He grins. “You don’t really.”
“No, I don’t. I actually think I’m starting to fall for you.” It’s a lie. I’ve already fallen. I don’t know what I would do without these gods driving me crazy every second of every day now. He freezes. For a split second, the chaos in his eyes stills. Then that jagged grin returns, softer around the edges.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because falling is just another form of chaos. And I’m very good at catching.”
He kisses my forehead, a brief, hot press of lips against skin, before stepping back.
“Tea,” he reminds me. “Before the Order Witch decides we’re plotting treason in here.”
I take a shaky breath, but he takes over, and I’m grateful.
I pick up two mugs. Dastian grabs the others. We walk back into the living room.
Tabitha is in an armchair, back rigid, knees together. Dreven stands by the door, his shadow-blade gone but his tension remaining. Voren keeps his eyes on the big cloud.
“Service with a scowl,” I say, handing Tabitha her mug.
She accepts it with a nod. “Thank you.”
I pass a mug to Dreven. He takes it, his fingers brushing mine. His skin feels cool. He searches my face, eyes tracking the redness I know is there. He doesn’t say anything. He just nods once.
I sit on the sofa again, cradling my mug for warmth. “Right. Tea is served. Crisis is paused. Do you know anything else about this Judge?”
Tabitha shakes her head. “As far as I know, it has never been called before. Aethel was the true ruler of the Pantheon, and before her, her mother. There isn’t anything else I can tell you.”
I sigh and take a sip of tea. It was a long shot. This thing wants us on the backfoot.
I’ve never felt more unsure of anything in my whole life.
Chapter 32
Voren
“You are even quieter than usual,” Dreven says, drawing my attention away from the Devourer masquerading as a cloud. “What have you seen?”
I draw in a slow breath before releasing it. He knows me too well.
“Her death.”
“Again.”
It’s not a question. It doesn’t need to be. He knows my power. He knows what I see.
“It changes,” I say, keeping my voice low enough that Nyssa doesn’t hear us over the drumming rain. “But the result remains the same. I see her light go out. I feel the cold settle in her bones, permanent and absolute.”
Dreven’s jaw tightens. The shadows in the corner of the room sharpen, reacting to his spiked temper. “How? Is it the Judge, or what it will demand?”
I shake my head, eyes on the cloud.
“Well, that’s something,” he mutters.
I have no more words to say.
Dreven turns his back to me, his shoulders rigid. He hates it when I see things he cannot fight. He prefers enemies he can touch, cut, or kill. Death is not something he can kill.
I look across the room. Nyssa sits on the sofa, her hands wrapped around the mug. She laughs at something Dastian murmurs. The sound grates against the vision of her cold, still body currently burning a hole in my mind. She looks alive. Vibrant. It makes the inevitability of the void harder to stomach.
“You two look cheerful,” Nyssa remarks, glancing between us. “Did someone die?”
