Willing Sacrifice (26 page)

A
pair of sleek black Hunters stalked into the clearing.

Grace was sure that they would kill her on sight, but instead, they took one look at her, then dismissed her as unimportant.

Either that, or they knew she was already dead.

She could feel her insides dying, feel the rapid decay of her flesh. The charred appearance along her fingertips was creeping upward, burning hot for only a second before her nerves were consumed.

She didn’t have long. Torr was already fighting the Warden—she could hear the battle being waged only a few yards inside the trees—and now two Hunters were closing in for the kill as well. She had to do something, but throwing herself in front of those Hunters was only going to slow them down for half a second.

Knowledge of the landscape came to her easily, as if she’d roamed every inch of the surrounding area for years. There was a place not far from here—one that might give Torr a fighting chance to survive.

She gathered a handful of the stones he’d dropped and ran as fast as her burning body would carry her. She knew exactly what the stones could do, even though she’d never seen them before. The knowledge was familiar, tinged with Brenya’s regal dominance and wisdom.

Another mental gift, no doubt.

A tree branch slammed into Grace’s arm. She heard the bone crack, felt the pain of the break sear along her spine.

She’d learned at the hands of her stepfather how to ignore pain, how to keep moving with broken bones so she could escape the next blow. She used every bit of skill she had now to push forward and distance herself from the agony crawling through her body.

The ground pitched up, the steep angle nearly slowing her to a stop. The sound of battle was softer now, but the impact of steel on glass was an unmistakable chime in the distance.

Each crawling step was harder than the last. Her left arm was useless. Something in her foot cracked, giving her a burst of pain she couldn’t ignore.

Behind her, a Hunter let out a scream that cut off far too soon. Torr had killed it with that huge hammer he wielded.

Her breath sawed in and out of her lungs, misting out in a thick fog.

That was when she realized she wasn’t alone.

She looked around and saw that one of the Hunters had followed her. Maybe it had decided to see if she was a threat, or maybe it thought she was easy prey. Either way, it was bad news.

She met its black gaze, let it know she saw it. She wasn’t afraid of death. She knew she was going to die tonight. The only thing that scared her was letting Torr die with her.

Grace inched up the last few feet of the slope backward, keeping the Hunter in sight.

It dug its sharp, glassy claws into the ground, accelerating toward her.

She kept moving back, knowing the steep drop was right behind her. Just like last time, she would let the Hunter charge over the edge and shatter on the rocks below.

But it was smarter than that. It saw the trap and banked right, missing both her and the steep drop.

She used the time to regain her footing. Every inch of her body screamed in pain. Her foot could barely support her weight, and she didn’t dare trust it with a full step. Instead, she limped to the place where an ancient tree had fallen. It formed a narrow bridge across the ravine, but was old and rotting with decay.

Fifty feet below, the river churned and frothed against a cluster of rocks as big as cars.

She took one of the stones and tossed it into the water. Instantly, the Warden appeared, standing in the middle of the river.

The strong current shoved at its body, but it still managed to make it to the shore.

It looked up. Saw her.

There was a flare of recognition in its transparent gaze—one that sent a primal chill of fear snaking through her.

Without a pause, it stalked to the wall of the ravine, sprouted thick, crystalline barbs from its arms and legs and began scaling the wall.

As fast as it was going, she didn’t have much time. She had to finish what she’d come to do.

She looked back to the rocks below. Even though she knew she was dead, the idea of falling made bile rise in her throat.

No other choice.

She took a careful step onto the thick trunk. It held her weight but gave out a tired groan. She inched forward, blocking out the pain of her battered foot. Looking down would be her death, so she kept her head up and level.

The Hunter saw her. It slid back and forth nearby, cutting through the brush at the top of the hill. It looked almost like it was pacing, trying to decide how to reach her without falling to its death.

Grace was a few feet in now. The tree shifted slightly with each step, but held.

The Hunter veered close to the fallen tree. A frost formed along the surface, and a frigid crackling sound spread under her feet.

She couldn’t feel the chill yet, but she knew it would come.

The Warden was nearly to the top of the ravine. Once it reached solid ground, it could chop through the tree she stood on and end her.

It was now or never. This would have to be far enough.

Grace opened the water skin dangling from her body and shoved the last stone through the opening.

Everything happened at once.

The Warden appeared on the tree in front of her, barely keeping its balance. The Hunter charged onto the log. Torr’s voice boomed nearby, screaming for her to stop.

