“You did,” I agree, pouring myself a glass of wine that Dastian helpfully manifests on the counter. “And in doing so, you shattered the chain of command. Aethel was a tyrant, yes, but she held the door shut. With her gone, the draught is letting in all sorts of nasty things.”
Nyssa wipes a crumb from her lip, looking far too pleased with herself for a woman discussing the apocalypse. “So that mad man broke the seal, and I stumbled into a kill far darker and more apocalyptic than I’ve ever encountered.”
“You could say that,” Dreven rumbles. The temperature in the kitchen drops another few degrees, frosting the condensation on Nyssa’s glass. He is vibrating with the need to silence me, but we are past the point of cryptic brooding.
“The Wraith Crown isn’t just a fancy hat, slayer,” Icontinue, ignoring the death glare from the corner. “It has been lost for aeons, not even Aethel knew where it was. But it is the only way to save the Pantheon realm and with it the mortal realm and probably every other realm in existence. Theywillburn to nothing.”
“We need to get it,” she says, simplifying a suicide mission into a grocery run.
“We can’t,” Dreven grumbles, finally peeling himself away from the fridge shadows to join the conversation. “Divine hands cannot touch the artefact without forfeiting their essence. It has failsafes against usurpation.”
“Let me guess,” she says, draining the rest of her Guinness and slamming the glass down with a definitive thud. “Mortal hands only. Specifically, slayer hands.”
“Got it in one,” I say. “You’re the only one who can pick it up without turning into dust. Lucky you.”
Chapter 26
Nyssa
Before I can press them further about this crown and why it so conveniently has ‘wraith’ attached to it when I’m standing in the kitchen next to the Wraith god, the ground rumbles under our feet. I grip the counter and glare at Dastian.
“Not me,” he says as his conjured prettiness disappears, leaving us in a dank kitchen from a hundred years ago that leaves a lot to be desired.
“The fissure,” Dreven murmurs and grabs my hand before moving us through the shadows in that stomach-churning way he has.
I hold onto my lunch with everything I’ve got as we land in the graveyard, where the rumbling is stronger.
Dreven’s gaze is fixed on the crypt. The ancient stone structure is vibrating, throwing the door wide open to expose the fissure in the ground that I closed with my blood. Golden light seeps through, like blood welling from a cut. Dastian and Voren pop into existence beside us a split second later.
“The tear is opening,” Voren says.
“I can see that!” I snap. “Do I need to close it again?” I draw my blade. The runes are glowing blue again, and it’s vibrating, looking decidedly menacing and bloodthirsty. Which wouldn’t be a problem except it wantsmyblood.
“No,” Dreven says. “Let’s see what happens.”
I gawk at him.Let’s see what happens?
“Everything that already wanted to come through, came through the first time,” Dastian adds.
“You sure about that?” I mutter. “And if that’s the case, where did they go?”
“Fled to the four corners so that they aren’t shoved back in the hold,” Voren says as we stand there staring at the fissure.
“And you three stayed because?”
“Of you,” Dreven says. “And because we know what’s coming.”
“So why you and not all the other gods?”
Dreven and Voren exchange a glance.
Dreven grips my hand tighter. “You asked about a hierarchy. There are levels. We are the top tier.”
“Of course you are,” I mutter. Because why would I be lumped with a bunch of amateur gods? “Modesty clearly isn’t a divine trait,” I say, shifting my grip on the hilt. “If you three are the cream of the crop, who’s left in the bucket?”
Dastian grins, the expression sharp enough to cut glass. “The boring ones. The ones who file paperwork and worry about celestial zoning laws. We’re the ones who break things.”
“Comforting,” I drawl.
