There was a ringing silence as Ithan took in the pile of ice that had once been the Under-King … and felt nothing.
The Under-King was dead. Gone.
Ithan had killed him.
“Looks like we’ll need a new Head of House,” Jesiba said calmly to Hypaxia, who was staring down at the Under-King, clearly appalled at what she’d done.
What they’d done.
“When I swung at him,” Hypaxia said quietly to Ithan, ignoring Jesiba, “I put a bit of my power behind the blow.”
Hypaxia held out a bloodied hand to Ithan, and he realized that he, too, was bleeding all over, from the explosion of razor-like ice shrapnel. Rivers of red ran down his hands, his face. Hypaxia didn’t look much better.
He slid his bloodied hand into hers. Her hand glowed, and they were both healed. The cuts on her face vanished—along with his, judging by the tingle that washed over his skin. Faster than he’d ever seen any other medwitch work.
“Play later,” Jesiba said. “We have work to do.”
“What work?” Ithan asked.
“You kill it, you become it,” Jesiba said to Hypaxia. “You are now, for all intents and purposes, Head of the House of Flame and Shadow. And this place.”
Her face paled. “That’s not possible. I don’t want that burden.”
“Too bad. You killed him.”
Hypaxia advanced on Jesiba, her face twisted in anguish and fury. “You knew this would happen,” she accused. “You made me escort Ithan not to help him, but—”
“I suspected things might shake out in your favor,” Jesiba said mildly. “But even though you’ve inherited this place by right, you must make some decisions quickly. Before Rigelus becomes aware.”
“Like what?” Ithan demanded, looking to Connor, who still stood nearby at the top of the stairs, watching them all with awe on his ghostly face.
“Like what to do with the souls here,” Jesiba said, nodding to Connor.
“We let them go,” Ithan said. “We don’t even need the Quiet Realms at all, do we?”
“No,” Jesiba said. “Death worked just fine without them before the Asteri came.”
But Connor was shaking his head.
“No?” Ithan asked.
His brother nodded to Ithan’s clenched fist, clutching the black bullet. Connor opened his mouth, but still, no sound emerged.
“Oh, please,” Jesiba said, and turned to Hypaxia. “Order him to speak already.”
Hypaxia’s brows rose. “Speak.”
Connor blew out a breath, distinctly audible. Hypaxia was truly the mistress of this place. Ithan marveled at it.
And it was his brother’s voice, the voice he’d known his whole life, that insisted, “Don’t send us off into the ether.”
“Connor …,” Ithan started.
Connor held Hypaxia’s stare. “Don’t miss this opportunity.” He began walking down the stairs—nearly running—and it was all they could do to follow him. With that strong, sure grace, his brother stalked down the empty avenue flanked with strangely carved obelisks. All the way to the Dead Gate, its crystal muted in the dimness.
Only when they stood before it did Connor speak again. “That bullet,” Connor said, nodding to where Ithan held it, “was made by us—the dead. For Bryce.” A soft, pained smile crossed his face at her name. “To use with the Godslayer Rifle.”
“What’s so special about it?” Jesiba demanded.
“Nothing yet. But it was crafted to hold us. Our secondlight.” As if in answer, the Gate began to glow. “We had planned to make contact with Jesiba—to ask her, through her role in Flame in Shadow, to get in touch with one of you.” Connor shrugged with one shoulder. “But when you appeared earlier, Ithan, with the Under-King distracted … Well, it was a little earlier than we’d planned, but everyone was ready. I think Urd made it so.” After all Ithan had heard and experienced, he didn’t doubt his brother’s claim. “So they began the exodus through this Gate. They were finishing when I was summoned to you.”
A conduit, like the one Bryce had drawn from in the spring.
“All of our secondlight, from every soul here,” Connor said quietly. “It’s yours to put in that bullet. Use it well.”
Ithan’s throat constricted. “But if you … if you turn into secondlight—”
“I’m already gone, Ithan,” Connor said gently. “And I can think of no better way to end my existence than by striking a blow for all our ancestors who’ve been trapped and consumed by the Asteri.” He nodded to the bullet, the glowing Gate illuminating his face. “Look at the engraving.”
Memento Mori. The letters gleamed in the Gate’s pale light.
Jesiba let out a quiet laugh. “Got the idea from me, did you?”
Connor’s mouth quirked up at a corner. Ithan nearly broke down at that half smile. Gods, he’d missed it. Missed his big brother.
But the Dead Gate glowed brighter—as if the time had come. As if it couldn’t hold all those souls, the secondlight they’d become, much longer.
Connor said to Ithan, “You do make me proud, you know. Every day before now, and every day after. Nothing you do will ever change that.”
Something ruptured in Ithan’s chest. “Connor—”
“Tell Bryce,” Connor said, eyes shining as he stepped toward the glowing Gate, a wall of light now shimmering in the empty arch, “to make the shot count.”
Connor stepped into the archway and faded into that wall of light.
He was gone. And this time it was just as unbearable, as unfathomable to have had his brother here, to see him and speak to him and lose him again—
The light began shrinking and contracting, pulsating, and Ithan could have sworn he heard the hissing of Reapers rushing toward them in the distance. The light shivered and imploded, condensing into a tiny seed of pure light.
It floated in the Gate’s archway, thrumming with such power that the hair on Ithan’s arms rose.
“Put it in the bullet,” Jesiba ordered Ithan, who unscrewed its cap and gingerly approached the seed.
All the souls of the people here … the dreams of the dead, their love for the living …
Ithan gently slid the bullet around the seed of light and replaced the cap. He lifted the bullet between his thumb and forefinger, its point digging into his skin.
As the light floated up through the bullet, Memento Mori was briefly illuminated, letter by letter.
Then it faded, the dark metal stark in the gray light.
