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“Even you cannot save everyone, Outlander. By choosing who shall live, you also choose who shall die. Are you ready for that burden?”
Valkorion was yapping in her ear again. She shook her head, disregarding his words. No one was going to die on her watch.
“Vette, we’re coming for you.”
Between the two of them, she figured Vette needed more urgent help. Torian could handle himself until she could get to him. He was Torian. Her cyar’ika could handle anything.
How wrong she had been.
---
“She can’t even protect her own people.” Vaylin’s taunt sounded far away as the shock washed over her.
Her beloved lay dead at her feet. She’d been forced to watch his life end, powerless to stop it.
The worst thing in that moment was that he hadn’t even gotten to go out fighting. He deserved a far more honorable death.
“I’m going to make you suffer before you die.” She spoke each word slowly and deliberately, tearing her gaze away from Torian’s body to fix it on the Empress. “I’m going to tear you apart, limb from limb.”
“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing.”
---
The battle was quick, dirty, and fueled by rage on both sides. But in the end, Vaylin had fallen. And the Outlander ignored everything else, stumbled back to Torian, and fell to her knees.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you, cyar’ika. I should have been fighting by your side.”
The loss hit her all at once. Why hadn’t she chosen him? Why had she put Vette before him? Now she would never hear his voice again. Never see his smile or hear his laugh.
She reached out to take his hand in both of hers. She could hardly see it, could hardly see him, her vision blurring as it was.
“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum.”