Page 44 of She Who Holds My Wrath

“I’m so sorry, Ezra. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that alone. Especially with Talia.” He squeezes my hand softly as my voice cracks on her name. “We should throw her a little funeral. Just us.”

He nods and wipes away his tears. “Let’s give the bad bitch the send-off she deserves.”

Chapter 20

EZRA

The last time I remember living without fear, is when the sound of applause echoed like a thousand wings beating all at once, rippling up the columns and across the ceiling. A sea of clapping and laughing and crying because, for five minutes, the world wasn’t cruel.

Daisy squeezed my fingers so hard my rings left little marks in her palms, and I didn’t care because she was shining, and Korithax looked at her like she was the only star he’d ever learned the name of. They kissed and the room sighed, and I had leaned into Talia like, babes, we are living, and she whispered back, “universe, do you see my girl?” And I swear my heart grew two sizes and sprouted sequins.

Then the doors blew open and the night fell in.

Not darkness—worse. Light that didn’t belong to living things. Light that carved. Light that sneered. Six figures strolled through the fog like the world was their red carpet, and the scream in my throat laid down and played dead. Korithax’s wings tore open in a snap of shadow and fire. I tasted metal. Ozone. The after-smell of burnt churches. Seraphiel said something vile in a voice that scraped down my bones, and I only half-heard it because my brain was busy unravelling like a cheap thrift-store sweater. Behind her, the others gleamed. Calrix, with his murder-toy already out; Mal’Thariel, who looked like a glass saint you’d cut your lips on; Amarithe, glowing like a bad idea wrapped in honey; Elaron, smiling the way I imagine a knife would smile when they’re about to be used for murder; and Velentha, hood up, silent, the only one who didn’t make my skin feel like it was blistering. I knew the names because Daisy had whispered them in fear against my shoulder, the stories of them sounding like pure horror.

“Leave them out of this,” Korithax snarled, and I had never once been comforted by a snarl before, but there you go—first time for everything.

Seraphiel’s gaze found me, and I felt it like frostbite. “We warned you not to return, little mortal,” she said, and I felt Talia go still beside me, felt the tremor race through her arm where it linked with mine. We were nothing more than tiny little rabbits. And she was the hawk.

“Let’s choose your punishment,” Seraphiel cooed, her smile serpentine.

She lifted her hand and sang, “Eenie…”

“Don’t,” Korithax said, voice low, as powerful as thunder.

“Meenie…”

I stepped in front of Talia because my body decided it would rather be brave than alive. “Take me,” I said, voice cracking but honest. “Don’t touch her.”

“Minie…”

Talia’s nails dug crescents into my palm. “I love you,” she whispered, without turning her gaze to me. She spoke those words the way people do when they know their time is running out.

“Mo.”

Seraphiel pointed at Talia. My stomach fell through the floor.

“Catch a mortal by the toe…” she sing-songed, and somewhere far away, I heard the first raindrops hit the windows of the throne room.

“If it screams⁠—”

“Stop,” Korithax said, stepping forwards like a sculpted mountain.

“We won’t let it go.”

“Don’t,” Daisy choked. She sounded like a small child.

“Eenie. Meenie. Minie⁠—”

“No,” Korithax growled.

“—Mo.”

She landed on Talia again, light and laugher and malice in one delicate flick of a finger. Calrix moved before thought happened. A silver flash, a hiss, a sound that will haunt me, even in death. The blade buried itself in Talia’s chest. She didn’t understand at first. She inhaled like she’d been surprised. Her eyes went wide and so full of emotion. Then blood made a red map of her dress and she collapsed into Daisy, who fell to her knees, hands already slick and sliding, whispering no no no like you can bargain with the Grim Reaper if you say it fast enough.

I caught Talia’s head before it hit the stone. Her face was still warm, a little damp from humidity, smelling faintly of coconut oil and the cherry lip gloss she loved that I hated. Her mouth shaped my name in a silent plea, and then flattened. The world tilted and I screamed until it felt like my throat bled. I would’ve given all of my tomorrows for one more breath in her lungs, for one more eye roll, for one more, “baby, your blush is patchy, come here.”

Korithax’s voice cut through the ringing. “Aran.”