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She halted all movement immediately. The glimmer in Ymaritis’s blue and silver eyes grew brighter as resignation befell Elyse. She wouldn’t dare use her magic, not when one flick of Ymaritis’s fingers would cost her the lives of both Killian and Jaime. He could have used shackles or wards to stifle her magic, but he hadn’t. This was a game to him, a sick test of her control. Her power both rioted and lulled within her, a desperate battle that brought a pounding to her temples.
“And just to be safe,” Ymaritis crooned as he stepped toward her. He slipped his hand into her pockets, retrieving the two vials of transportation potion she had stashed away. Ymaritis crushed them in his hands, letting the blue liquid spill to the grass.
He strode away, and Elyse’s eyes followed his movements, each swaggering step. With his back turned, she considered taking her chances, her muscles tensing as she debated which spell to cast. But the daggers were like sentient things, sensing her intentions. She heard Jaime’s wince as his dagger broke skin, a twin slice to Killian’s.
“I told you,” Ymaritis sighed. He turned around and glared at the blood that bloomed across Jaime’s shirt. “You’re only hurting them.”
Elyse’s eyes burned as she took in Killian’s brave facade, Jaime’s chaotic fear. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. She was supposed to save everyone, was supposed to avenge the people of Prestowne. Helplessness roiled in her stomach, making her knees quake.
Ymaritis glanced toward the west. The setting sun was to Elyse’s back, but she could tell it was low by the shadows that drenched the clearing. Then Ymaritis let his gaze drop to a spot beside him.
Even in the dusk, the rose was unmistakable. Its brilliance was incongruous with the tattered fabric it lay on. She stared at it, her magic pleading with her to take it and run.
“You almost had me,” Ymaritis declared. Something sinister in his voice demanded Elyse’s attention. “An arrow tipped in poison—what a clever idea.” His eyes flickered knowingly toward Killian, whose face was drained of color. “It pierced me right through the heart, you know?” Ymaritis tapped his chest, and Elyse’s brows furrowed.
What did he mean, it “pierced” him? He’d disappeared before the arrow had hit him, like he’d known it was coming—known exactly when and where it would strike.
Her heart dropped to her stomach. Understanding was a powerful, sickening wave that threatened to send her to her knees.
“You—” she breathed, her voice weak. “You went back in time?”
His answering smile corroded the air from her lungs.
She fell to the ground, gasping. She hadn’t realized she’d been clinging to the faintest ember of hope until it was doused completely, smothered by Ymaritis’s incomprehensible strength. He had turned back time. He had been on the verge of dying, an arrow through his heart, and he had still managed to cast a powerful spell—one she hadn’t believed was possible.
“You’re lying,” she rasped, fighting the bile that rose in her throat. But she knew he wasn’t. She knew this was the end, that she was utterly helpless, that she had finally, undoubtedly been bested.
“Elyse.” Killian’s voice—followed by a hiss as the dagger bit deeper. “Don’t you dare give up. You hear me?”
He sounded so far away, like he was already lost. She faintly heard his ragged breaths, his knees shifting against the grass. “Fight, Elyse. You’re just as strong as he is. You know it’s true.”
He groaned, and she lifted her gaze to meet his. The tip of the dagger protruded into his skin, tearing wider with each ragged breath he took. But it wasn’t the blood seeping from the wound that broke her heart. It was the unshakeable faith he held in his eyes as he pleaded with her to fight.
But she couldn’t. She could try, and she would fail, and Lazarus would win anyway. She wouldn’t be the reason for Killian’s death.
“How touching,” Ymaritis sang, an ingenuine sweetness to his voice. Then, in a more sinister tone: “It’s time.”
He pulled a vial from his pocket—one that glittered with gold liquid, one that Elyse immediately recognized. The angel’s blood shimmered, despite the darkness around them. Ymaritis knelt before the blanket and unsheathed a bejeweled knife from his hip. As he sliced the knife across his palm, he didn’t grimace or wince. His eyes widened as if he relished the pain.
Blood poured from the cut, which he held over the eternal rose. The rose’s brilliance slowly diminished as blood spilled across its petals, its radiant leaves. Rich gold joined the deep red hues as Ymaritis coated the rose in angel’s blood, mixing it with his own.
Elyse watched, breathless, helpless, just as the last rays of sunlight ebbed away. All the warmth was stolen from the air, and she shivered as she waited, cold and afraid.
The clearing was still, until suddenly, violently, it wasn’t.
Shadows coursed among the trees, darker than the surrounding air. They flew and spun, obsidian blurs all congregating in a whirlwind. The earth shook and the trees groaned, and Ymaritis disappeared behind a cloud of festering shadows.
His scream tore through her ears, a bellow of both pain and victory. The air seemed thicker, rife with vile magic that burned her lungs. She thought of ending it, of unleashing her own magic and getting the three of them far, far away, but each time she did, she could hear Killian and Jaime both straining to breathe against the dagger’s deepening claim. Every muscle was frantic, every inch of her skin sweating, as she racked her brain, her heart, for what to do.
The shadows surrounding Ymaritis slowed, the whirlwind growing thinner. She caught glimpses between the spinning shapes as he writhed. His figure grew clearer, sharper, as the shadows faded to wisps, then dissipated altogether.
A silent prayer floated from Elyse’s lips as she waited, hoping by some inconceivable chance that it hadn’t worked. Ymaritis kept his head bowed, his chest heaving, his hands planted on the grass.
It was when he lifted his head, his mismatched eyes meeting hers, that she knew he had succeeded.
He grinned at her, and the memory of a skull’s lipless smile clawed at the back of her mind.
When Ymaritis spoke, it was not the haughty voice of a well-mannered merchant that met her ears, but the inhuman growl of a demon.
