I rub my lips together, desperate to get through to her. “Phyre, listen to me, please. This is not your destiny.” My gaze pleads with hers, but she’s quick to turn away in dismissal. “This is not destiny, divine law, or anything of the sort. This is your father’s madness run amok. You don’t have to go through with it. You can walk away from him and I’ll make sure you get the help that you need. Put out the fire, release my soul now, and I promise you that Suriel will never be allowed to go near you again. I will see that you are settled somewhere safe where he will never be able to reach.”
She tilts her head to the side and swings her torch haphazardly before her, filling the space with a cloud of acrid smoke that burns a path through my throat and makes my eyes sear. “Do you love me, Dace?” She turns, as though she hadn’t heard a single word I’d just said.
I rub my lips together, knowing it’s a test. Knowing better than to lie.
“Did you ever love me?”
I remain quietly in place.
She laughs a brittle, broken laugh, and lowers the torch to her side. “And yet another reason I love you. You’re always honest. Always honorable. More people should be like you. The world would be a better place. There’d be no need for Last Days, that’s for sure.”
“Phyre, for whatever it’s worth, I really did care for you,” I say, squinting my eyes, trying not to choke on the fumes.
“I know. Everyone used to tease me and my sisters because of the things my dad said. But you never did. You never judged me for the things that he did. For that, I remain forever grateful.”
“I still care about you. I’m also worried about you. The last two years you’ve been out there on your own, with no one to turn to. I understand. I really do. And because of it, you’re under Suriel’s influence. But what you’re doing now—this isn’t you. You’re nothing like your father. You’re your own person. Able to make your own choices. You have too much to offer to allow yourself to go down this path.”
“That may have been true once, but not anymore.” She smiles softly, singing the words, as she lifts the torch yet again and moves precariously close to the flames.
She’s losing it. Becoming so unstable, so unpredictable, that one false move—one false word—and I’m instantly annihilated as though I never existed.
Such a stark contrast to a few hours before when I was begging for release, and my wish was steadfastly ignored.
Be careful what you wish for, as Chepi always warned.
But now with Daire back in my life, I have everything to live for.
I risk a step forward. One that’s meant to go undetected. But then a wave of nausea ripples through me, and I falter, aware of my body tingling, cooling.
The energy infusion that Paloma and Axel gave me is now leaving my body.
In an instant, Daire’s by my side, trying to steady me. But I shirk from her touch. Knowing it will only spur Phyre on.
The ice is melting. My energy is waning. And I need to use what little time I have left to convince Phyre to end this madness while I still can.
“What’s the matter, Dace? You look a little pale. Is it because of this?” Phyre bites hard on her lip, as she lowers the torch yet again. Giving in to a fit of nervous giggles when the outer sculpture collapses, and the stake drops even lower. Its tip glowing fierce and red.
“I’m good,” I say. “Strong. Never been better.” It requires all of my effort to straighten my spine, square my shoulders, yet it still fails to convince her.
“Your brother is a natural liar. While you, old friend, are not.” She stifles a satisfied smirk, but her flashing eyes give her away.
“Speaking of my brother, I heard you paid him a visit.” I move toward her. Just one foot, slipping over the snow, sliding slowly before me. If I play this right, the other will soon follow. And then again. And again. Until I’m close enough to disarm her.
“What can I say?” She shrugs. “I miss you. And he’s the perfect stand-in.”
“We may look alike, but that’s where it ends.” I grit my teeth, clench my jaw, and struggle not to look otherwise pained as I bring my left foot forward until it surpasses the right. “Surely you’re aware of that?”
“Of course I’m aware. I’m not an idiot. Sheesh.” She shakes her head, mutters under her breath, then faces me again. “Cade is dark. You’re light. He’s yin. You’re yang. And just like yin and yang, you’re connected. Equal parts of the whole. One can’t exist without the other.” Seeing my look of surprise, she says, “I know all about it. You’re the polar opposites of each other. The positive and the negative charge of the universe. And the way you interact influences the destinies of all living things. Which is why I have to kill you. Still, there is a kind of beauty in such perfect symmetry, don’t you think?”
