“Yes.”
“I even read the end pages.”
His eyes widened.
“I saw how you did it. How you figured out how to consume magic.”
He started to thrash.
And it was easy, wasn’t it? Giving in. Because here, here, here I was a god. I was the most powerful being who ever existed. I had the dragons. I had Myrin the Bright Star, and he had Morgan of Shadows buried within him. But it mattered not. Because it would all be mine.
“You wouldn’t,” he whispered.
I grinned at him. “Oh, Myrin. That’s where you’re wrong. Because I would. And I will.”
Some fleeting part of me knew that what I was doing was wrong. This wasn’t who I was. But it was gone by way of the wind. It didn’t matter who I used to be. The gods had made me this way. They’d wanted someone to pin the fate of the world on, and they’d chosen me. But they’d never expected what I could become. Vadoma hadn’t seen it. David’s Dragon certainly hadn’t seen it. None of them had. They forced me here, filled me with enough magic for a thousand wizards to have, and they expected what. That I would just give it all up? That I would let this all go? That I would stand here with Myrin in my grasp, this man who had taken so much from me, and not make him suffer? That I wouldn’t take everything from him, leaving him nothing but a shell, skin cooling and eyes blank like he’d done to Morgan?
And the people of Verania. They hadn’t trusted me. They hadn’t believed in me. They’d turned their backs on me, telling me I wasn’t good enough, that the color of my skin wasn’t right, that I’d come from the slums and I was worth nothing. And only when they didn’t have any other choice, they begged me to save them.
I would show them. I would show them all. I would consume Myrin’s magic, and then I would return to Verania and show her people exactly what I was capable of.
There would be a new world order.
My world order.
Deep within me, two blue pulses rose, entwined as they spun together. They were trying to defy me and—
No, Sam.
Not defy. Save.
We’re trying to save you.
And I—
“Sam?”
I turned my head.
Knight Commander Ryan Foxheart stood in the clearing, just out of arm’s reach. His eyes were wide and fearful as he watched me.
“It’s a trick,” I snapped. “You’re not here. You’re not real.” I turned back to Myrin. “Is this you? Are you doing this? Because if you think that’ll stop me, you’re wrong. I won’t fall for your games, Myrin. Not now. Not again. You won’t stop me this time.”
“Isn’t me,” Myrin wheezed.
I squeezed his neck tighter.
“Sam, please, listen to me!” Ryan shouted as the wind picked up, whipping around Myrin and me. “This isn’t you! This isn’t who you are.”
I laughed. “And what would you know about who I am? I killed people, Ryan. And I enjoyed it. I wanted them gone from this world. I almost took out all the Darks, but I was weak. I see that now. I’m weak no longer. I will finish them after I deal with—”
He shook his head angrily. “You did it to save Verania. You did it for the King. For Justin. Your parents and Gary and Tiggy and Kevin. For me. We’re the reason you’re who you are. Not what you’ve done. Not Myrin. Not your magic. You are Sam. That’s who you are. Not this. Never this. You can’t give in to it. You can’t. I won’t let you. And do you know why?”
And there was something to his words, wasn’t there?
A little spark in all that darkness.
Even as I pulled Myrin closer to me and opened my mouth, thinking those black words I’d seen in the back of his Grimoire, the darkest of all magics, there was a spark, and it sputtered, wanting to burn—