Lark injects the syringe into Ky’s neck without batting an eye.
His face contorts. He hisses in pain.
The arena spins. I bite my lip to keep from screaming. Taste salt and rust. When I gain focus again, I watch as the Void is unable to consume Ky just as it had been before.
Relief cools the volcano bubbling in my core. Thank the Verity.
“How very interesting,” Jasyn muses as if making a scientific discovery. Except he can’t fool me. His casual humming and hawing lets on he expected this to happen. That he’s only messing with Ky to torture me, which in turn torments Joshua.
Enough.
Gathering all my strength, I push off the ground, stagger forward, placing myself between my grandfather and his current victim. Time to find out if I have what it takes. Inhale. Exhale. Vision clearing. I turn my focus on Joshua. He wears a drawn expression, mouth turned down in silent anguish. I close my eyes and force myself to sing the lyrics I’ve spent the past week pairing with my own personal melody. The lyrics meant to persuade him to do what he must.
“Every choice you made for me,
The love I always failed to see,
You gave it all to see me free,
Let me give it all for you.”
“El.” Joshua shakes his head. Touches his lips. “Wait.”
It’s working.
“Every time you held on tight,
Never let me leave your sight,
Did what you thought was right,
Let me do what’s right for you.”
He covers his ears. “El, stop. I’m not ready. I need another minute.”
I inhale, ready to begin a new verse. We don’t have another minute.
Fingers snap.
I double over. I’ve experienced Haman’s Calling firsthand before, but this is different. Less, somehow. My insides twist. I cry out. But at the same time, I feel the Shield in me fighting back, building a wall against the Shield in Haman. Healing. Mending. Restoring.
Joshua whirls, fingers clawing his breaking heart.
Ky opens his mouth but doesn’t make a sound, his obvious pain finally confirming what I’ve suspected since our kiss.
He kissed me back. We shared a Kiss of Infinity. Our link is complete.
I pick up the sword.
Heavier than it looks. I struggle to wield it.
Joshua’s by my side, his pain subsiding as mine does. Hand over mine, he says, “Stop.”
I thrust the hilt into his palm. “Then end this. Now.”
The determination behind his eyes gives me a semblance of hope. Did my song work? Have I convinced him? The sword arcs, circling his head as his face contorts.
This is it. He’s—no.
Thud. Haman collapses to his knees, his face a petrified state of shock. The blade has passed through the soft space between his chest and throat. No blood. No scream. Another thud. He’s on his side.
Gone.
The crowd roars.
Joshua plants his feet in a wide stance. “No more, Crowe.”
If the death of his right-hand man shakes Jasyn, he doesn’t show it. “I knew when it came right down to it, you could not imprison the Void inside your beloved.”
Joshua doesn’t respond.
“Say it,” Jasyn says. “Say you surrender.”
“I will not.” The words are ground out through clenched teeth.
Jasyn withdraws the sword impaling Haman. Blood gushes and pools. “Have it your way. The next victim, please.” Jasyn waves an arm and a brawny Soulless with tattooed arms and a dark goatee emerges from the space beyond the gate, drags a new captive forward. I don’t recognize the Soulless, but I do know the girl he’s dragging.
Ebony.
“How many of your people—your father’s people—will you allow to become Soulless before you either end me or surrender?” Jasyn’s eyes are wild. Crazed.
Ebony is tossed to the ground, perfect nails digging into the sand. Shiny hair falling into her eyes. She hangs her head. I barely hear the words she speaks. “You promised me. You said if I served you, the Void would never touch me.”
“Yes, well.” Jasyn’s gaze darkens. “I lied.” He nods at Lark, who withdraws another full syringe.
Despite the bad blood, literally, between Ebony and me, I don’t want to watch her become Soulless. No one deserves that.
I will not let any of our stories end on Jasyn’s terms.
I forget the perfectly chosen lyrics from before. Attempt a desperate plea instead. “Your mother,” I sing to Joshua. “She died giving you life. A life meant to follow in your father’s footsteps.” My voice is hoarse. Dry. Cracking. “Please.” The word is off-key. “Let me go so others might live.”
He pauses. His gaze flits. And then, what I feared wouldn’t come but am terrified to see . . .
Joshua nods.
“I’d rather die,” Ebony begs. “I’d rather die than lose my soul to the Void.”
“As you wish.” Jasyn leers at Ebony. He stands beside her, points the sword at her heart. Lark backs away. “Choose,” Jasyn belts. “Surrender or allow this girl to die because of your cowardice.”
I look between Joshua and Jasyn. Jasyn and Joshua.
The Verity’s vessel creeps forward.
Jasyn laughs. Raises the sword higher.
But neither Jasyn nor Joshua is fast enough. As if sliding into home plate, chained wrists and all, Ky forces Ebony aside with his shoulder and places himself directly beneath Jasyn’s sword.
A cry of agony. From me. From Ky.
I watch his blood spill, spill, spill onto the ground as Jasyn withdraws the sword from his middle.
“No!” My throat strangles the word. Too little too late.
Several things happen at once.
I’m beside Ky, on my knees, dirt and blood everywhere, mixing and staining and smelling so vile I want to puke.
Ebony scrambles away, clawing at the sand, stumbling toward the gate.
I can’t see Joshua, but I hear him. He cries out. Because he knows what Ky’s death will bring.
My heart wrenching, I emit an ugly sob.
And then . . .
Ky dies.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Rewritten
Now the real storm begins.
Time lags. Each heartbeat a minute apart. I’m screaming but don’t hear a sound.
No. My life is supposed to take Ky’s place. Yet there he lies. Unbreathing. Unmoving. I pound the sand with my fists. Can I heal him? I’ve never tested my Physic abilities.
Joshua. Ever blood. I whip my head around, hair slapping my face in drenched columns.
But he’s not stirring either. On his back, limbs akimbo, chest still as a stringless guitar.
I bite my lip. Squeeze my eyes. Pull my hair.
What. Is. Happening?
And then I hear it. The heart-wrenching sound of a woman’s cry. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
Mom.
Eyes bigger than bass drums, I search the crowd. I’m standing, running. Where, where, where—?
I trip over something, hands breaking my fall. But the impact ushers in no pain. I feel nothing. Twisting, I seek the culprit. A lifeless girl in a cornflower-blue gown lies facedown on the sand. Ankles crossed, arms framing her head like a ballerina.