Ve'Rah Daa (The Ephemeral: Book 3)

Chapter 40

I disappeared into the palace ruins, attempting to stifle my fear and heartbreak long enough to make Victor's sacrifice worth something.

Push it down, down, down, and if you're lucky enough to experience an afterward, deal with it then.

When it occurred to me that I was progressing at a snail's pace—in agony—I extracted a broken window frame from the rubble to serve as a crutch, then spied a tattered drape a few feet away.

After pouring my entire waterskin over the wound—and biting down on my tongue to kill my curses—I wrapped my thigh in drape scraps, hating the idea of surviving this war only to die of a nasty infection shortly after.

Where was Beckett when you needed him most? The man had enough alcohol on his person to sanitize our entire army.

The ground shivered beneath my feet as I approached the swelling portal. Its angry, ruby light fell upon every blasted surface like an ominous blood stain, and each step I took filled me with naked, trembling dread.

If the delegate spell worked the same way for Regulas as it did Trevor, then killing the Rhean king was our only chance of leveling the playing field. No more Pots. No new Pans. Just a battle of skills, motivation, and numbers.

But killing the king also meant facing the psychotic man who'd asked me to join him in his genocide, and who, upon my rejection, had tormented me with his brother's possession, imprisoned me beneath his palace, and later sent his pack of bloodthirsty ancestors to rip out my intestines.

He'd grown even more unstable in our time apart—obviously, if he'd felt justified in recruiting vulnerable Rheans against their will. But it scared me, what he'd become, and how impossible it was to predict his next move.

I'd take lightning over a madman any day. At least the sky wouldn't my steal my corpse when it bested me.

Around the next mound of spire debris, I came face to face with the raging portal, and my fear reemerged from the deep crevices of my heart. Over thirty feet in diameter, the massive beam roared and shook with a terrifying vengeance, tossing my hair around in all directions, filling my veins with ice.

It still hadn't released its next batch of demons, though. And that was the only reason I'd made it this far. I didn't want to think about what came next, or how many soldiers would succumb to possession when the portal erupted.

Hopefully, it won't come to that.

I scanned the bomb site before me, searching for the glint of a royal crown.

Despite Claus' best efforts, half of Godric's home remained standing. The southern wing was entirely annihilated, its bodice blown to dust, the walls ripped from every adjacent room and chamber like a barbaric dollhouse. But the northern sector had survived the attack, and there, at the base of a long, broken stairwell, stood the man I loved. 

A heavy breath escaped me.

Fine dust coated Will's armor, and save for a few cuts and bruises across his exposed skin, he looked relatively uninjured—at least in a physical sense. The anguish on his face was palpable, though, and far too relatable.

"How do I turn it off?" he demanded, his hand perched on the hilt of his sword.

"Is that how you greet a sovereign these days?" Regulas drawled, and though the portal blocked my view of him, his nonchalance sent a horrible chill through my breastplate. "Ellsian insolence has rubbed off on you, brother. When you destroy a man's estate, the least you can do is bow."

The comment triggered an eye-roll, but when Godric's firstborn son stepped into view, my mouth went dry, and a gnawing apprehension drowned out any annoyance.