“He deserves to live.” Rorn gritted his teeth, evidently pained as he stepped back from his son and me. “Just make sure he lives and that he never tries to come back.” Withdrawing his sword, he shook his head when I made to remove my dagger from my sleeve as shouting sounded behind us. “Your father…” Rorn swallowed, ducking as stone plummeted from the ceiling. “My brother was right. This isle is cursed. There is nothing to come back to.”

Battle cries sounded from the hall, screams of agony soon following.

Rorn pleaded, “Protect him. If not for his innocence, then for your father.” He gave one last watery glance at his son. “He is just like him.”

Then with a roar forged from anguish and blood-red fury, the king of Wistensia charged into the hall with his weapon to the advancing human soldiers who’d sieged the towers.

There was nothing to be done. Nothing.

I still stood there and watched as blood sprayed the hall beyond the throne room, and metal met metal as Rorn gave the soldiers what sounded like the fight of their lives.

But it didn’t last long.

Helvectus whined and hid his face in my neck, his small hands fisting my tunic. I held him tighter as I forced my body to quit trembling and focus—as I forced myself to remember what was and was not within my control—and we left right before the surviving soldiers could check the throne room.

Aster was pacing the length of the cottage.

As soon as she sensed us, she froze. Her hand fell from her hair, and when the tiny male unlocked his arms from my neck, she fell to her knees.

And wept.

Silver, staring at the youngling, nodded once and vanished.

“Asher?” Helvectus wriggled.

I set him down, suddenly unsure what to do without his weight in my arms to give me purpose.

Aster’s head rose from her lap.

She swiped quickly at her cheeks as Helvectus, dazed and terrified, stumbled toward her. She held out her arms, and he fell into them with an ease that said his parents had not let him forget who she was. An ease that told me they’d feared this day would come.

And they had chosen to cease fighting fate.

Scythe

Eight years later…

Aster was still tidying up when the sun met the horizon.

Helvectus leapt through the door of what had once been my apartment and dropped his training gear by the wall. Wet paint brushes in hand, Aster whirled toward us with a smile that would forever stun me still.

Hel picked her up and spun her around. “I’m finally free.”

“Just for two weeks,” I reminded him for the tenth time since we’d left the training yard.