“Drop your sword,” Justus says calmly, “or Ceres dies.”
This cannot be happening.
This must be a trick.
I swing my attention around the cavern, my gaze striking Dargento’s limp body before lifting to Dante’s stern face.
“I’d do as Justus asks, Fallon. My general is a ruthless man.” He stands closest to me but not close enough for my sword to reach his head, the only part of him not covered in armor.
“General? You’ve replaced Tavo, too?”
He doesn’t bother answering me.
“You could’ve chosen peace, Dante.” My voice is as strong and sharp as the sword I hold, even though everything inside of me is melting like sunbaked snow.
“Peace? Come on, Fal. Peace was never an option. The demon you awakened would never have settled forhalfa kingdom.”
“The only demon I awakened was you, Dante,” I spit out just as the vine tightens around my wrists, and motes of dirt spill from the cavern ceiling.
The soldiers who bound Aoife gawk from the low ceiling to the enormous slab of obsidian propped against the entrance.
Dante’s blue eyes shine with horrible delight. “The heroic vulture must’ve finally joined the party. A little late.” To his green-eyed soldiers, he says, “Take the Crow down into the tunnels!”
They jump to attention, then heft Aoife past where Justus stands, and tip her black body into a wide pit. Stone bangs against stone as she clatters out of sight, the two soldiers clambering down after her.
Lore is here, I tell myself.He’s here.
Even though a mountain stands between us, I want to weep in relief. How long will it take him to breach the stone walls if he transforms into smoke?
Does he need a crack to glide through or can he penetrate—
Dante knows how to make forever-Crows. The memory glides through my mind, popping my fragile hope. Oh Gods, he cannot come inside.
“You have ten seconds to toss away my sword or your grandmother perishes, Fallon.” Justus’s ultimatum tears my attention off my pissed-off mate. “Ten.”
I stare at Nonna’s wet cheeks.
“Nine.”
I swallow hard but the lump in my throat is so jagged that my spit doesn’t slip past it.
“Eight.”
My grandmother’s green eyes flare.
“Seven.”
“Stop! Don’t hurt her!”
“Six.”
“Let her go and I throw down my sword.”
“Sword first, Fallon. Five.”
I stare at Nonna and release the sword. It clanks onto the ground and rolls, stopping when it hits . . . when it hits . . .
A skull.
