“Thatis why I wanted you to come tonight, cousin. I’ve been told you had a strong desire for power, one that drove you to sacrifice everything. But your place as queen has made you complacent. Given you a false sense of security.”
Ruling Letum has given me no security at all. It has only instilled a deep dread of when it will inevitably end.
Pan tilts his head in false pity. “What is one island when we are gods, Willa? What is one kingdom when we were made to rule universes?”
“I don’t want universes,” I reply levelly. “Letum is my home. It’s the only thing I need.”
“Your home?” His laugh rings through the cabin, merriment edged with something sinister. “Is it a home when its people gladly take your power to protect them, but would burn you at the stake for the same thing? Look no further than what they did to their own Creator.”
Pan’s eyes narrow in clever calculation. “Or, perhaps…you only need remember what happened to your poor usurper. He laid down his life, and they didn’t even bother to kneel at his grave before they bent the knee before a new queen.”
Rage rises in my chest, a swirling maelstrom of heat and ice. “The kingdom loved the Carrion King in a way theyneverloved you. He called himself king becausetheycalled him ‘savior’,” I spit, shaking my head in disgust. “You will not stand here and pretend to understand the weight of their love the way he did…the wayIdo. You’ve only ever loved yourself.”
My mouth twists in fury as I run my gaze over the Aeternalis. The windblown tousle of his golden hair, the flush of his cheeks no matter the time of day, like he’s just come from some great adventure. The mutilated skin and bone of his chest, evidence that death claimed Pan once. It can claim him again.
“I’ve been selfish for most of my life, but we are not the same, Peter. My selfishness was all to hold on to the little I had, to protect what’s mine. And you’ve vastly underestimated the lengths that desire drives me to.”
With a quick blink, I paint a sword into my hand. Pan watches it eagerly, but even his excitement feels wrong—like everything beneath it has been scraped out. His tongue darts out of his mouth, tracing his lower lip in anticipation and it takes everything in me not to cringe away. Instead, I step in closer.
Close enough to drag my blade across his throat. His mouth goes slack in shock, his long lashes flickering as blood spurtsfrom his artery. I watch it with satisfaction, a feeling of warmth—of connection—spreading through my chest as the Aeternalis’ life source showers my hands and face. Just as Niko once watched the Everlasting bleed, so will I.
A tribute to Letum’s true king. A man that never wanted the power, but wielded it so carefully. A ruler who held up his people, even as he himself drowned.
Pan sways, his hand going to his throat as his legs give out beneath him. His shadow winks out of sight, and he topples to the ground with an unbecoming gurgle. I have watched many men die over the centuries, and though the Aeternalis claims to be more than mortal, his death is no different than any other. Glassy eyes, soiled pants. Entirely unremarkable.
I wipe the blade clean on my skirts, before turning toward the door.
It swings wide before I reach the handle, and my heart leaps into my throat at the silhouette shadowed in the threshold. A small blonde boy, no older than five. Though his eyes are closed, tears track down his dirt-smeared cheeks as his little body trembles with deep sobs. He lists erratically into the cabin, his hands flailing before him like he’s searching for something—a way out from the nightmare he’s trapped in.
I reach to comfort him; to wake him and save him from his own mind. The boy lets out a violent scream the moment my fingers graze his shoulder, wrenching from my grasp. He crouches, darting beneath my outstretched arms toward where the Aeternalis bleeds on the floor.
Slow horror envelops me like a shroud as the boy kneels in the pool of blood beside the Everlasting, as piously as he would at an altar.
Like he’s making anoffering.
“No!” The word is a panicked, strangled sound in my throat as I lurch toward him.
But it is already too late. His small body gives a violent shudder, and a golden light, no larger than a pinprick, lights at his chest. The boy trembles and jerks, spittle crusting at the corners of his lips as the glow expands until both him and the Aeternalis are encapsulated within a small orb of magic.
Small filaments form around the edges. Lines of magic that fizzle and spark as they bounce from the boy to the globe, before disappearing into the Aeternalis’ chest. The little boy’s colors dim while the dull pallor of Pan’s skin brightens.
I readjust my grip on the sword, rage burning deep in my chest. Pan is siphoning the child’s magic, just as he’d done to all the Strayed who came before him. I’ve heard the stories from Niko and Tiernan, butwatchingit—seeing him steal something so innocent—is more depraved than anything I could imagine.
More instinct than strategy, I plunge my arm into the fading orb of magic, determined to drag the boy away from the Aeternalis. But the moment I wrap my hand around his shoulder, something soft—somethingaddictive—rushes from the point of contact. My skin warms, my muscles loosen, my joints relax. The edge of nausea in my stomach relents, and my lungs expand fully.
I jerk away, staring at my fingers in abject horror. Touching the boy didn’t save him—it diverted the flow of his power intome.
Lurching backward, I clutch my hand to my chest like it’s been burned. But the child’s magic follows. Even as I scramble over the floor, desperate to get away, bright threads of innocent wonder spear from the orb. The golden power wraps around my wrists, climbs up my legs, dives into my chest. The more furiously I fight against them, the more I try to shake them off, the tighter the magic grips me.
And then, the pure euphoria becomes too much to resist. I lose every thought beneath its irresistible thrall, my body undulatingof its own accord as I drown in rapture. My eyes fall closed, pleasure shuddering through me like nectar. There is no pain, no regret—nothing but undiluted, gorgeous power. Untinged with the traumas of life, unstained by the harshness of living.
It is unadulterated freedom. I can’t remember why I ever tried to run from it; I can’t remember anything but the high in my veins and the dizzying power.
“Doesn’t it feel good, littlest darling?” Pan’s voice whispers from somewhere above me.
His face flutters into view between my lashes. Blood-spattered and ethereal, his expression somehow mirrors the feeling flowing through me. He wraps his fingers around my wrist and pulls me to my feet, pressing me to his chest. The feel of his skin against mine nearly sends me back to my knees. My senses are heightened to intoxicating levels, each touch amplified by the magic pulsing through my veins.
“Drink it in, Willa,” he croons, the words sensual and smooth. “You don’t have to fight so hard. I only want to make you feel good.”
