. I could’ve survived this. I could’ve?—”
“Survived?” The word drips with disdain. “You callthatsurvival? You were about to lose yourself! You told me that you thought Mrath wouldn’t come. But she’s here.”
For a moment, neither of us moves. Her chest heaves, and mine feels ready to split. The distant clash of metal and the shouts of soldiers fill the garden, echoing against the domed walls. Somewhere beyond the smoke, Arion’s voice calls out a sharp command that makes my blood turn to ice.
“Mrath has a way to take power,” I say, taking out the seed. “We need to plant this on Arion’s throne. Do you know how to get there?”
Arlet’s eyes flick upward, wide and wild, then back to me. “I—” she starts. Then, as if deciding something, she grabs my wrist. “This way. We will wait for the guards to head to the temple, and then we will head inside.”
I follow her across the broken terrace, into the greenhouse beyond the gardens. The glass is fractured, and there are vines curling through gaps. The scent of wet soil and flowers clings to everything. We duck behind a cluster of overgrown ferns.
For the first time, the noise feels far away. All I can hear is the mating song, and I marvel. It is something I thought I would never hear. It is pretty, gentle. Quiet. Less like a massive orchestral explosionand more like the lazy sound of notes plucked out on a lyre, played near a cozy fire.
Arlet is still in her wedding gown. Gossamer layers with a light spark cover swathes of silk with faint patterns of leaves and vines. Her long, beautiful red hair flows down her back, tucked neatly under a veil.
In another life…she would be wearing such a gown for me. She would be healthy. Her stone would sing in time with mine. She would be smiling as bright as the sun.
Regret floods through me.
So much time wasted.
Arlet sinks to the ground, trembling. Then the veneer cracks, and I realize her gown is torn at the hem, streaked with dirt. Her fingers clutch the green collar still faintly glowing around her throat. “I can’t breathe.”
I kneel in front of her, every word I should’ve said that fucking night she left the island rising like shards in my throat. “I’m sorry,” I say. “For all of it. For being too late, too proud. For letting you go.”
Reaching behind her neck, I grasp onto the secured clasp of the collar and try to pull it apart. It holds tight, and she gasps.
It turns white-hot, burning my flesh. I hiss and back away.