Page 164 of Tower of Ash and Darkness
But it doesn’t matter—all I can see, all I care about in this moment, ishim.
My hands move without thought, trembling with a savage desperation, the void inside me roaring to life—hungry, panicked, ready to do anything to keep him here.Anything.The blood-soaked earth seeps into the fabric of my pants, clinging to me like guilt that won’t wash clean. There’s so much blood—too much—and for a breathless moment, all I can do is stare, frozen, as it spreads beneath him, the ground drinking in what little life he has left.
Then his eyes flutter open. Dull. Distant. But they find mine.
“Don’t cry, Your Grace,” he whispers.
I shake my head, but the tears I’ve fought so ruthlessly to contain betray me, falling in hot, relentless streaks carving down my face like molten grief. His body begins to feel too still, too fragile beneath my hands, like death has already begun to whisper against his skin. Every second I watch him slip further from me, something inside me splinters.
I can’t let this happen.
My hands close around the arrow embedded in his chest. My fingers curl tight, slick with blood, and I brace myself.
In one breath, I rip it free.
The sound is sickening—flesh tearing, bone shifting, a wet crack that sears itself into my skull. I nearly choke on it, bile rising, but I don’t stop. I won’t stop. Blood spills from the wound, hot and endless, and I press my shaking hands against it, desperate to stop it. My magic tears out of me, unrestrained, flooding into him like fire and ice, wrapping around his shattered torso, seeking, clawing, repairing. Darkness bleeds through his skin, seeping into torn flesh, forcing it to knit together. The wound slowly begins to close. Tissue reforms. Hope cracks through the horror like dawn breaking over ruin.
But then—his chest rises… then falls.
Then… nothing.
No.
My eyes narrow in disbelief as I cradle his face in my blood-slicked hands.
“Callum…”
My voice is hoarse and trembling, barely more than breath, a desperate reach across the chasm already opening between us. My hands clutch his shoulders, fingers digging in as I shake him—once, twice, then again, harder each time as I unravel.
“Wake up!”
The words rip from my throat, raw and useless. I keep shaking him, as if my touch alone could pull him back, as if sheer will could anchor his soul to mine. I beg—silently, wildly—for any god stilllistening to give him back. Nothing stirs. Nothing answers. In the silence, something inside me splits so violently I cannot breathe.
And then… I scream.
It is not a sound meant for this world—it is not merely a cry but a rupture, a soul-shattering eruption of agony that spills into magic, detonating outward in a wave of destruction. The earth groans beneath me as it expands. Trees are ripped from their roots. Stone fractures and crumbles. The very air recoils from the weight of my grief, the fury and devastation wrapped within it.
Shadows rise, thick and alive, coalescing into a barrier that slams down around us like a living wall, impenetrable and pulsing with something darker than wrath—something born of love undone. We are sealed inside a dome of shadow, the silence inside so loud it feels like it’s screaming with me.
I lower myself over him, my hair falling around our faces like a heavy curtain, my hands pressed firmly against his chest as I release everything I have left. Every ounce of magic, every shred of power, every hope that has not yet been extinguished—pour into him in a violent, ceaseless stream. Darkness floods from me, racing through the air, not gentle, not beautiful, but wild and furious and choking. Black veins begin to crawl up my arms, twisting under my skin like vines as they snake up my neck and toward my face, spreading with an icy chill across my ribs and throat until I can barely feel my own body. The magic claws through me, draining everything I am, and still I press harder, still I give more.
“Lailah!”
It’s Gwyn, pounding against the barrier I’ve created, her voice cracking as she shouts through the veil of magic.
“Stop. You’re going to kill yourself! He’s too far gone. The arrow hit his heart. You can’t save him.”
“No,” I choke out, my voice trembling as more tears spill down my cheeks. “Don’t say that. I can fix this. Ihaveto fix this.”
“Lailah, listen to her,” Alias says, his voice uncharacteristically soft, almost broken. “You’re draining yourself. He wouldn’t want this. You can’t?—”
“Ican!”
I scream, my hands pressing harder against Callum’s chest, the magic surging darker, more erratic. My sobs shake my entire body as I fight to keep him here.
“I can save him!”
“Lailah, please,” Gwyn pleads, her voice cracking. “You’ve done everything you can. You’re going to hurt yourself. Callum wouldn’t want this. Let him?—”
