“A scared little boy, just like your power-starved father, making bargain after bargain as he ravaged a continent. Your grandfather mined all the steel, but your father was determined to do more. To conquer magic, of all things. Ozik’s fear was so visceral every time your mother revealed herself.”
Vaasa sucked in a breath. He spoke about himself as if he wasn’t Ozik, as if…
His crimson eyes, glowing just like Amalie’s had, though hers had been white.
When she’d connected with Veragi.
And then it all clicked. She should have realized it sooner. This was not Ozik she looked upon. This was the being she had faced on the stairs on the way to the prison, the thing that kept trying to break free of a body that contained it.
Ozik wasn’t a god. He was possessed by one.
“Zetyr,” Vaasa gasped. “You’reZetyr.”
Vaasa filed through every moment she’d spent with Ozik, trying to categorize them, trying to reconcile the two different beings she’d been presented with. In her youth, he had been constant, and she could cling to no memories of his mortality faltering. But these past few months, each time he vacillated between crimson and gold, it was their fight for dominance in the same body. Ozik pushing through, reclaiming control, only to be lost in the red again. Ozik’s control had deteriorated, and quickly.
Thisis what she’d seen on the other end of their bond. That red pool, the cavern in Ozik’s mind, the ancient thing that seemed to be emerging from within him.
It was Zetyr.
The corners of Zetyr’s lips curled up. “In the pursuit of extinguishing my enemies, a man like your father is the perfect red herring. He did all of the searching for me. Uncovering witches one by one, making them ripe for the slaughter. The deities who betrayed me will pay for their crimes, despite Ozik’s valiant efforts. You know, he used to serve me so willingly, before your mother came along.”
Vaasa took a step away from him, her mind reeling. Ozik had left breadcrumb after breadcrumb for her to find. The torture in the prison, a way to strengthen their connection and show her what her father and brother had done. The training each morning, allowing her to glimpse Zetyr without knowing it. The nights when his pain raged across the cords that bound them.
His entire scheme of making her a figurehead, all to highlight what her father had been turned into. Every language she spoke, every political system she learned, every history lesson packaged in words with double meaning. He had taught her how to find the answers, how to observe.
Her father’s office.
The notebook.
The necklace.
Their bargain.
You were never trying to steal my magic, were you?Vaasa whispered into her mind.Our connection helps you hold him at bay.
Ozik’s voice murmured in her head, quiet, seemingly far off, yet distinguishable nonetheless.You are far cleverer than anyone has ever given you credit for, even me. But especially your father.
Tears welled in Vaasa’s eyes as she gazed upon Zetyr, at the hateful contortion of a face that did not belong to him. “What bargain did Ozik make? What happened to Julianna and Ellena?”
Zetyr tilted his head with such menace as he said, “Without fail,love or power. One cannot have both. And as you’ve been told a hundred times, love is a useless thing.”
He dropped his hand and started toward her.
Vaasa backed up and pulled her knife from her waistline. The weapon felt heavy in her hands, tangible, real. Despite it, she shook. She stumbled back again.
He was agod. What use was a blade?
Zetyr laughed at her display. Vaasa’s gut twisted with the inhuman sound. “Shall we use that knife to execute the Wolf of Mireh?” Zetyr taunted.
Vaasa’s heart lurched. This sounded nothing like Ozik—it wasn’t strategic, it lacked depth, was missing that inherentdouble meaning. Before he could get closer, before he could get his hands on her, Vaasa dipped into her pocket and grasped the necklace. Her magic winked out, but she pulled the anchor from her pocket and held it out between her and Zetyr, hoping, praying, that it would do something.
Zetyr froze.
He halted in his steps, his face contorting in rage, and the gold in his eyes grew brighter. Clearer. The webs of blood within them retracted, and Zetyr shook his head, resembling a wild animal. The black veins in his neck receded. Vaasa stepped forward, and his knees cracked against the gravel.
“Good,” he gasped, his voice leveling out, breath filling his lungs. His head hung. “Well done, Vaasalisa. Well done.”
He took a large breath and lifted his face up, not a trace of red in his eyes any longer.
