Abolisher [Drothiker #2]

45.

Syrene heard it—as Azryle's silent steps withdrew.

Farther, farther, farther.

Until they vanished from her earshot.

Heard the hoarse breaths of Faolin at her side, heard the rasp of Ferouzeh's fingers against Faolin's skin as she healed the sorceress.

Heard the endless silence in the world, stretching all the way to Silvervale—farther.

She won. Felset won.

The realization hit her—hit her so hard that she felt as everything within her reduced to splinters and ashes. She couldn't move. Didn't want to.

Not as Dark claimed her world right before her eyes.

Not as her mother died over and over and over in her mind.

Not as her father's words rung to her core like reverberations of a thousand chimes.

Whatever you decide to do, know your father would always support you. Even if you let Ianov crumple to dust, I love you.

Not as her own last words to her mother scraped against her bones.

You succeeded at being a duce. But don't you see how terribly you failed at being a mother?

She gripped her knees to her chest, feeling the shield Azryle had thrown around her to keep the Darkness at bay.

Something burned within her, burned so fiercely that she felt her heart dying, her lungs trapping the smoke and suffocating her. She wanted to close herself in a shell and never return to this wretched, merciless world. The world that had not neglected a single chance to harrow her, to wreck her.

She heard a groan at her side—indicating Faolin had awoken.

But she heard something else.

Felt it.

Winds rustled the lifeless twigs as it strived for Syrene's direction. The forest before her seemed to open, the trees clearing the way.

Faolin instantly gained her posture and equipped herself with weapons, hinting she'd felt it too. The strange wind.

It tasted different, felt malicious. Unearthly.

Syrene managed to sit up, because even now she couldn't help the caution and survival instincts that seared their way into her. But that was all the movement she could manage with that invisible weight weighing her down, pinning her to place.

Ferouzeh was on her feet too. The healer swore. Then—

She whirled and hurled the contents of her stomach on the trunk behind Faolin.

The sorceress motioned to her. "What's wrong?"

But Ferouzeh only continued retching.

One eye on the gloom sprawled before them, Faolin rubbed Ferouzeh's back. Her voice dropped, gentled, "Was it my mejest—"

Ferouzeh managed to shake her head, still doubled over, a hand braced on the tree.

Understanding dawned upon the assassin's face. She turned to Syrene. "It's ... the surroundings," she imparted. "Ferouzeh's mejest is pure—untainted. Whatever's headed this way is fiddling with her—"

Her words halted when a shadow appeared at the far end, hidden behind the sickening dark.

The shield around Syrene seemed to pull when she managed to lift to her feet. She was bracing herself before she realized it, because Drothiker, treacherous as it was, stirred. Thrilled—prattling enough about just who was approaching.