There was a flash of blinding light when Dunea struck the Heart, and Coriano felt himself falling. He hit the ground hard, skidding across the stone until he came to a stop several feet behind Josef. He lay still, unable to breathe from the impact, and tried in vain to see where he was. The room was suddenly very dark. For a breathless second, he lay there in confusion, and then he felt the warm slickness coating his stomach, and he understood.
His hand was stretched out in front of him, still clutching Dunea’s hilt. Just above the guard, the white blade ended in a ragged edge of torn metal. The rest of the sword was in a dull, tangled heap a few feet in front of him, and though he reached out to her with the shredded remains of his spirit, the sword did not answer. The River of White Snow was broken, and her light had gone out.
Coriano’s anguished cry echoed through the dark, empty room, and Josef forced himself to turn. The Heart of War’s spirit was still coursing through him, and he had felt it tear through the white sword and into Coriano’s chest as if his own arm had been the cutting blade. Coriano was lying in a quickly spreading pool of blood. His shoulders were shaking, and his hand still clutched his sword’s guard, the only part of the blade that was still snowy white. As if he knew he was being watched, Coriano forced himself to roll over. When his face came into view, his skin was as strained and white as his sword had been, marred only by the dark purple stain of his scar and a thin trickle of bright blood on his lip.
Josef could feel the Heart’s power receding, but before he buckled, he forced himself to take a step forward. He plunged the dark blade into the stone floor and rested his weight against it. “You got your wish,” he said, panting. “Was it worth it?”
Coriano’s fingers tightened on the ruined hilt, leaving dark finger prints on the crimson silk. “No,” he breathed at last. “Nothing is worth losing her.” He brought the broken sword toward him, clutching it to his chest. “But it was the only end that could make us happy.” He smiled. “Our souls will remember your name, Josef Liechten, and when we are reborn, we will hunt for you. Do not disappoint us…”
The last words were a hiss as Coriano’s final breath left his body and he lay still, Dunea’s hilt cradled against his chest. Josef watched as long as he could as the Heart’s power faded. As it ebbed, the pain of his wounds came crashing back, and his heavy, tired body faltered under the impact. He slumped against the dull edge of his blade, fighting to breathe.
High above him, through the tons of stone, the castle began to quake.
CHAPTER 23
I see you’ve ruined my doors.”
Renaud’s voice slid through the darkness. Miranda jumped and squinted futilely against the lava spirit’s light, but still she saw nothing. Only when Renaud turned his head could she see him clearly, standing on the dais by the pillar.
“They were ruined long before I got to them,” Eli said, stepping forward. Karon bent down and glared menacingly through the warped remains of the doors, casting his fiery light over everything. Miranda and Nico walked under him to stand beside Eli.
“Step away from Gregorn’s Pillar, Renaud,” Miranda said.
“Well, well,” Renaud said. “I told the lie myself, but I never thought it would turn into the truth. The Spiritualist and the wizard thief, working together.”
“Your crimes dwarf his, at the moment.” Miranda’s eyes narrowed. “Give up, Renaud. There’s no sandstorm to save you this time.”
“I have no need for such childish ploys.” Renaud turned back to face the pillar. “Not anymore.”
“Stop!” Miranda shouted. “Listen to reason! Gregorn was the most feared enslaver who ever lived. He was not the kind of man to leave a boon for his ancestors. Whatever he left in that pillar will only hurt the balance between man and spirit that all life depends on, even yours, Renaud. If you use it, I guarantee the power you gain won’t be worth it in the end. Step away, now!”
Renaud chuckled at her vehemence. “It’s far too late for that, Miranda.”
He shifted, turning toward Karon’s light, and Miranda’s eyes went wide. The enslaver’s arms were buried in the pillar. Not just buried, eaten, up to his elbow. Where they met its surface, the pillar had corroded, leaving a black, gaping hole that glistened in the firelight like a rotten wound. As she watched, the pillar made a soft, wet sound, and another inch of Renaud’s arms disappeared inside. Miranda covered her mouth, fighting not to be sick.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Renaud sighed, gazing lovingly at the pillar’s rotten surface. “Gregorn’s greatest accomplishment lies just beneath this shell. Even now, the lineage of Gregorn in my flesh and blood is eating away at his barriers. When it is finished, Gregorn’s legacy will be mine at last.”