She caught a glimpse of his face and felt love swell and fill her up. He would be the last thing she ever saw—the last, sweet image to take to her grave.

She closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around the Warden’s waist and shoved herself sideways toward the rocks below.

T
orr stared over the edge of the cliff, praying for another ledge, hoping Grace would be staring up at him, reaching out her hand for help.

Instead, all he saw below was a trio of shattered bodies. The clear shards of the Warden and the black chips of the Hunter mixed in a glittering confetti across Grace’s broken body. Blood frothed in the passing current for a moment before turning to pink ice. As the water flowed over her, new layers of ice formed, encasing her.

The disk on his back fell away.

Grace was dead.

The weight of his shock and grief drove him to his knees. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. She was supposed to be safe and warm in her bed right now, not dead and frozen in a block of bloody ice. She was supposed to love him forever, the way he loved her. They were supposed to have a life together, have children, grow old together.

Tears flooded his eyes and rained down his cheeks. A wrenching pain sliced across his lifemark, and he could feel the leaves begin to fall, one after another.

He welcomed the pain, welcomed the inevitable death it would bring. The sooner, the better.

“She could not let you become human,” said Brenya.

He didn’t know how she’d gotten here, but it hardly mattered. Nothing mattered without Grace.

He dug his fingers into the ground, fighting the need to jump in after her. Only his vow to Brenya held him back. He’d promised to repay her for teleporting him here, and he had no choice but to submit to that vow. “She didn’t even know that I’d chosen that path.”

“She knew. She also knew how torturous it was for you to be weak the way you had been, the way she saw herself.”

“She wasn’t weak. A weak woman would never give up her life to save others. She’d never throw herself off a cliff by choice.”

“You and I know that. She did not. She did, however, remember every second of your paralysis, of your helplessness. Our gentle Grace would never have let you suffer like that again.”

“I would have been happy. With her, I would have been happy.”

Brenya bent down and picked up the disk. “Give me your hand, young Theronai. We will gather her body and take her home.”

Torr did as she asked. A second later, he was back in the northern village, inside the hut where he’d first seen Grace after coming here. The ice covering her was mostly gone. Her broken body was facedown. The metal disk that she’d once worn was loose against her back, caught just inside the opening of her tunic.

He picked it up and set it aside.

Her skin was frozen. A thin layer of ice clung to her clothes and hair. Black, charred patches covered her hands. He could see now just how badly the fall had mangled her. Shards of bone had sliced through her skin. Her limbs lay at odd, sickening angles.

Torr’s heart shattered. Shock and denial had gotten him this far, but they were wearing off fast, and once they did, he knew he’d collapse into a useless pile of grief.

“I want to bathe her,” he said.

“As you wish.” Brenya handed him a bowl of water and a cloth, and picked up a set of her own.

He gently rolled Grace onto her back. Her face had been spared the worst of the impact, leaving her as beautiful as ever. It seemed impossible that there was no life left in her—that she was only a shell. He kept staring, hoping to see some flicker of motion, some sign of life.

There was none. Grace was dead.

“Can I take her back to her family?” he asked.

“Perhaps when I return. The threat from the Solarc has passed. The portal destroyed. The Warden unable to report. I will leave tonight to recharge under the light of the Athanasian moon. You will stay here.”

Torr nodded his understanding. Tears clogged his throat. He held them off, knowing that if he let go, he would crack and become useless. His grief would have to wait until this task was done and he could find a private place to lick his wounds.

His sweet Grace. Dead.

It couldn’t be real. No nightmare this horrible was ever real, and yet he didn’t wake up.

He wet the cloth and started at her fingertips and worked his way up. Brenya did the same on the other side. They cut away her bloody, tattered clothes and covered her in a soft woven sheet of pale blue.

He brushed her hair until it was dry and braided it over one shoulder. By the time he was done, she looked perfect. The charred flesh was cleaned away, the blood was gone, her limbs were straight again with no sign of broken bones.

“There,” said Brenya. “It is nearly done. I have given her as much of myself as I dare. Only one more thing and she will be ready.” She held out her hands, and in each one was one of the metal disks.

“You want to bury her with them?” he asked.

“You will each wear them again. This one is yours now.” She offered him the one he knew Grace had always worn. The markings on it were different—sparser than on his own.

“I don’t understand.”

“I know. But you will do this thing as repayment of your vow. Take off your shirt and kneel.”

It didn’t matter if Torr wanted to do it or not. His body was already moving, compelled by his open-ended promise. He felt to his knees, ripping his shirt away as he went.

