“That’s not true!” Corinthe cried. “What are you doing here? How did you get here? I thought you were—”
“Dead?” The woman spread her hands. “Evidently not.”
“Who are you?” Luc demanded.
“She’s my Guardian,” Corinthe answered instead. Her voice was thick with emotion. “She—she taught me.”
The woman, Miranda, narrowed her eyes. “Apparently I didn’t teach you well enough. Your last task was to do what, Corinthe?”
He felt Corinthe stiffen next to him. He wondered whether she would admit it—that she had meant to kill him all along—but she only shook her head.
Miranda began circling them like a predator. There was something feline about her eyes. “In order to return to your life as a Fate, to return home to your sisters, you had one simple task to execute. There is still time, Corinthe. Kill him now, before it’s too late, and you can stay here in Pyralis, where you belong.”
Corinthe hesitated. He remembered that she had told him it hurt to live anywhere else, that being away from Pyralis was a physical ache, constant torture. He watched Corinthe warily, his grip firm on the knife.
The beauty of Pyralis faded under the harsh glow of a rising sun. He felt as if he were standing in a photograph: everything was too bright.
Still Miranda was speaking. Now her voice was a whisper, like the hiss of a snake through the grass. “You will destroy Pyralis, Corinthe. You will destroy everything you love. Is that what you want? The only way to stop it is to kill him.” Miranda stepped closer and smoothed the hair away from Corinthe’s forehead, like Luc’s mother used to do to Jasmine. “This is the way it has to be,” she said softly.
Corinthe’s heartbeat was rapid, as though she’d been running. She was staring at Miranda as though hypnotized.
“I don’t love it,” she whispered.
Miranda frowned. “What?”
“You said I would destroy everything I loved. But I don’t love Pyralis. Not anymore.” Corinthe shook her head, as though rousing herself from a dream. “Him. I love him.” She turned to Luc. The breath he had been about to exhale froze in his lungs. He waited. She stepped away from Miranda, closer to him. Her eyes were shining. “I love you.”
She smiled so brightly he could barely think. He could barely think, see, move. He knew. He believed her.
“I love you, too,” he said, and reached for her.
The sun burst free of the horizon.
A shriek of rage split the silence. Miranda lunged for Luc; Corinthe screamed something. Miranda was on top of him, stronger than he could have imagined, teeth bared: an animal. She tried to wrest the knife from his grasp; he put an elbow into her side and felt her release her grip. Sweat dripped into his eyes and Corinthe was still screaming and he stumbled backward, gasping, clutching the blade.
And then Miranda lunged for him again, came charging toward him, howling, transformed into something not human, and instinctively Luc swung the knife.
Just as Corinthe threw herself between them.
Another cry shattered the quiet.
Time stopped.
Sound stopped.
Corinthe was pressed against him, leaning into him, her lips only an inch from his. So beautiful.
Then she gasped and time started again and she fell, holding the handle of the knife that protruded from her stomach.
“Corinthe! Oh my God! Corinthe!” Luc caught her and gently eased her to the ground. And the sun sank with them; it retreated toward the horizon, leaving only shadows and violet light in its wake.
“What do I do?” he asked desperately. Luc looked up to Miranda, hoping for some kind of help. But she was frozen, white, motionless.
“Idiot,” she said. She sounded almost disgusted. “It should have been you.”
“You did this to her!” he yelled at Miranda. “Do something!”
Miranda didn’t even look at him. “She made her choice,” she said. Then she turned and began walking away.
“Please!” he called after her, even though he knew it was no use. His fingers were shaking. There was so much blood. It was everywhere.
“Look at me,” he said gently, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “Corinthe, I need you to look at me.” Her chest was rising and falling in shallow movements, and her skin had taken on an unnaturally pale hue.
Her eyelashes fluttered open and she looked up at him.
“I couldn’t let you kill her,” she whispered. “It’s not who you are.”
He couldn’t think. His pulse thundered in his ears. Panic squeezed the breath from his lungs. “Corinthe, what can I do?”
“There is nothing left to do. It’s too late for me,” Corinthe whispered. She smiled, just barely, and lifted her hand, reaching for the flower. She snapped its stem in half. “The flower gives life, but is deadly to whoever picks it. It doesn’t matter for me. I’m already dying. It’s all in balance. Life and death.” Corinthe’s eyes were the same violet color as the sky. “Now you can use it to save your sister.”
“No,” he said. His tongue was thick with emotion; he could hardly speak. “Corinthe, stay with me.”
She shook her head. “No, Luc. I finally understand. …” Her body trembled with a flash of pain as he watched helplessly.
He was crying without knowing it, choking. “Shhh. Don’t try to talk.” He felt as if he was going to be sick. He stroked the hair away from her forehead, completely helpless. “I’m not going to let you go. This isn’t how it ends, okay?”
She shook her head. That faint smile passed across her face again. “Luc, it was all wrong. Don’t you see? The last task, the last marble. The knife. The rising sun. She made me believe one thing, but it was a trick. I misunderstood everything. I had it backward the whole time. I was the one to die, and you were the one to live. This is what was always meant to be. I feel it. I know it’s true.” Corinthe threaded her fingers through his. She smiled and looked up at the sky. “Look.”
The sun was gone now. The twilight had been restored in moments, like a giant sweep of soft velvet. Millions of stars had appeared, more stars than he had ever seen or even imagined.
It was breathtaking.
A smile passed quickly over her face; then she seized up, as though in sudden pain. “It was always my destiny to die,” she said. “This is how it was supposed to end. And I can go now, knowing that it’s right. I want it, Luc. I want my fate. I want you to live. I love you,” she said again.
“No,” he said. His tongue was thick with emotion; he could hardly speak. “Corinthe, stay with me, please. I’m going to make you better.”
“No,” she murmured. She squeezed his hand weakly before her fingers slipped free of his.
“I love you, Luc,” she whispered once more.
“I love you, too,” he said.
He leaned down and their lips met.
And for the first time in all the length of the universe, they kissed.
She tasted like wildflowers, like sunshine and honey, like the air before a storm. He wanted to kiss his breath into her lungs, kiss his blood into her veins, kiss his heartbeat into her chest. And in his head he saw little explosions, stars being formed and re-formed, worlds where time ran in deep, endless pools.
“Thank you,” she said. She pulled away, and closed her eyes again. “You made me … happy.”
He laid his forehead against hers. “Please stay with me, Corinthe. Be with me. Choose me. I need you.”
Her smile this time was the barest flicker, like a candle trying to stand up to the storm.
“I did choose you, Luc. Luc … I …” For a second a tremor went through her, and she inhaled, as though she wanted to speak.
But she didn’t speak.