Nocturis holds my gaze, his eyes like silver arrows. “The will of the god-star was that every human who came to Annordun would perish along with it, and that no witnesses would remain. That fate still stands for the rogue. But you have done particularly well, little thief, and I’m rather fond of you, so I will offer you this chance. When the destruction is complete, leave the fortress by the front entrance. You will see a circle of green in the blue grass. Step into it, and you will be transported back to your city of Belgate in the mortal realm. As your reward, I will let you take one thing with you, something you can carry alone.”
I start to speak, but he raises an imperious hand. “Our time is at an end. I lay on you this curse, that you may not speak the substance of this conversation to anyone else until Annordun is destroyed. Do as I have said, or perish.”
He vanishes.
“I’m so fucking sick of people disappearing,” I mutter. I also want to say exactly what I think of Nocturis, but I’m afraid to voice the thoughts aloud in case he’s listening and decides I’m not his favorite little thief anymore.
The enormous significance of what he told me is almost too much to grasp. Closing my eyes, I replay the entire conversation in my mind.
Our presence here is part of an elaborate scheme by a god-star and some group called the Wild Hunt. In Maven’s stories, the god-stars are the most ancient entities of Faerie, the deities whom the Fae worship. And the Fae aren’t the only ones who revere such beings. There are whole kingdoms in my realm who also worship the god-stars. Their reputation is universal, and their power transcends realms. Which means I don’t dare act too boldly against them, or try to defy their will.
Somehow, Ravager and I ended up at the center of this. Both our crews were merely pawns in this game, which has political ramifications for both the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. And we were all supposed to die here, as the scapegoats for the god-stars—the cover for their interference at Annordun.
I suppose that means the Javelins owe me their lives, first for wishing them away to comparative safety, and then wishing them back to the mortal realm. Thanks to me, they won’t perish along with the fortress.
The fortress… I have to destroy the fortress, and I can’t salvage any of its treasures—except for one single item.
As Nocturis said, I’ll need Ravager’s help—that much is clear. But there’s no way he will agree to this, especially if I can’t tell him the truth. No matter what story I might invent to convince him, he would never leave all the loot behind, especially not the Doras Àlainn. No thief would go through all this pain only to abandon the treasure when it’s sitting unguarded.
And that isn’t even the most dreadful part of the conversation I had with the green Faerie. Seven words weigh more heavily on my heart than any others.
That fate still stands for the rogue.
Nocturis gave me the candy to heal Ravager, but he didn’t do it out of mercy. He only did it so Ravager can help me destroy Annordun. After we accomplish the task, Ravager’s fateis to die here. And if I try to circumvent that plan, if I make one wrong move, I will die, too.
“Fuck that.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the wishing stone, expecting to see dots of light running across it, marking the countdown for another twenty-four hours. But it has gone dark. Maybe it did have the capacity for three wishes, but the Fae-Hunter who possessed it before me must have used one, and I used the other two.
As I roll the stone between my fingers, it disintegrates into powdery black ash.
It’s just as well. I couldn’t have stalled long enough to use it again. Nocturis seems eager for us to finish the job quickly. Within a handful of hours, he said.
He also gave me a promise.As your reward, I will let you take one thing with you, something you can carry alone.
Within that promise, there may be a solution. I’m not sure it will work, but all I can do is try it, and cling to hope.
After wrapping the candy carefully in a piece of cloth and tucking it into my pocket, I take a quick look through some of Drosselmeyer’s things. I want more than a knife in my hand if I’m going to assist Ravager against the monsters of this fortress.
Within seconds I spot a pair of short swords jutting from a sheath assembly that I can strap to my back. It’s almost as if I was meant to find them, like they were intended for me, and that sense of rightness only fuels the dread in my soul, the sinking certainty that the broad strokes of these events were fated, orchestrated by cosmic forces.
And yet there’s hope in the knowledge that we surprised them—the Wild Hunt, the god-stars, Nocturis, or whoever the hell. We did some things that they didn’t expect. We made our own choices, despite the machinations of entities far greater than we are.
No matter what happens, no matter what I have lost or gained in this terrible place, I am still Devilry. And I still get to choose my own path.
The razorwings have retreated along the hallway, farther from the site where Ravager burned part of their swarm. They’re still cloaking the walls, blocking my way, and they seem far more active than before. Maybe they’re getting hungry again. Maybe they’ve used up the sustenance they obtained from Grisly’s corpse, and now they’re interested in fresh meat.
I hate the way they crawl over and under each other in a shifting mass. I hate the shine of their wings’ sharp edges and the clicking sound of their tiny teeth. I keep shuddering convulsively at the mere sight of them, and my skin is stippled with goosebumps.
Peering beyond the tunnel of the creatures, I spot several more of their corpses littering the bare floor beyond. Those corpses are charred just like the ones around my feet. Did Ravager notice the creatures’ aversion to their own dead and use it against them? Maybe he carried some of the bodies through with him, to keep the surviving razorwings at bay.
I should do the same, but I don’t know if I can manage it. I don’t want to lay a single finger on one of those creatures. Another chill runs over me when I think about touching them.
“Shit,” I whimper under my breath.
And then I realize that maybe I don’t have to touch them with my actual skin.
I reach back over my shoulder and draw one of the short swords I took from the pile of Drosselmeyer’s things. The hilt isoddly shaped, and the crossguard looks as if it’s made of separate pieces folded together. There’s got to be some kind of trigger mechanism to unlock whatever secrets the blade is hiding.
Retreating farther from the restless swarm, I push, tug, and twist at various parts of the sword hilt until I discover a gem on the pommel. When I press it firmly, several needle-like branches unfold from the crossguard of the sword, like attachments that complement the main blade. When I push it again, they start to spin alarmingly fast, so I press a third time, and they quietly cease spinning and fold themselves away.
