But this was just the beginning.
He tried to drag himself up, but his son had to help him, because he had lost all muscle tone: With John’s help, he reassumed his position.
His breath took over once again, that rhythmic, shallow panting pumping him up, restoring his energy.
Phury’s voice was rough to the point of hoarseness. “What is the name of your dead?”
Tohr grabbed another hectare of oxygen and got ready to do it again.
This time, the name he screamed was his own, the pain of losing his blood-born son cutting him so deep he felt as though the inside of his chest was bleeding.
He screamed longer the second time.
And then he flat-out collapsed on his arms, his body spent—even though it was still not over yet.
Thank God for John, he thought, as he felt himself get repositioned.
From up above, Phury said, “For to seal unto your skin e’ermore, and to bind our blood with yours, we shall now complete the ritual for your beloveds.”
No panting this time. He didn’t have the energy.
The salt stung so badly he lost his vision and his body convulsed, his limbs jerking uncontrollably until he fell over on his side, even though John was trying to hold him upright.
Indeed, all he could do was lie there in front of all of these people, many of whom were crying openly, his pain their own. Tracing the faces, he wanted to comfort them in some way, spare them what he had gone through, ease their sorrow.…
Autumn was at the far end, by the billiards room archway, standing in the flesh.
She was dressed in white, her hair twisted back from her face, her delicate hands up to her mouth. Her eyes were wide and red rimmed, her cheeks wet, her expression one of such love and compassion, it instantly made the pain fade.
She had come.
She had come for him.
She still had love… for him.
Tohr started to weep properly, his sobs exploding out of his chest. Reaching for Autumn, he held his hand forward, beckoning to her, because in this moment of letting go, after this seemingly endless, painful journey, along which she and she alone had joined him, he’d never felt closer to anyone.…
Even his Wellsie.
Reborn, resurrected… back from the dead.
Across from where Tohr was writhing in pain from the salt wash, Lassiter grit his teeth not because he was commiserating, but because his head was driving him nuts.
Reborn, resurrected… back from the dead—
Tohr began to sob, his heavy arm stretching, his hand opening… and reaching for Autumn.
Ah, yes… Lassiter thought, the final part of it. Fate had demanded the blood, and the sweat… and the tears, not for Wellsie, but for another. For Autumn.
This was the final part, these tears spilled by the male for the female he had finally allowed himself to love.
In a rush, Lassiter looked up to the ceiling, to the painted warriors with their fierce steeds, to the deep blue background—
The sunbeam seemed to come from out of nowhere, piercing through the stone and mortar and plaster of what was above them all, the bright light so strong even Lassiter had to wince as the illumination arrived to claim a female of worth from a hell that was not of her doing.…
Yes, yes, there in the center of the dome, with her young in her arms, Wellsie appeared as brilliant and vibrant as a rainbow, lit from without and within, color returned unto her, life renewed because she was saved, because she was free—and so was her son.
And just before she was subsumed, from the loft of her heavenly heights, she looked upon Tohr, and looked upon Autumn, though neither of them saw her and nor did the crowd. Her expression was nothing but love for the pair, for the hellren she had had to leave behind, for the female who would spare him his own torment, for the future the two would have together.
Then with an abiding, peaceful expression, she lifted her hand in a good-bye to Lassiter… and was gone, the light consuming her and her son and carrying them away to the place where the dead were at home and at rest for all of eternity.
As the light faded, Lassiter waited for his own burst of illumination, his own claiming sun, his own return for a final time to the Maker.
Except…
He was still… right where he was.
Resurrected, reborn… back from the dead…
He was missing something here, he thought. Wellsie was free, but—
At that moment he focused on Autumn, who had gripped the skirting of her white robe and taken a step forward, toward Tohr.
From out of nowhere, a second bolt of great light broke through from above—
But it came not for him. It came… for her.
Lassiter’s mind made the connection with the speed and shock of a lightning bolt: She had died long ago. Taken her own life…
The In Between. Different for each person. Tailor-made.
Everything went into slow motion as the second truth was revealed: Autumn had been in her own In Between the whole time, traveling to the Sanctuary and serving the Chosen for all those years, then coming down here to earth to complete the cycle that had begun back in the Old Country with Tohrment.
And now that she had helped him save his shellan… now that she had let herself feel for him and let go of her sorrow at her own tragedy…
She was free. Just as Wellsie was.
Fucking hell! Tohr was going to lose another female—
“No!” Lassiter screamed. “Noooooo!”
As he broke out of the lineup and lunged forward, trying to stop the connection between the two of them from being made, people started shouting, and someone grabbed onto him, as if to keep him from getting in the way. But it didn’t matter.
It was too late.
Because the pair of them didn’t have to touch. The love was there, and so was the forgiveness of deeds past and present, as well as the commitment in their hearts.
Lassiter was still lunging forward, in midair, when the final beam of light claimed him, catching him in flight, plucking him out of the present and pulling him upward, even as he still screamed at the cruelty of fate.
His entire purpose had culminated in condemning Tohr to another round of tragedy.
SEVENTY-THREE
For truth, Autumn had not been sure she would come unto the mansion… until she did. And she had not been sure how she would feel about Tohrment… until she saw him searching the crowd and knew he was looking for her. And she did not completely open her heart to him… until he reached out for her, his control breaking the moment he locked eyes with her.
She had loved him before now—or had thought she did.
But she had not been all the way there. The critical part that had been missing was a sense of herself not as somebody who was unworthy and had to be punished, but as an individual with value and a life to live beyond the tragedy that had defined her for so long.
As she stepped forward, it was not as a servant or a maid, but as a female of worth… one who was going to go to her male, and embrace him, and be joined with him for as long the Scribe Virgin deemed.
Except she didn’t make it.
She was not even halfway across the foyer when her body was struck by some kind of force.
She could not comprehend what o’ertook her: One moment she was striding toward Tohr, answering his silent plea that she come to him, crossing over the floor, zeroing in on the one she loved.…
And the next, a great light fell upon her from some unknown source, halting her in her tracks.
Her will commanded her body to continue to Tohr, but a greater force laid claim to her, and take her it did: With a pull that was as undeniable as gravity, she was drawn up from the earth, into the light. And as she was lifted upward, she heard Lassiter screaming, and saw him surge forward as if he wanted to stop her departure—