“I can go first,” Julian said, holding out one hand. “Like you did for me.”
She shook her head. “We go together.”
48
Julian
There was no sign of the Soul-Eater.
He and Francine stood in silence a moment. Then Francine took a ragged breath.
“Well,” she said, her throat tight. “That answers that.”
“What does it answer?”
“Is the Soul-Eater dead or on the loose? The answer is yes.”
Laughter ripped out of him, uncontrolled, almost sobbing. He swore. “You—”
“Sorry,” she said, unapologetically. “It’s been a rough few days.”
The others caught up with them a few minutes later. They must have run down the steps. Lance sent a warning message to them both before they arrived—*If there’s any trace of him, the birds will want to—*
*There’s nothing,*Julian told him.
*Shit.*
And no sign of Eloise or her colleagues, either. Julian took Francine’s hand and didn’t let it go the whole time they were inthe prison. Her friend was dead. There was no question about that. Even if the others in the prison had somehow ridden on the wake of the kraken’s rescue, they would have been spat out in the ocean. Even a lioness couldn’t have survived that.
But the Soul-Eater had a hundred creatures inside him. Any number of which could call the ocean its home.
The shimmer of a thousand flickering images brushed the edges of Julian’s mind; the Stymphalian birds, talking busily among themselves. They wanted the Soul-Eater for reasons of their own.
Carol’s teeth caught the light. “If he’s in the water, Moss might be able to find him.”
Moss winced. “Maybe? It’s been a rough couple of days. The ocean has a lot to say, but my brain’s had it. Can’t sort the details from the overall melody.”
Julian stared at him. “You … talk to the ocean?”
“Always have done.” The kraken shifter gave an easy smile, and there was a flicker of nightmare tentacles around him, and around his mate. “Lately, though, it’s started talking back.”
The tentacles faded but didn’t disappear. Julian got the feeling the ancient shifter was as uncomfortable in this prison as he was.
Julian steeled himself. He had failed at his people’s great duty. But that wasn’t the end. Failure only meant there was more to do. “If he’s alive, we must find him. If he’s dead…”
He squeezed Francine’s hand, and she nodded at him to continue.
“Then somewhere out there is an infant who has just inherited a curse heavier than any child should bear.”
“There must be a way to break the cycle,” Francine said.
“The cycle that’s just restarted for the first time in half a millennium?” Lance didn’t sound convinced.
“The Weaver of Souls will be reborn, too,” Moss rumbled. “She’s the one who helped set up this prison and made our friends like that.” He nodded at the Stymphalian birds.
Among the Stymphalian birds, the flurry of telepathic images intensified. Carol turned, joining their silent conversation. “The Soul-Eater isn’t your only hope now,” she told them, speaking slowly. There was a psychic echo to her words, as she simultaneously interpreted her own conversation for the benefit of everyone in the room. “You don’t need to rely on him to take your eagles away along with the—the blades. The Weaver will be able to heal you properly, won’t she?”
After a moment, the Stymphalian bird named Quick-killer spoke. “Different gods,” she said carefully.
