“Let’s go home,” I say quietly.
“We have one last thing to do,” Altair says. His eyes are dark.
I sit up, watching as he stalks towards Sadal. With a flick of my wrist, I release the Dark God from the spell I cast earlier. Sadal doesn’t make any move to run. His body is dripping in blood, his face stained with it. He slumps, staring at the ground. I wonder if Freia’s power was just a temporary gift, or if Sadal has simply given up. Altair crouches beside him. He rests his sword beneath Sadal’s chin and lifts it up so Sadal is forced to look him in the eye.
“Do you understand what you’ve done? What you almost did?” Altair murmurs.
Sadal nods. “Do it,” he whispers. A tear streaks through the blood on his cheeks. “I’ve been waiting for hundreds of years.”
"I'm glad you understand," Altair speaks like a priest absolving Sadal of his sins, but I know Altair's anger still burns in his chest.
His sword plunges into Sadal's chest without a sound. Sadal hiccups in surprise, eyes wide. He gapes at Altair and blood drips from his open mouth. I can't hide the sorrow in my eyes or the downturn of my lips as I watch Sadal's life slip away from him. He sighs, drooping backward as Altair withdraws his sword. The Dark God is finished. Despite his crimes and his cruelty, I hope he rests in peace.
No one speaks a word as they circle around me, waiting for my magic to pull them home. The Shades lean against the threads of the prison, stretching them. “Please,” one of them hisses. “Release us.”
“I don’t think so,” Thal says, glaring at them.
The Shades howl in unison, sounding like fighting cats. I turn my eyes towards Freia and curl my lip at her. She’s studying Sadal’s corpse with disgust. Suddenly, his body fades, dissolving into ash and fluttering away on a breeze. I wonder if Sadal would have truly changed if he hadn’t been tempted by Freia. “Enjoy them,” I say to her with a sarcastic smile. “I hope they never stop shrieking.”
Freia scowls at me but I don't have time to debate whether or not it was wise to anger a Goddess. I unsheathe my dagger and drag it across my palm. My blood pools in my hand, and I see my reflection waver in it. "Lanuae praesens,” I murmur.
And the world goes dark.
Chapter 19
Altair
“Verity?” I shake her gently, heart pounding.
She transported us out of the Ether and into the courtyard of my palace in Desmarais. A cold wind gusts over us and I see flakes of snow in the air. The courtyard is littered with discarded wagons and crushed defenses from the battle a few months prior. Above us, the castle walls have crumbled from the explosion I instructed my alchemists to set-off if we were overrun. The towers have fallen, lying broken at the base of the castle walls. I hold Verity tightly in my arms, listening to her shallow breathing and faint heartbeat.
“Verity?” I lick my lips nervously. She doesn’t respond, her skin is pale and sallow. “Please.”
“Is she alright?” Erzur asks. Her brown eyes show hints of concern.
“She needs a healer,” Thal says, glancing towards the castle. “We all do.”
I rise, hoisting her limp figure into my arms. She doesn’t stir when I break into a sprint. I try not to jostle her in my arms, but her head rolls back and forth in time with my movements. I take the stairs two at a time, dodging debris. Servants and soldiers rush out of the main doors, gaping at us. Bells ring in the city, and I wonder vaguely if they’re announcing our arrival. The sight of soldiers and servants in the halls gives me hope that healers will be here as well despite the castle being near ruin.
“A healer,” I say, stopping beside a soldier. “Where are the healers?”
He points up the stair to the second floor. "They've set up in the second-floor salon, it was the only room large enough."
I nod. The castle seems unfamiliar to me now. Its opulent marble floors are cracked from the weight of the heavy stones that fell from above. The red carpet that ran along the main halls is thin and moth-eaten, worn by the boots of a thousand soldiers. Furniture and décor are missing, likely looted, and windows are shattered. My home is destroyed. But none of it means anything if Verity doesn't wake. She must, I think desperately, she will.
I burst through the door to the salon, a room that was once used for mingling with friends after long dinners. Now, the bookshelves that lined the walls have been replaced with brewing stations and cupboards for ingredients. The plush sofas are gone and cots in neat rows are in their place. The healers turn in unison towards me, pausing in their work. Some of them gasp when they recognize me.
“She won’t wake up.” My voice sounds broken and weak.
"Put her here," the nearest healer says, gesturing towards a cot. I lay her down gently. Her skin is feverish now, hot enough to burn my hand when I run it over her bare skin. The healer rips her blood-red cloak off of her and studies her body. "What happened?"
I shake my head. Where do I begin?
“Is she injured?” The healer snaps impatiently.
“No,” I say. “Not enough to cause her to fall unconscious.”
“I take it she’s a Bloodbane?” The healer eyes her cloak.
“Yes,” I say, nodding.
He tuts. “You need to get out. You’ll only be in the way.”
“No,” I say sharply. “I can help. Tell me what to do and I’ll