“I never thought about it that way,” I say, talking just for the sake of talking. Trying to keep her distracted, unaware of the slow but steady progress I’m making.
She makes a face. “Really, Dace?” She casts her gaze to the ground and sighs. “And here I’d convinced myself you were more introspective than that. Guess I only saw what I wanted to see.”
“I only just learned about our connection,” I say. “I haven’t had a lot of time to process it. How did you learn about it?” I arrange my face to look curious, as though I care about the answer, as I complete another step toward her.
“Suriel told me.” She stares at her boots, digs the toe deep into the snow. “He suspected early on. He’s much sharper than most people think.”
“You seem to have grown very close.”
“He’s all I have left now, isn’t he?” She lifts her gaze to meet mine, and for an instant, I’m reminded of the same sad girl I once shared a few intimate moments with.
“I’m not sure I’d agree.” The words require great effort. Every breath requires great effort. But I’m so damn close, I can’t give up now.
“Please.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m as alone as alone can be. The kids at school aren’t really my friends. They don’t really know me. Don’t actually care about me. The girls just try to steal my style, while the boys try to get in my pants. It’s nothing like what I had with you. But now I no longer have you, do I?”
“Of course you do,” I say, voice soft and coaxing. “We’ll always be friends, Phyre. And I’m here to help you—just say the word.”
“Really? Is that why I could never get you to so much as talk to me?” She meets my gaze head-on, and I can’t help but flinch. There’s no denying it’s true. “From the moment I returned to Enchantment you’ve been bent on brushing me off. Making it all too clear how you couldn’t wait to ditch me so that you could be with her.”
She glares at Daire. Her face hardening in renewed fury, almost as though she’d forgotten she was there. And I chance a look too, seeing Daire staring straight ahead, her gaze fixed on the rapidly melting sculpture, as though she’s planning something big. And though I’ve no idea what it is, I hope she’ll hold off long enough for me to do what I need to.
“Remember the day we made love?” Phyre continues to stare at Daire, but Daire steadfastly ignores her, refuses to engage. “I said, Do. You. Remember. The. Day. We. Made. Love? Answer me, Dace!”
My shoulders are sagging, my breath is becoming ragged, still I manage to say, “I do. I do remember.” Hoping it’ll be enough to appease her. It’s all I can do to hold myself up.
“What do you remember most about it? What word, if you had to pick one—and, make no doubt about it, you do—what word would you use to describe it?”
“What word would you use?” I ask, my pulse slow and labored, stalling for time.
“No, that’s not fair. I asked you first!” she sings, as though this is all a good bit of fun.
“Novel,” I say, my head growing dizzy, my vision blurry.
“Novel?” She frowns, kicks hard at the snow. “You mean like a book? Like a scene in a romance novel or something?”
The moment I shake my
head I instantly regret it. It increases the dizziness, leaving me woozy, unsteady on my feet. “Novel as in new,” I say, pushing through a fresh wave of nausea. “And by that I mean, it was all new to me. I’m afraid I had no idea what I was doing.”
“But you do now. Is that what you’re saying?” She glares at Daire, starts to swing the torch wildly again. Causing the ring of fire to spark and flare, as a noxious cloud of filthy smoke permeates the air.
I shout in protest. Then instantly regret it. It only serves to egg her on. “Phyre—” I try again. “You’ve put me in a difficult spot, and I don’t know what you want me to say. All I know is that it was new … and unexpected, and…” Daire, please forgive me. “Wonderful all at the same time.”
Phyre settles the torch by her side, seemingly satisfied. But it’s not like it makes any difference. The fire is raging, the ice is liquefying, and the once frozen-solid walls of the small diamond sculpture are well on their way to completely collapsing.
I sneak a peek at Daire, overcome by the regret of her having to listen to this. But she remains as stoic as ever. Concentrating so hard on the stake, I wonder if she’s even aware of what Phyre is saying.
