Page 28 of Between Soul and Vessel
I took it, my cold fingers savoring the warmth. “Soul crusher?” I asked, taking a small bite. The meat was savory, warm, and delicious. I felt a tiny bit lighter than before.
“Soul crushers are warriors who fight in the arena. They are tasked with . . . well, as the name implies, crushing souls. A vessel can be reborn, remade, but a soul, once crushed, cannot. It is ultimately the end.”
I thought back to the way my soul had been decimated when the empress pulled it from my chest.
“I don’t understand. My soul was shattered and the empress repaired it. Is that different?”
“It is.” She nodded. “Soul crushers wear a special gauntlet known as a soulius. When a soul is crushed with it, there is no coming back from such a fate.”
My appetite faded, and I lowered the drumstick.
So this was to be thetrueend of me.
I had been ready to accept such a fate not so long ago, when I used the Blade of Moram to kill Aurelius, knowing that it would kill me as well. I had been willing to sacrifice myself for the ones I loved. And in some ways, I had done it for me too—so I could be free of Aurelius.
But that was my choice. One I had made peace with.
Now, here I was once again, chained to a reality I could not free myself from . . .
My fingers drifted over the cloth above my abdomen. It took everything within me not to unravel into a mess ofgreat, gasping sobs.
“Were you . . . with child?” she asked, her voice soft.
“I was.” Those two words were so incredibly bitter on my tongue. Like acid, chewing into my taste buds. I discarded the half-eaten drumstick on the plate.
“What happened?”
“I was murdered.” My thumb brushed over my stomach as I looked down, then up at her. “We both were.”
Her expression filled with sadness. “My condolences.”
I didn’t respond.
Really, what could anyone say to that? Condolences wouldn’t change the past, but perhaps a bit of truth could alter the future.
“You asked how I know Nockrythiam,” I started. “He’s the father of the child I lost . . . He is my mate.”
Her mouth fell open like a window with a broken latch.
“Holy shit,” the priestess whispered to herself.
Von
“Did you get it?” Ezra asked, her cane tapping against the kitchen floor as she walked over to me, her curved shoulders ticking from side to side, emphasizing the weakness in her bones. Ezra was a peculiar immortal; why she chose to age and die and be reborn from the soil, when she could live for eternity in her prime, was beyond me.
Then again,a lotof things Ezra did were beyond me. Beyond us all.
“I did,” I answered as I produced a small glass vial. In it, tears—provided from the Lost Soul. “Are you sure this will be enough?”
Ezra snatched the vial. She brought it to her ear, silent for a moment before she grinned and said, “Yes, this will be enough.”
“What will they do?” I inquired, walking behind her as she returned to her bubbling pot. The girl stirring it steppedout of the way.
“I’m not completely sure,” Ezra replied as she popped the cork and dumped the tears into the hissing concoction. When she was done, she tossed the vial over her right shoulder, the glass shattering on the ground. “For good luck,” she muttered to herself.
I looked at the broken vial, blinking at it and the legendary level of mass fuckery Ezra had obtained. Feeling the very last of my nerves beginning to fray, I grated, “What do you mean you’renot really sure?”
“I mean exactly that. I’m not really sure, but I have a hunch. A hunch that this is necessary.” She turned to the girl. “Make sure you keep stirring it. We don’t want the bottom to burn.”
