“Let me ask you, darling Viola,” Grimm drawls, a sneer on his face. His calculating eyes shift from Sylas to me. A glint of victory flashes across his face. He reeks of arrogance. “Do you want to watch when he dies?”
I won’t let him die.
Sylas’s grip on my hand loosens, but I hold it in place; he’s no longer immortal. I can’t risk his being reckless right now. Scar slithers to my side, her golden eyes trained on Grimm. She hisses once, then buries herself into the ground, slithering ahead.
“Your bravery means nothing when you’re untrained.” Grimm raises his hand, his fingers manipulating invisible threads. “Swear loyalty to me, and I will teach you greatness.”
“Magic has no master, Grimm.” I repeat his own words. “It swears no loyalty.” I take a step forward as Scar’s head emerges an inch from his ankle.
“Stall,” Sylas says, barely above a whisper. “Beau and Gryff should be here soon. Probably Firstline, too.”
Grimm laughs, both his hands weaving an invisible thread now. I blink at Scar, and she strikes. He curses, reaching for her, but my aspier is fast; she slips through his grip, slithering toward the forest.
“Bold choice,” he mutters through clenched teeth. “But not without consequence.”
He waves his hand, and a single undead emerges in front of us. It lunges forward, and I throw myself in front of Sylas, shielding him with my body. The long, bony claws slice clean through my rib cage, the frozen graze of death searing my skin with ice. I wince, bracing myself for the agonizing pain I’m so familiar with, but it never comes. Instead, Sylas’s arm is around my abdomen, Railesza half coiled around his forearm, her fangs in my veins.
“I can take it,” I whisper. I’ll take every hit, every claw of death if it means keeping him safe.
Behind me, Sylas lets out the faintest groan.
I turn around just in time for him to fall forward, my knees buckling under the weight of his body. I wrap an arm around him to lower him to the ground, resting his head on my lap. When I pull my hand away, it shakes, slick with warm, sticky blood. Sylas’s blood.
“No,” I say so quietly. “No… Sy…”
Railesza’s fangs sink into the veins of his neck, her body gently coiled where Raiek used to be. Grimm is saying something, but I can’t look away from Sylas’s closed eyes, his waning breaths, on Railesza’s fury as she switches veins. He’s not dead; she will heal him like she’s healed me so many times before.
“Please don’t leave me.” I hold his face, placing a gentle kiss to his lips, and his eyelids flicker, a strained moan escaping his mouth. His eyes open, and I stroke his hair, begging the Gods to spare him.
“I’ll never leave you,” he murmurs. “I love you.” Then he fades again.
Death be my witness, I love this man through this life, through all my lives.
“Let him go, Viola,” croons Grimm, and I lift my head up to face him. Across the clearing, he stands alone, hands clasped as he looks at us with glee.
Sylas coughs once, and I hold him closer. Blood is trickling down his jaw, and his breaths are now shallow, his lips turning blue. He cannot die. Railesza won’t let him.Iwon’t let him. Gods, take everything, but I beg you, don’t take him from me.
“Your love for him is pathetic,” Grimm mocks, his palms upturned at his sides.
“What do you even know about love, Grimm? When you sacrificed yours in pursuit of power that will never find you?” I say through gritted teeth. “Your name breeds fear across Draterra; you know nothing of love.”
He shakes his head, a slow smile creeping across his wicked lips. “Love is a necessary sacrifice, darling Viola.”
He closes his fingers, and three claws pierce through Sylas’s chest from the ground.
I don’t hear myself scream, but I am certain that I do.
Time moves so slowly, yet so fast. One of Grimm’s undead drags me away from Sylas, slamming me against a tree a few feet back. The unmistakable sound of my bones breaking fills the air, but I drag myself forward, crawling toward Sylas.
Seconds later, a second undead grabs Railesza and, despite her struggles, cages her to the ground within its claws. Sylaswilldie without her healing. I fight back, kicking and reaching for him, but it’s futile. The undead digs its claws into my ankles, nailing me to the ground. I howl in pain, tears stinging my eyes. Railesza’s questioning gaze meets mine as she tries to slip out of the cage of bones, but we’re trapped.
And Sylas is dying.
“Ysenia, promise you won’t leave him alone,” I plead, hoping she hears me even if I cannot hear her. I am a Mortemagi. Even if he dies, I will bring him back.
“Nauseating,” Grimm scoffs. He lowers his arms, his fingers weaving anew. Dirt, grass, and rocks swirl around Sylas, and soft tendrils wrap around him.
Gods, Grimm is trying to turn him into a puppet.