Page 58 of The Endless One

“Jessamine,” Elissa gasped.

“This is my purpose, and I will fulfill it.” Jessamine stared hard at the rock before getting onto the altar.

Sybil helped her with a hand on either side of her waist, practically lifting her into position. Then she kept a hand against Jessamine’s back as she lowered their dying gravesinger onto the stone.

For a moment, time seemed to slip. He remembered only moments ago when he had been that person, lying on the altar, knowing that he would not get up again. The witches gathered around her had sorrowful tears streaming down their faces, but it was hard to see them as anyone but those who had harmed him as well.

He made his decision perhaps a little too easily. But if Elric was being honest with himself, he’d made his choice before he’d even gotten here.

She looked so small on that altar. The stone beneath her was so much larger than she was, and the rough-hewn edges made him fear it would bruise her skin. But there were already bruises underneath her eyes. There always were, but now they were so much worse. Her hands had become pools of liquid magic, all dissolving onto the stone and dripping down the edges, leaving nothing but black smudges and bones in their wake.

He didn’t want her to hurt anymore. And there was only one way he knew to protect her.

He reached for his well of magic, replenished with her in a realm that only she brought color to, and started to pull it out of himself. The shadows tore from his skin, pouring into her body without sacrifice. Without ritual. She could take all the magic that he was and use it without ever having to ask. Not like the others in this room.

“I gift my magic to you,” he murmured. “Willingly. Completely. Wholly. So that you may do with it as you wish.”

“As above,” Sybil said, even as she reached forward and placed her hand on Jessamine’s wrist.

The magic transferred between the witches. He could see it leaving from Jessamine, even as her pale, bare feet dissolved as well. He saw the bones of them first. The sharp edges poking through her skin before the darkness slowly seeped out of her pores and turned her flesh into darkness. It was brutal to watch, horrific in every way, and rage burned in his chest.

Ajax had done this. His brother had done this.

“This magic is pure and gifted without intent. I give it freely, so that you may decide how to wield it. I break the chains that bind the magic to me, and I gift it all to you.”

Agnes reached for Jessamine, shuddering at the sensation of shadows that climbed up her arms. “So below.”

Another flexing of his spell surged out of him, forcing its way into Jessamine’s body as she gasped. He tried not to focus on how her chest moved so rapidly it looked like she was convulsing. This had to be done. The coven needed this energy, and there was no other way to give it to them this quickly.

“I give you all of me,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “All that was, all that is. The magic that has been mine is now yours.”

Elissa stepped forward, her hair rising and nearly standing on end as she touched Jessamine and all the magic that she was a conduit for. “So mote it be.”

Magic splintered out of his gravesinger. Tendrils of it, reaching for each of the witches in the room and filling them with more energy than a lifetime of sacrifices could gift them. They would be stronger than any witch who had ever lived. Any creature who had ever been. And yet, his heart still shattered as Jessamine finally looked him in the eyes.

An apology shone in those glistening depths, filled with tears from pain that she didn’t want to admit was there. She was brave. Ever so brave, his gravesinger, his nightmare, his love.

Reaching underneath her neck, he drew her up and pressed their foreheads together. “Power is raw and shimmering,” he murmured to her as the room filled with the moans of witches devouring more magic than they had ever dreamt of. “Power is responsibility. It is greed and hope, hatred and love. All of it must be wielded with the knowledge that it can harm as much as it can hurt. I need you to remember that.”

“I love you,” she whispered.

He held out his hand, waiting for Sybil to place her athame in his palm. The blade gleamed, freshly sharpened, ready to make a cut, because all magic had a price.

Elric lifted Jessamine’s bony hand, wrapping hers around his own on the hilt. “I do this for you,” he whispered.

“Take care of them.”

“I always do.”

He drew the knife between them, holding it between both of their hearts as though he could promise her the world without ever saying a single word. Their hearts beat as one, he tried to tell her. They always would.

“The strength of a god in the hands of the worthy,” he murmured, staring into her eyes.

The spell drew to an end. Elric flipped his wrist effortlessly, pressed her bones to the hilt, and sank the dagger into his own heart.

In only a split second, the world stood still. One moment, her eyes were drifting shut in peace, and in the next moment, they had flown open and electricity surged through her. Her body seemed to stabilize. The shadows were still there, but they strengthened. Her form wasn’t entirely liquid, but solid enough to hold on to her as she lifted her hand and pressed the chilled touch to his cheek.

Blood poured over their hands. His heart pumped harder, trying to get more of that liquid to organs that needed it, but there wasn’t anywhere for it to go but out. No matter how hard his body tried, he was dying. The hole in his heart certainly assured that.