“It was wonderful for me too.” Phyre grins, dips her head shyly. So lost in her memories, she misses the moment the outer shell shrinks, dissolving into a small pool of water.
But Daire notices. I can sense it in the way she stiffens behind me, as I fight to hang on to what little energy remains. Trying to estimate how long it can possibly hold up, and all I know for sure is, it won’t be long until it’s gone.
“You know why I instigated it, right?” Phyre asks, seemingly obsessed with this subject. She refuses to quit.
My mouth grows dry. My throat constricts. I can barely breathe, much less respond.
“I mean, we both know I was the aggressor. You were so cute and honorable, if I’d left it to you, nothing ever would’ve happened. Was he like that with you too?” She turns to Daire with a challenging gaze. But Daire looks right past her. “Anyway, I knew I was leaving soon. But what I didn’t tell you, was that I also knew I’d return.”
I grunt in reply, it’s the best I can do.
“The reason I didn’t tell you is because I knew things would never be the same. I knew that someday it would come to this. I knew that sometime during our sixteenth year, I would have to kill you.” She pauses, casts a contemplative gaze toward the fire. “You have no idea how awful it was to live with such a truth. And don’t think I accepted it easily. I fought with Suriel every day, all day. Or at least until I realized it would be done either way. Then I figured it may as well be done by me.” She takes a deep breath and returns to me. “But mostly, I didn’t mention it because I didn’t want you to feel like you had to make a bunch of false promises you’d be unable to keep. It would’ve soured everything, and it was important to me to keep the memory in my heart—just like your soul is now—frozen in time—glorious, luminous, perfect, and safe.”
“But my soul isn’t safe.” I nod toward the dissolving diamond, and the quickly melting ice pedestal that supports it. Seeing her look of confusion when she notices, seemingly for the first time, the dire state of the sculptures. It won’t be long before the only thing separating me from a quick and decisive death will be the ice-covered rope (now nearly thawed out) that holds the dagger. “You’ve got a red-hot stake hanging right over it. Any second now, it’ll penetrate.”
Her body grows anxious, fidgety. Allowing me a small seed of hope that she might not go through with it. That she’s plagued by doubt.
But no sooner have I thought it, when she turns to me and says, “Turns out my memory wasn’t safe either.” She dismisses my life—the state of my soul—with a casual tilt of her shoulders. “It’s tarnished by the current reality.” The moment she says it, the outer crusting of ice holding the rope in place begins to give way. Prompting the stake to drop until its red-hot tip is dangling a mere foot from the top of the diamond sculpture, a foot and a half from my soul.
“You can’t tarnish a memory,” I say, speaking the first words that pop into my head. I slide another foot forward, knowing it may well be my last. Won’t be long before my knees refuse to hold me. “A memory stands on its own.” The words come out mumbled, gruff, but still she meets me with a wistful look.
“I wish that were true. I wish things were different. I wish I didn’t have to do this.”
“You don’t have to. Really, you don’t—”
“You’re wrong! I do. I mean, sheesh, Dace. We’ve already been through this! I procrastinated in the beginning, but then, the day I watched your soul drift free—”
“You were there?” I gasp. “That night—on Christmas Eve?” I had no sense of her. Had no idea she was with us. Watching.
She tilts her head toward me, causing a spray of curls to bounce into her eyes in that naturally charismatic and flirtatious way that she has. In another life, with other parents, she would’ve been a model, a movie star, or maybe even a politician. But instead, she ended up with Suriel, and he turned her into a killer.
“I wasn’t there when you lost it. But later, when I saw this glorious orb soaring above me, I knew that very instant it was yours. And the funny thing is, I was down here looking for you. And look, I found you. Or at least the real and true essence of you.” She gazes at it admiringly. As though she enjoys seeing it so vulnerable and exposed. “Wanna know how I knew it was yours?” She casts her gaze my way, as though daring me to say no.
But I’ve grown so weak I can no longer speak.
