Kingdom of the Feared (Kingdom of the Wicked, #3)(96)

“Incipio.” Wrath spoke the activation spell against my lips as I cried out, the sound swallowed as my husband kissed me again with desperate fervor. As if the connection of our lips and tongues would tether me to him. Would prevent me from fading into Death’s realm.

As soon as Wrath activated the spell, my magic flared up, sensing a new master taking control. The Blade of Ruination. My power wanted no part of it; it did not wish to obey a new master. A raging inferno was being ripped from me, and it fought against the blade’s pull, but I’d given my power freely, willingly. And it could not overcome the summoning.

I screamed as my body burned and the blade heated. The metal seared inside me, and I’d never known such intense torture as I did in that moment. Wrath’s mouth moved across my jaw to my temple, his arms wrapped around me as if he could tear the pain away.

“Shh.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “It’s all right. It’ll be over soon.”

I tried to focus on his featherlight kisses, tried to hold on to the little bit of light he offered. But it was no use. Pain rose up and crashed down, dragging me with it. This was worse than when Vittoria removed my mortal heart. There was no end and no sense of time as the blade continued to tear my magic from me.

Rose-gold fire exploded between us, the blade hungrily lapping up the flames before they could touch Wrath. I squeezed my eyes shut, teeth clenched, as the heat grew to unbearable temperatures. Sweat dotted my brow, dripped down my chest, sizzled against the blade.

Tears streamed down my face, dampening Wrath’s fingers that still clenched tightly around the Blade of Ruination’s hilt. My instinct to survive, to retain my power, made me want to fight back. It took effort I didn’t know I possessed to lock my arms at my sides, to will my magic away. The tortuous magical transfer went on for several long minutes that felt like hours.

A hole in my center grew, and where power once welled up, it was slowly being replaced with nothing. My body grew weaker with each ounce of magic that left me, the instinct to fight draining from my tensed body. My screams slowed as my knees shook, and suddenly the dagger was yanked free. It clattered onto the floor as Wrath scooped me up and cradled me against his chest. His heart hammered a frantic beat, the rhythm keeping my own blood pounding.

I hadn’t died, but it felt like some not-so-small part of me had. A sob wrenched free, and I couldn’t tell if it was relief for what we’d done or grief at what I’d lost. Perhaps it was both. My eyes squeezed shut as if that would prevent the tears from continuing to fall.

Wrath held me tighter, rocking me for several long minutes, until the overwhelming sense of loss receded a bit. I didn’t want him to regret our choice and struggled to pull myself together.

Heat continued to surround us, and I finally managed to crack open an eye. Beautiful burning wings of flame extended from behind Wrath. Silver-tipped and fierce. Another tear slid along my cheek. Not from sadness or grief this time, but from witnessing divine glory so close. Vittoria and I were goddesses from the underworld, but Wrath was true divinity, and I was overcome by the force of love that radiated around him.

That sense of great loss, that grief of giving up my magic, it didn’t disappear, but I allowed that feeling of awe to cleanse my sadness. To remind me of all I’d gained. All we’d gained. The curse was truly broken. This part of our nightmare was over.

As above, so below. Together we’d achieved balance. We won. And yet…

“They’re incredible,” I whispered, blinking as the wings grew impossibly larger. I’d never seen anything as stunning and deadly in all my life. Even when we’d known each other before, Wrath had never shown me his wings. They were a weapon he’d kept hidden. “You’re incredible.”

Wrath held me tighter, his chin now resting on my head. Tension hadn’t yet left his body—if anything, he was coiled tighter than before.

He also hadn’t uttered a single word since we broke the curse.

A bead of sweat rolled from my hairline down my neck, and I shivered. Wrath shook slightly, burying his face in my hair, and I realized it wasn’t sweat, but tears. I mustered enough energy to wrap my arms around him, holding him as he wept.

“We’re all right,” I croaked. “It’s all right. It’s over.”

His mighty wings flapped, and within the flames of the inner feathers there were a thousand tiny gold flecks. My focus slid from the gold flecks to the silver tips. The colors of each of our amulets were aspects of his wings. I’d always wondered about that. Once, I’d thought it meant one was blessed by the sun goddess and the other by the moon goddess. How wrong I’d been.

Wrath inhaled once, then exhaled slowly. He pressed his lips to my forehead and placed me on my feet. I couldn’t stop staring at the fiery wings. They reminded me of my magic, but there was not a sense of familiarity to them. This was his magic through and through, and yet I was drawn to them like a moth to a flame. I went to touch a feather but drew my hand back and gave Wrath a sheepish look. “I forgot fire will likely burn me now.”

Sadness crashed into me again as I inadvertently sought my magic. A rift in my center split further at the emptiness that was there; it was the place where Source once curled up, waiting for me to tap into it. Now there was nothing. It felt as if I’d lost a limb—my body still reached for it, confused when it grasped nothing at all. I blinked until I was able to control any tears from falling. Despite my loss, I was happy I broke the curse. I wanted redemption for the role I’d played as a vengeance goddess. But even through the good, I still mourned my loss. Felt it acutely. I’d never again know what it was like to wield fire magic.