Page 153 of At the Mercy of Midnight
“I’ve seen the look in your eyes,” she said softly, sadly. “You’ve already made the choice, in your heart. You would trade your life for hers in a breath.”
She held out a hand again. A shimmer of purplish-silver light pooled in her palm and a vision rippled in the air around them, and suddenly Amelia was there. She was on her knees on the mirrored edges of the lake, gasping for air, consumed by darkness as the ritual collapsed around her. Amelia looked toSilas, her scream silent, eyes locked on his right before she was torn away.
Silas’ knees gave out and he collapsed to the ground.
“No,” he gasped. “That’s not real. That won’t happen.”
“But it can, and it will,” she implored. “If you stop her from trying to save you.”
Tears stung at his eyes, clogged in his throat. “Why are you doing this?”
Lyana’s expression twisted into pure sorrow. “Because I lost everything. And no matter what it costs, I want to protect her from what happened to me…and to him. I wish I could stand back and watch you both defy the odds, but you will fail.”
The shadows beyond the lake seemed to curl in tighter, the image of Lyana beginning to fray, her edges dissolving.
Her final words coiled around him as the vision faded.
“One life, Silas. That’s the cost. Pay it…or lose her. And lose everything.”
Amelia slept restlessly, but she had slept.
Waking with the sun filtering through the canvas of the small tent, she felt a strange level of contentedness washing over her with the warmth of the fresh morning.
She had to believe today was going to work, that the man rousing next to her would not disappear before her eyes in a matter of hours.
She sat up and stretched, the wounds on her back stinging uncomfortably.
Amelia looked down to Silas as he opened his eyes, the blue in them finding her immediately. Something in them had her pausing, something withdrawn and frightening. She frowned at him as he sat up quickly, hands moving for his pack and rifling through it, refusing to look in her direction.
“Are you alright?”
Silas seemed to force a breath out. “I’m fine,” he said, but she could hear the lie in his voice.
Her heart turned over as he pulled out the journal, flipping through the pages and reviewing the ritual.
“No second thoughts?”
He looked at her over his shoulder, face expressionless. “Why, would you change your mind?”
Amelia’s brows furrowed. “No. I’ll sit here until I’m out of breath convincing you that we’re doing the right thing…that thiswillwork.”
His jaw tightened, eyes shifting across her face. He nodded and glanced away again, fingers turning the pages in intervals.
She watched him worriedly but understood. He was nervous. They were putting everything on the line.
They stepped out of the tent to the sights of the Ruins of Veilthorne in the far distance. Less than an hours’ walk. It was better than she could have anticipated.
Packing up quietly, they hefted up their packs and began the steady trek across the sandy dunes.
They exchanged only a few words, Silas’ overall demeanour beginning to worry her. His doubt, if he carried it into the ritual, might interfere with it, and her heart pounded at that possibility. They had gone over everything yet again by the time they reached the outskirts, Amelia wanting to prove to him that they had this, that their plan was going to work.
Silas was still quiet as they passed crumbling columns and collapsed buildings, heading for the temple in the distance.
The moon was already in the sky above them, hand in hand with the blazing sun. It was perfectly round, mocking them with its solidness in the sky, a constant reminder that their time had run out.
The wind tore across the Rift, bitter and unrelenting, howling like a chorus of lost souls. The sand whipped at them as they pushed onwards, like the weather itself knew what was coming. The air shimmered with unstable magic, the bones of the world trembling beneath its weight.
She shivered despite the sun in the sky. Something heavy fell across her shoulders, and she realised Silas had placed his cloak around her.
