‘I love them, Meilyr. But that is not enough to save them. It has to be them, you see – the king and his crown of hawthorn, and she following in his footsteps, so very eagerly. Following in the footsteps of every Khaimlic king since the first. They will not stop until all Cyngalon is razed or enslaved, and even that will not be enough. They only know how to consume, how to destroy all they cannot quash and break. That is why they have to die. Why they all had to die, and why I will kill them.’
Aldreda cried out in a spasm, the fox’s tears twisting.
Under Meilyr’s hands, Osian snarled in pain.
He redoubled his efforts, snatched at what made Osian and, wincing, began the war to pull him back into himself.
Branches twitched. They both hissed through gritted teeth.
‘You are strong.’ There was wonder in Demelza’s voice. ‘I am so very glad this came about before they killed you. Of course, that is necessary for what comes next, but I needed you saved for last, so you could understand. I hoped they would blame you, yes – all the little ties to you, they worked so perfectly. But you are the final piece, Meilyr.A weaver’s heart-blood to turn back the tide, just as it says. Come, let him go. He deserves it too, and I have been doing this far, far longer than you.’
Meilyr dug his nails into Osian’s tunic, into his flesh. ‘They do not deserve to die, Demelza. Not them. Let them go.’
‘I cannot, darling. They are needed for this, just as you are. Blood begets blood, until you put an end to the blood – until you drain it dry and use it to water the soil they would spoil.’
Osian’s body shuddered, and he cried out in wordless agony.
Meilyr’s hands shook. The roar was so great he could barely hear. She was taking back control. ‘Demelza,stop! Let him go, gods,please!’
She swept close and knelt beside him, gripped his chin and made him look at her. ‘Let him go, darling. Do not make your last moments together more painful. You read the page I left for you, did you not?Beloved the oak, blood spilled for every layer of binding.’ She touched his cheek, eyes glimmering. ‘And you came back. Together, we can tear Khaim apart with our bare hands and burn the pieces.’
Meilyr clung to Osian. She was so, so much stronger than him. ‘Let him go—’
‘And you will come to the knife willingly? If I spare him, you will help me?’
‘Yes,’ he choked. ‘I will.’
‘No—’ Osian’s protest cut off in another twist of pain.
Demelza huffed a sad laugh and rubbed his cheek with her thumb. ‘Oh, Meilyr. I am so sorry.’
She really was. Even as she hauled him to his feet, away from Osian.
‘No!’
‘He is the king’s son, Meilyr. Even with a good heart, he cannot be allowed to live.’
‘Osian!’ Meilyr dug in his heels and drew the gwaed-steel dagger at his hip.
Demelza grabbed his wrist and twisted with practised cold. Agony shot up his arm, hot and sharp. His back hit a pillar as she shoved him, and the dagger clattered uselessly to the floor.
She fixed him there with one hand on his wrist, the other around his throat. ‘No need for that, is there. I know this hurts, but you have to let him go.’
He struggled, to no avail.
Behind her, Osian tried to reach for him. It broke his heart all over again.
‘You hide yourself so well, Meilyr.’ Her gaze was soft. Sad. ‘You make yourself so small. I would never have known, were it not for the little signs only another gwehydd would recognise. Your way with food, how youhurtso vividly when that stag died on the hunt. The way the gardens listened for you, how expertly you saved Osian’s life from that poison. I felt the blood move in you, from your own heart.’ She moved aside the hair from his neck. Her expression changed to something between pity and grief. ‘A parting gift…’
The bite-bruises Osian had left on his skin.
‘At least one of his last memories will be a pleasant one. Gods, how different we are, after all…’
Meilyr barely heard her. From his helpless, hopeless pain came perfect clarity.
He could still feel Osian. He could feel him more brilliantly than ever, the prince’s heartbeat threaded through his own.
He could reach him. He would.