Something snaps inside me, and I reverse my grip on the sword and smash the pommel into his face. Blood sprays as the chair tips, and he crashes to the ground in a tangle of ropes and limbs.
I storm out of the tent, my breath coming in harsh gasps, my hands trembling with barely contained fury. The cool night air does nothing to calm the inferno raging in my chest.
Why did my mother choose this moment to return? After all these summers of silence, of absence, of desperate prayers whispered into my pillow as a child. Or when Jerrod’s cruelty left welts across my back—where was she then?
Yet she appears for Aleksander, a bastard who doesn’t even share her blood.
The rage burns hotter as I tighten my grip on the hilt of my sword. I want to go back in there, finish what I started, but her words echo in my mind, holding me back like invisible chains.
You will need him.
Fuck that!
I’ll never ask that bastard for anything. I’d rather watch him rot like the maggot he is.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Annora
When Aleksander triedto turn me against Jasce and his army, I fought back, and I would do it all over again if it meant saving innocent lives.
They didn’t deserve his hatred, and I did not deserve to be his weapon.
I push to my feet, and the tent spins for a moment before steadying.
Shakily, I lift my hand to my chest where the dagger pierced my heart. No wound remains, no scar—just smooth skin beneath my fingers.
Something else burns there. Something familiar.
My crimson magic. No longer bound or controlled.
For some reason, Olah finally heard my plea, and he answered me. Otherwise, I would have never been able to resist Aleksander’s bond.
A smile spreads across my face as I think about finally being free. I can go to Sharhavva with Jasce now. Well, after the war is over.
Then, I can get Tahira and Emerin and bring them with me. Maybe Breda would like to go too.
I am free, free, free.
Thank the gods. They have finally helped me, and now I can help reshape the future ofallHematites.
Chapter Seventy-Four
Jasce
I gripthe edges of the washing stand until my knuckles turn white as memories of Annora flood my thoughts. Cold. Lifeless. Covered in blood.
Fuck!
“Jasce?” Annora’s voice comes from behind me, but I don’t turn to look at her.
“Mm.” I grab the cloth, scrubbing my face harder than necessary.
“Please look at me.” Her footsteps approach, soft against the tent floor.
“I need to clean up.” The words come out sharp, clipped.
I hate myself for it, but I can’t stop seeing her lifeless body. Can’t stop reliving that moment when she chose to leave me rather than fight.
