Page 326 of The Edge of Darkness

“You’re fucking right I would!” he snarled.

This time I smiled, a mix of emotions working their way up my throat and breaking free in a laugh. “You’re insane, do you know that?”

“I don’t give a fuck! You’re not dying today; I won’t let you. You will get Maeson out of here yourself.”

I wanted so badly to agree with him. I would give anything to walk away unscathed and be able to live the life I longed for. But nothing was guaranteed. Even if I didn’t die, there was still a chance that I would be changed, that my mind wouldn’t be whole after the Aether vacated it.

I offered him another smile, but it wasn’t convincing, and I didn’t know how to make it be.

Seeming to understand my thoughts, he released his hold of me and beat his fist against my chest twice, as if to say, I will do as you asked. The pointed look he gave me right after that threatened to say, But if you die, I’m going to kill you.

I paused for a moment, holding his stare and taking a breath, before nodding and returning to Maeson’s side.

Nivelle dropped to her knees and ripped open the fitted vest she wore atop her fighting leathers. She wasted no time pulling three small pouches from the interior pockets, each bag no bigger than her palm. From one, she removed a baby bird. It was featherless—fresh from the nest. Its eyes, still shrouded with a milky-white film, hadn’t even opened yet. She had collected it yesterday morning, broken its neck, and kept it under cold stones so that it didn’t begin to rot before we needed it.

The fresher the better, she’d told me.

Out of the second pouch, she pulled the magenta stone, the centerpiece of Torin’s diadem. The “stone of the hearth.”

The third pouch, she set to the side, untouched.

She plunged two fingers into the dirt and drew a circle around the bird and the stone, then pulled a dagger from her hip. Her eyes met mine, beckoning for the other required elements of the spell.

Before I offered them, I reached into my own pocket, between my armor, and retrieved Amarna’s Alatyr. Niall had somehow convinced the Elder to part with it for this specific task in the hope that it would offer some sort of protection for me.

The smoky quartz was warm against my palm, offering me a strange sense of comfort. Niall believed it would help, so I could only hope that he was right. I slipped the chain around my neck and looked up to find Roirdan staring at me with a hint of uncertainty.

“And you’re sure this won’t put our armies in danger?” he asked.

“The Aether knows good from evil,” I said.

Roirdan didn’t seem completely convinced, but I didn’t have time to explain. The Aether operated on an entirely different level than everything else, but it was still sentient. And as much as I disliked our forced coexistence, it was not a malevolent entity. I didn’t expect Roirdan, or anyone else, to understand. I just needed them to trust me, and trust that I knew how to handle it.

He didn’t say anything else—he didn’t have time to. Because I took Nivelle’s dagger, knelt in front of a jagged rock that jutted from the ground, and severed the top half of my fourth finger clean off.

Bone from my flesh.

The pain shot up my forearm in waves as my blood spewed over my middle and last finger. I still needed to be able to grip a dagger or sword, so my fourth finger was the most logical one to sacrifice.

Maeson drew in a high-pitched gasp, stunned at the sudden mutilation that none of us had really discussed during our planning. But I had personally planned for this. I’d known from the very first mention that the “bone” would have to come from me. Better that it was one of little consequence.

Nivelle snatched up my severed finger and placed it between the bird and the stone.

“Your blood,” she said, beckoning with her hands.

I brought my dripping hand over the circle, and the moment the droplets of my blood hit the objects within it, the circle ignited with a black flame. Behind us, snarls and shrieks sounded as creatures were drawn to whatever power the objects were summoning.

“And here they come,” Roirdan called over his shoulder as he set into a stance and readied to take on the multitude of threats. Lightning crackled along his sword and at his wrists.

Nivelle lifted her eyes to me. “There is no turning back now.”

I nodded firmly. The time I had been dreading was finally here, and I had no other option than to face it. Without thinking, I took Maeson’s hand, brought it to my lips, and pressed a kiss to her skin. I inhaled her scent, letting it settle into the recesses of my mind, committing it to memory, just in case.

She searched my eyes, a dozen words piling on the tip of her tongue as she opened her mouth, then closed it, unsure of what to say.

“If things go wrong, I want you to get to Roirdan, and get away from here,” I instructed her.

“No . . . I won’t leave you⁠—”