She didn’t give him time to brace himself; she merely slammed the metal prongs into his skin. He was still on his knees, panting through the pain when he felt something happen.

He looked up. Brenya had rolled Grace onto her side and had cast aside the sheet. Blood trickled from her skin where the disk had been embedded.

Rage detonated inside him, as fierce as it was inappropriate. No one could hurt Grace anymore. She was beyond pain. And still, the sight of her blood made him want to kill.

Brenya held up a hand. It trembled with fatigue, and for the first time, he saw just how frail she’d become—so much worse than even last night. Her skin hung on her bones, and she was stooped over much more than she’d been only a few minutes ago. She looked centuries old. Shriveled and frail. “Settle, young Theronai. I am nearly out of time.”

Torr calmed down, though he couldn’t tell whether it was because she’d ordered him to or because of his shock at seeing just how far and how fast she’d degraded.

And then it hit him.

All the cuts on Grace’s body had healed. The broken bones realigned. The charred skin where radiation had damaged her was renewed. He’d been so overwhelmed with loss, he hadn’t realized that Brenya must have been healing Grace’s flesh all along. That was why she was so weakened.

But why would she heal the flesh of a dead woman?

Brenya caught his chin and held his gaze. The stormy waves in her eyes held far less power than before, but they still churned and swirled in a leaden display. “Do you love her?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Will you vow to give your life for hers?”

Hope surged in his chest, and while he knew how dangerous it could be, he couldn’t help but let it lift his soul.

“My life for hers,” he vowed without hesitation.

“I have been preparing her body for this moment for years, hoping she would be worthy of the gift. Strong enough to receive it and survive. Still, even with all my efforts, she can never be what you have always sought. She will never truly be Theronai. If she lives again, healing will be her domain—only that and nothing else.”

It didn’t matter what she was or what she could do. Not if there was any hope his Grace could live. “She’s all I need. All I’ve ever needed. I could never want more than her, however she comes back to me.”

Brenya jerked his luceria from his throat, clenching it in her wizened fist. Her weight shifted suddenly, and she was leaning on him for support.

“Whoa. Hang on.” Torr held her up and eased her into a nearby chair.

She held out her hand, offering him the luceria. “Take this. Claim her as your own. Will her to life.”

A ripple of shock slipped through him, shaking him to his bones. “How did you take that off me?”

“Who do you think put it on you, young Theronai? You were my design. My creation. I put the luceria on you long before your birth. Now go and be worthy of what this cost me. I can do no more.”

He took it. “Cost you? I don’t understand.”

It didn’t matter. She was gone in a flash of light. Disappeared.

Torr stood there for a second, staring in shock at the band that had always graced his throat.

It was now Grace’s.

He went to her side. His hands trembled as he slid the band around her neck. The blunt ends touched but did not lock in place as they were supposed to do.

She was still dead. How could they?

Will her to life.

The disks. They operated on will. He wore the one she had—the one that transferred health from one wearer to the other.

Will her to life.

Torr took her hand in his and let his love for her flow through him. He slid through every memory of them together, watching himself fall in love with her all over again. When he was angry, she made him smile. When he felt hopeless, she gave him joy and a glimpse of a brighter future. When he was afraid, she gave him a reason to fight through it. If there was even one spark of power in his body that he was able to give her, he would. Whatever she needed, for the rest of their lives—however long or short they might be.

A hot, tingling feeling passed over his spine and down his arms. He felt the disk on his back heat and vibrate. As the sensation grew, his strength seemed to fade.

He crawled onto the bed next to her, afraid that he would topple over if he didn’t lie down. He wrapped his arms around her and felt the heat coming off of the disk she wore.

A huge rush of power gushed from his body. It burned as it passed, wrenching a scream from his chest. He’d never felt anything like it before—painful but right. Hot but sweet.

The longer the energy streamed out of him, the weaker he became. Still, he didn’t try to stop it or slow it down. Whatever the disk wanted from him, it could take. Whatever Grace needed was hers.

He had no idea how long he lay there. All he knew was that he was now too weak to move. He could barely find the strength to breathe. Nearly all of his power was gone, but he used what little he had left to push more energy toward the disk, feeding it.

Finally, all that was left was a tiny trickle of his magic and the erratic beat of his own heart.

He heard a tiny click and opened his eyes. The luceria had locked closed around her throat.

Grace’s eyes flew open. She sucked in a gasping breath.

She was alive. And she was his.