“An end.”
“You have told them that their wars only feed malice, yet still they continue to fight.” Daghath Mal shook his head. “And they expect you to rescue them every time the scales tip away from them.”
“It isn’t fair.” Everything inside her was white hot. She could hardly breathe around the conflagration of anger.
“I am angry, too,” said the rancor king. “I have been betrayed, too.”
The dark thread burned between them as Nightrender looked up and met his terrible eyes. “Mortals.” The word sat sour on her tongue.
“Yes. Eons ago, when the world shattered, I was cast down. Changed. Into this.” Daghath Mal stretched his arms and wings wide, his whole body on display, unguarded. “They made me what you see.”
If Daghath Mal had been part of the Shattering, then he was even older than she. “Tell me how they changed you.”
Deep laughter rumbled out of him. “It no longer matters. I am a king, the most powerful in the Dark Shard. Humanity is the architect of its own unhappiness. But I will put an end to that. I will give them what they do not deserve: peace.”
As if she hadn’t been begging for peace for thousands of years. “There is no way—”
“Yes, there is.” Daghath Mal lowered his wings and stepped aside, revealing the twin thrones that stood in the center of the chamber. They were immense, made of metal and bone. One held a long, cloth-shrouded object balanced on the arms.
Beloved, Defender of Souls.
She knew its shape, the scent of it. Her fingers ached to grasp the hilt, but she did not reach for it. Not yet. “You took my sword.”
“I couldn’t have you attacking me. Not before I’d had a chance to make my offer.” Daghath Mal slid the tattered fabric off Beloved, careful not to touch any part of the obsidian. “We could rule this world together, Nightrender.”
Her eyes cut to him.
“You could be my partner. My queen.” Daghath Mal moved around her, pale and flickering, skipping in and out of phase. “This second throne was built for you. After our first meeting, I finally understood that we should not be enemies. We are the same, you and I. Mortals fear our power, and they constantly demand we use it—for them.”
“Your queen,” Nightrender echoed. “You would make me your equal.”
“You already are.” He appeared before her again, and one clawed finger scraped up her throat and toward her chin. “What an inconceivable terror you could be, if you chose. A waking nightmare upon humanity.”
She could be. She could hurt people the way that they had hurt her. She could make everyone pay for what their ancestors had done. She could rid this whole burning world of mortals.
Except one.
Her soul shard.
Nightrender took a step backward, away from Daghath Mal and the twin thrones. A red fog was fading from her thoughts. Had she truly been considering—
Nightrender, Daghath Mal whispered in the back of her mind. You know now what they did to you. But I would restore the memories they stole. Be my queen. Stand with me.
“I was made to defend the people of Salvation.” She didn’t sound as resolute as she’d intended, though.
“For how long?” he asked. “Forever?”
“If I must.” She leveled her stare on him. “You should not be in my mind.”
You opened this door, Nightrender. Four hundred years ago, you had me at the end of your sword, burning through my insides with your power. And we shared something intimate: profound hatred. It was only an instant, but through that, our connection was established.
It was clear then: why he could whisper into her thoughts, why using her power caused pain, why she’d even felt tempted by the idea of taking the throne beside him. She had built a link between them, a product of the energy surging through her sword as he fed her growing anger. And now, that same power attacked the dark place he occupied within her, the terrible rot of his influence.
“I don’t want anything from you.” Nightrender forced the words out one by one.
“You want your past,” he said.
That was true, but she could not—would not—bargain away her freedom. He would withhold memories in exchange for services, select only the knowledge he wanted her to have. She had no interest in more double-edged promises.
“I may not remember everything,” she rasped, “but I know I’m not a monster. Siding with you would make me one.”
A growl escaped Daghath Mal’s throat. “You are making a mistake.”
No. Nightrender had sworn to defend the people of Salvation, and she would not forsake that promise. Even now. Even knowing what they had done to her.
She was better than their betrayal.
Before she could doubt herself, Nightrender dove for her sword.
Her muscles screamed as she lifted Beloved into the air and swept it straight for the beast’s throat. Lightning shot through the throne room, a brilliant flash of white-blue that lasted just long enough for Nightrender to see the hundreds of rancor lining the open space, their claws still dripping with her blood, their serrated teeth black with shreds of her hair.
Then the room went dim again, her sword completed its arc, and the rancor king was nowhere to be seen. Slowly, warily, she turned a circle, fingers clenched around the hilt.
Don’t fight this, he whispered into her mind.
There: a shudder in the air, an eerie body slipping in and out of existence. She charged at him, heavy wings dragging behind her, but he was gone before she got there, shifted to yet another space.
Become my queen.
“No.” She pushed everything into that word, raising her sword to guard. This was it. Her last stand. She would throw him into the Rupture or die trying. Even if she did succeed, the rest of his army would descend on her, showing no mercy. But at least she would have righted this wrong. “I will not join you. Not now. Not ever.”
“Very well.” He sounded resigned. Sad, even.
A rancorous howl split the air and the hundreds were on her in an instant, clawing and ripping, grasping at her wings even as the black-glass feathers sliced through their flesh. Rancor pushed in tight, all trying to get a taste of her, leaving no room for her to fight.
Numinous light burst out, driving back the beasts as freezing pain splintered through her. She leaped for the nearest throne, forcing her good wing to rise and give her lift.
Standing on its back, barely keeping her balance as she swung her obsidian blade, she didn’t stop fighting. Brilliant, cleansing fire spread through the mob, stunning some, destroying others.