“I knew by the way it shined so bright. It was the brightest thing in the sky. Except for this ugly little dark spot right here.” She motions toward it with the torch, and my heart, barely beating, seems to leap into my throat. “That part’s kinda blemished, and icky. How’d you get that, anyway?”
I made a soul jump into my brother and took a piece of his darkness as a souvenir.
I try to force another step forward, but end up stooped over with my hands desperately gripping my knees. My head hanging forward, breath panting, coming too fast—like a dog after a very long run, thirsting for a hit of oxygen, a fresh bowl of water.
“Guess you and Cade aren’t as polar as I thought. You clearly contain a piece of him. I wonder, does he contain a piece of you too?”
I drop to my knees, swaying precariously toward the cold ground before me. Aware of Daire’s agitated presence beside me, and Phyre’s increasingly uninterested gaze.
“Well, it’ll be interesting to find out,” she hums. “So amazing to have this opportunity to get an inside peek at you both. Chance of a lifetime, when you think about it.”
She lowers the torch once again, and I use my last surge of strength to say, “Phyre, stop!”
She turns toward me with widened eyes.
“This is not who you are.”
“You don’t even know me.” She turns away.
“You’re the girl who found the abandoned nest of baby sparrows and opened the makeshift orphanage in order to house them, raise them—remember?”
Her body goes rigid, she rubs her lips together, and I know that I’ve managed to reach her.
“You took them in, fed them with an eye dropper. Tried to teach them to fly with the paper airplane I made.”
“Two of those birds died.”
“But the other two survived.”
She licks her lips, loosens her grip on the torch.
“You did that, Phyre. You saved those birds. Because you cared. Because you valued life for the wonderful gift that it is. You still do. You know you do. You haven’t changed as much as you pretend to.”
Her cheeks glisten with tears, her lips lift at the sides, as her sad glittering eyes meet mine. “You truly believe that?” she asks, her voice soft, her will fading.
“Of course I do,” I whisper, dragging myself toward her. “C’mon.” I reach a tired hand toward hers. And when she lets me, when she doesn’t push me away, I use the last rem
aining bit of my strength to wrench the torch away. “You don’t have to do this.” I drop the torch just behind me where it sizzles in protest until it’s snuffed out by the snow.
I slip off my jacket and pull it over my head. Prepared to charge through the flames and reclaim my soul, when Phyre catches hold of my arm and with a hardened gaze says, “I was hoping I could give you salvation with a kiss—but you never let me get close enough. So now, I’m left with no choice. Fire is the only way to deliver your doomed and damaged soul.”
She fills her lungs with air, and exhales with all that she has. The sheer force of her breath meeting the flames, causes them to explode into a raging inferno that triggers the diamond shell to collapse, as I’m swept off my feet and slammed hard into a snowbank.
My vision tunnels.
Daire screams.
And the stake plunges straight for my soul.
thirty-five
Daire
Dace falls.
The dagger drops.
And I leap over his body and rush toward the blaze, fully intending to breach it like I did in the cave.
But when the toe of my boot smolders and burns, when the hem of my jeans scorches and singes, I realize this particular fire is not mine to control. It’ll burn me. Possibly end me. And I can’t take the chance.
I whirl toward the stake, overcome with relief when I see the uppermost part of the rope is still frozen, still attached to a barren limb, still hanging on, if only barely.
And of course, there’s still Phyre. Crazy Phyre. Seeming not to notice or care that the so-called love of her life has fallen into an unconscious heap. She turns on me, not so much as missing a beat in her continued attempts to hurt me.
“I can’t help but be jealous of you.” Her gaze is open, direct. I can feel the weight of it nudging my cheek. “But make no mistake, that’s not why I’m doing this. It’s not a pathetic, if I can’t have him, then nobody can, kind of moment. There are much bigger things happening here. Do you know about the bigger things?” She pauses, waits for me to reply, and when I don’t, she goes on to say, “You probably think you do, being the Seeker and all. But the world is much bigger than you and me. As soon as that stake drops, the twins will be gone, and not long after, I’ll be gone too. I used to resent it. Used to fight against it. But now I’ve learned to accept it.”