Page 23 of Of Realms and Chaos

With as much speed as I could muster, I grabbed my dagger, slicing towards his unprotected midsection. The Sun barely jumped back in time, my blade singing through the air like a song of death and retribution and fear. So much fear. Fear of the unknown, the known, and every question that sat in between the two.

Henry was on me in a second, beating me down with two of the smaller daggers, overpowering me. I was sloppy and angry, not to mention that the act of sparring was overwhelming.

A part of me thought of how easy it would be to simply not pull back, to throw myself in the line of one of his vicious strikes and allow death to have me. If only to finally know peace.

That part of me was loud, but I fought against it in the same way I fought Henry—with desperate maneuvers and careless aim.

Henry soon ditched his blades, as if he knew just how badly I was losing to myself. Fists raised and body tense, he pressed forward, swinging at me. I pushed out my power, seeking a foothold that would allow me to hear his thoughts. He winced when I attacked, clawing at his shield with the type of despair and ferocity that could bury entire realms.

It was then that he dove for me, one thick arm wrapping around my waist while his other elbow struck my wrist with enough force to send my dagger flying across the deck. My legs collapsed from under me, my back hitting the floor. Henry’s hand flew up to my head to protect it from the fall.

I laid there, trying to catch my breath and looking into his knowing green eyes, and the fight left me swiftly. In its place, the sorrow I had been working to drown with distractions and vices quickly took root.

Henry’s warm hand met my cheek, cradling it with the tenderness I imagined a brother might have for a sister—the love of family. That one touch sent me over the edge, tears spilling from my eyes and my body shaking. I sobbed into Henry’s chest as he rolled us over and pulled me into him.

“I know, Ash. I know,” he murmured against my head, placing a kiss to my hair.

In the near distance, I heard a male call above the crashing waves, “Land ahead!”

Henry leaned down, whispering into my ear, “Welcome to the Mortal Realm, little brat. Time to get to work.”

Chapter Nine

Bellamy

She still had not responded.

Any rational male would assume that she was busy or, perhaps, that she did not want to talk.

I had never pretended I was rational, not in the slightest.

Pacing the length of the war room, I dutifully imagined all of the horrible scenarios that might have led to her silence. An hour—a full hour! Anything could have taken her in that time. Demons, fae, mortals, the sea.

For fucks sake, she could have taken herself.

Despite my consistent attempts not to do so, I thought of that day in Haven again. I remembered the way we had sobbed over Winona’s lifeless body, the way I held a screaming Ranbir as Henry and Cyprus lifted his soulmate off the ground—needing to prepare her to return to The Above. Then I recalled my realization that Asher was missing, a feeling of dread that had left me gasping for air.

I had gone into a panic, convinced that the queen—my cursed mother—had taken the love of my life. That she had somehow found a way back and discreetly abducted Ash without my knowledge.

Somehow, the truth was far worse.

Without a word, I had left the group, frantically searching for her. Begging whatever high being that was out there that she was alive and still in Haven. It had taken far too long to contemplate searching my manor. So long that by the time I had torn apart the first floor, I could already smell the blood.

From there, it had not been hard to follow the scent—her scent. She was on the floor amidst shattered pieces of the pianoforte. Red soaked the white room, painting it in the type of gore usually only depicted in war scenes.

Her eyes had been closed, arms slashed so deeply that no amount of magic in her veins could save her. She would not heal from it on her own.

My feet had taken me to her so fast that I had slipped in the liquid, hitting the ground hard enough to startle her back into consciousness. Her gray eyes held the type of brokenness that rarely could be mended, the whimper that left her lips a weak version of the piercing cry I knew she wanted to emit.

I crawled to her, tears streaming down my face as I begged for help, screamed for it. I had ripped my shirt off, shredding it to tie around her wounds. It was unsanitary and sloppy, but it was all I could do to staunch the blood flow. It was then that Asher’s anger shone through, the fury that I had not noticed in my own attempt to find in her the sorrow I had felt.

“Do not touch me!” she roared with impressive volume, trying to pull her arms from my grasp. I held on, forcing her to allow me to tighten the fabric around her forearms. She too began to sob, the fight in her weakening with every second. “Please, Bell. Please let me die. Let me do what I can to save you all. Please do not make me live when all I do is bring death. Do not force me to be the reason more die.”

I held her, forever haunted by her pleas for death. Her hair was matted with mud and blood, her once stunning blue gown shredded and stained. The kohl on her lids had smeared down, darkening her under eyes in a way that resembled a long-dead corpse. What a fitting image, to see her shattered that way—a perfect mirror of her clearly broken soul.

I hated myself for it, for contributing to the pain she now felt with startling force. More than that, I hated my parents. I hated the fae king and queen who had raised her in my place, who had abused and used her for so long that she now knew no peace. That she now would rather sacrifice herself than live and suffer at their hands.

Ranbir, Lian, and Henry had found us like that. Asher unmoving, barely breathing. Me rocking us, pleading for her to hold on, to not leave me, to give me a chance to make this world worthy of her.

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