“What now?” Ithan rasped, barely able to speak.
Connor had been here, and now he was gone. Forever.
“I have Reapers to sort out,” Hypaxia murmured, staring off into the distant mists, to where the hissing was growing louder.
Ithan mastered the hole in his heart enough to ask, “What about Sigrid?”
Hypaxia said carefully, “What would you like me to do with her?”
“Just, ah …” Fuck, he had no idea. “Tell her I want to talk to her.” He clarified, “I need to talk to her. But only once I’m back from the Eternal City.” If he ever came back.
Hypaxia nodded solemnly. “If I encounter her, I will convey the message.”
“The Reapers won’t take the power shift well,” Jesiba warned Hypaxia.
“Then I appoint you my second in command and order you to help me,” Hypaxia said flatly.
“Happy to oblige,” Jesiba said, examining her red-painted nails.
“You can’t kill them,” Hypaxia warned the sorceress.
Jesiba gave the witch a wry smile, and nodded to Ithan, who pulled himself from his grief long enough to meet her steely gaze. “Get your ass to Pangera, Prime. And get that bullet to Bryce Quinlan.”
Tharion didn’t speak, barely breathed, until he and Sathia were back in the open air. It had taken a few hours to coordinate with his former colleagues about how they’d conduct the exodus from the city, how they’d get the message around without alerting anyone to the plan. Word was bound to leak at some point about the Blue Court harboring refugees, but hopefully by then they’d have a good number of people Beneath. And then the Blue Court would go into lockdown, praying that the River Queen’s power could hold out against the brimstone torpedoes of the Omega-boats docked in the river. It was risky … but it was a plan.
Only when they’d ducked for cover in a shadowy alley did Tharion say to Sathia, “We did it. We fucking did it—”
She smiled, and it was beautiful. She was beautiful.
But a voice crooned from the shadows of the alley, “Isn’t this an interesting turn of events?”
It was all Tharion could do to draw the knife at his side and step in front of Sathia as the Viper Queen emerged into the light, her drugged-out, hulking Fae assassins flanking her.
“I don’t have any quarrel with you,” Tharion said to the Viper Queen, who was clad in one of her usual jumpsuits—ocean blue this time, with high-top sneakers in an amethyst suede with maroon laces.
“You burned my house down,” the Viper Queen said, her snake’s eyes glowing green. Like a Reaper’s eyes. The Fae assassins behind her shifted, as if they were an extension of her wrath.
“Colin?” Sathia blurted, and Tharion found her gaping at one of the Fae males. “Colin? I thought you …”
The Viper Queen glanced between the towering Fae male and Sathia and said to the latter, “Who the fuck are you?”
“Sathia Flynn, daughter of Padraig, Lord Hawthorne.” Sathia’s chin rose, pure disdain in every word. “I know who you are, so don’t bother to introduce yourself, but I want to know why my friend is in your employ.”
It was a different face from the one of courtly grace she’d poured on for the River Queen. This one was imperious and icy and a little bit terrifying.
The Viper Queen snorted.
Sathia bared her teeth. “Colin. Get away from this trash and come home.”
The towering Fae male stared blankly ahead. As he had this whole time. Like he didn’t hear her.
“Colin,” Sathia said, voice sharpening with something like panic.
“McCarthy won’t respond unless I give him the order,” the Viper Queen drawled, walking to the male and running her manicured hands over his broad chest. Her metallic gold nails glinted against the black leather of his jacket. “But let me guess: Childhood friend? Handsome, poor Fae guard, spoiled little rich girl …” Her purple-painted lips curved in a smile, and she patted the male’s cheek, purring to him, “Is that why you came crawling to me? Would her daddy not let you court her?”
Tharion’s heart stalled at the pain that washed over Sathia’s face as she breathed, more to herself than to anyone, “Father said you had found a new position in Korinth.”
“Padraig Flynn has always been an excellent liar,” the Viper Queen said. “And a better client. He introduced me to McCarthy, of course.” She gestured to the blank-faced assassin.
Sathia paled. “Come home, Colin.” Her voice broke. “Please.”
Tharion had no idea how anyone, the drugged-out male included, could resist the pleading in that voice. Her face.
“It’s too late for that,” the Viper Queen said, and nodded to Tharion. “But you and I have unfinished business, mer.”
“Leave him alone,” Sathia snapped, teeth flashing as she stepped closer to Tharion. “Don’t you dare touch him.”
Tharion’s fingers slid toward hers, squeezing once in warning to be quiet.
“And what authority do you have, girl, to order me away from him?”
“I’m his wife,” Sathia spat.
The Viper Queen burst out laughing. And Tharion could have sworn that something like pain shown in McCarthy’s bright blue eyes—just a glimmer.
“You leave him alone,” Sathia said again, and vines curled at her fingers. “Him and Colin.”
“That’s not an option I’m interested in, girl,” the Viper Queen said, and inclined her head to one side. The assassins, Colin included, aimed their guns. Did he imagine it, or was McCarthy’s weapon trembling slightly?
Tharion sheathed his knife and held up his hands, again stepping in front of Sathia. “Your business is with me.”
He’d accomplished what he needed to with the River Queen. And if Sathia became a widow … she could remarry, by Fae law. Maybe even find some way to save that poor bastard McCarthy and marry him. So Tharion said, “Let her walk out of here before you put a bullet in my head.”
“Oh, I’m not going to kill you that quickly,” the Viper Queen said. “Not a chance, Ketos.”
She advanced a step, her assassins flowing with her.
“You take one more step toward my friend,” said a familiar female voice, “and you die.”
Tharion’s knees wobbled as he glanced over a shoulder—and found Hypaxia Enador striding in from the quay, Ithan Holstrom bristling with menace at her side.
