All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [275]
All other thoughts of the battle and her exhaustion and grief stilled. This was everything she’d wanted: a way to survive this war she’d been dragged into, and a way for Eliot to get his rotten girlfriend back so he wouldn’t make everyone miserable for the rest of his life.
And Fiona would be with Mitch.
Her suspicions slipped away. Her pulse hammered in his chest and throat.
In her haze she saw them together—not because of any tricks, but because he’d been noble and protected her when everyone else in her life only wanted to use her. With their powers combined they could leave—go anywhere—do anything . . . even if that was simply go back to school and figure things out, one slow step at a time.
Fiona felt hope and happiness and knew everything was possible for them. It would be a moment she’d treasure and reflect upon every day for the rest of her life.
A sound intruded on their moment: a helicopter whoop-whoop of blades slicing the air—then metal screeching against metal.
Mitch stiffened. His face contorted with agony. A dent popped in the center of his chest plate—pushed out from the inside.
His hand jerked from hers. He turned.
A sword stuck out from his back.
Fiona stared, shocked, dumbfounded . . . as she recognized the weapon. It was the broken sword her father had tried to kill Beelzebub with, the same one Sealiah had given Robert. It penetrated Mitch’s spine between his shoulder blades, and the Damascus steel dripped fire that transformed his black plate mail to ash.
He fell.
She caught him.
Robert stood at the edge of the clearing, staring at her and Mitch . . . looking triumphant . . . perplexed . . . and then shocked.
Robert was alive? But she’d seen him impaled.
Every shadow creature on the battlefield fell and dissolved under the brightening red sunlight.
Mitch coughed out smoke and embers. He and Fiona together sank to the ground. She turned him so he lay on his side in her lap.
Flames crackled and spread around the blade.
Fiona, horrified, reached for the handle to pull it out.
“No,” Mitch rasped. “That blade destroys whatever it touches—using the power of its wielder, whatever that may be. Touch it and you will cut me to my core and kill me. I would not have that weight upon your soul.”
“But you’re going to die with that thing in you,” she whispered.
The flames spread across his back. He shuddered with pain. He clutched her tighter. “Assassination,” he said. “Backstabbing. It is our way. Even you, Fiona, played your unwitting part.”
“Me?” She never wanted this. Fire licked Fiona’s arm and she didn’t feel it.
How had this happened? They had made their peace. It was all fixed. They’d be together and happy. But that one moment when nothing else mattered, when everything was still possible . . . now burned before her eyes.
“Sealiah found a hero and his lady in need of protecting,” Mephistopheles whispered. “With the sun coaxed by hope, and with the God-broken Blade, she concocted a brilliant last-minute gambit.” He chuckled. “Or perhaps she had it planned all along—the intricate, devious machinations of an Infernal. I have lost to a superior opponent.”
“No!” Fiona cried. “Don’t give up! Someone else can take the blade out.”
The last shadow on the field dissolved under the sun as it fully emerged from the moon. The ice on the ground steamed.
“Too late,” he told her. “The light has won this day. My time is over. Yours is just beginning, fair goddess. And our time, alas, was never to be.” He reached up and touched the tears that streamed onto her cheeks. “Still . . . a fine death if it be in your arms.”
“Fiona!” Robert cried.
She ignored him and held Mitch close. The flames rose higher and engulfed them both. Mitch held her. They burned together.
This wasn’t happening. She wouldn’t let go. Not ever.
The flames crackled with renewed intensity, they flared and sputtered and sparked. Fiona felt his strength fade . . . and his very touch dissolve to dust.
The fire guttered and died.
Mephistopheles’ shadows were gone. His patchwork soldiers stumbled and fell apart.