A cataclysmic jet of seawater shoots from her hands, straight into the Death Lord’s face. Into the Death Lord’slungs. It shrieks, bucking beneath her with barbaric savagery, fighting and resisting that which it fears most. She doesn’t relent. Zephyra’s grasp might as well be divine, and she floods its body with enough water to fill a ravine. It gurgles on salt. Chokes on brine.
“Scream.” Her voice rises, strengthens, until it seems to reverberate through the entire temple, and Mortem’s statue—it actually cracks. Right down the middle. Right between his wings. Even the cultists back away in fear now, abandoning their master to its fate. The Death Lord does not—cannot—make a sound as Zephyra’s current hauls it into the air. “I saidscream.” The water crushes it against Vila’s tail, andthe Death Lord no longer fights. Its body has gone limp, jerking and twitching as it drowns before our very eyes. Before Vila’s.
“Holy shit,” Gavriall whispers.
Kneeling before the bronze chest, eyes widened in equal parts horror and awe, Vesper gazes up at Zephyra. “Shut up, Gavriall.”
For once, he listens, and when the Death Lord dies, it dies in silence, folding into itself until nothing remains but a robe and a mask. Zephyra doesn’t hesitate to level her current at the other cultists, who vanish on a gust of frigid air. Their robes clatter, frozen, to the temple floor. With a harsh breath from Zephyra, the current ebbs, and she wipes trembling hands on her scales before glancing at me. At Gavriall. At Amaya and Vesper and finally, at the chest in Vesper’s arms.
“Give me the box.” Zephyra’s voice hitches with those myriad emotions. “I’m not letting him die.”
Distantly, I realize she should be bleeding too. Dying. The thought is very far away, however, and fading fast.The bond must have broken. At least she’ll be safe.
“Zephyra,” Vesper says softly, and sadness fills her gaze.
“No.” Zephyra shakes her head vehemently, her tail flicking. “I’m through with people dying because of me. This is… this is all my fault. I can’t get out of my own fucking way. First Jacin, and then Eos, and now…no.” She shakes her head again. “Not Arion too. I’m using Mortem’s heart, and I’m putting an end to this. Toallof this.”
“Unfortunately,” a sickeningly dark voice says. “I don’t think that’s your choice to make.”
Zephyra stills at that voice. The entire temple stills as an unfamiliar man prowls up the steps, his shadow leaching all color from the room until everything turns bronze.
I don’t look at him, however. I look only at Zephyra; she lurches backward, her face blanching. Her heart pounding so hard, it echoes through the room. Only one man could ever elicit this reaction, this terror, thishorror, and—I want to beat the absolute fuckingshitout of him.
The man smiles as if he knows before he rips the harpoon from my chest.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
ZEPHYRA
He’s here.
Six months away doesn’t erase eight years of close proximity and wretched agony. The moment he approaches, my blood curdles in response. My bonesacheto flee. However, the High Sorcerer of the Four Seas stands—stands, on two legs as I’ve never seen before—in front of the only entrance. The onlyexit.
And Arion has seconds to live.
Harpoon ripped from his chest, he bleeds in a torrential spill of crimson. Scarlet bubbles from his lips. His eyes seek mine, not the sorcerer’s. I glance at the bronze chest beside Vesper, at the crusted blood on its lock. If I had my fucking legs, I could reach it in time.
“I don’t think that will do as you hope,” the sorcerer says smoothly, calmly, stepping over my warlock and tossing the harpoon aside. The sorcerer glances down at the robes on the floor. At the Death Lord’s mask near my tail. Then he turns that gaze on me—copper hot, nauseatingly intrusive. “You’ve been busy, my wife.”
My lip curls in hatred and disgust. I hate him. I fuckingloathethis man, and now… we’re trapped here. Us all. Withhim. What are we going to do?
“I amnot, nor will I everbe, your wife.”
“Oh? But that was the deal, my dear.” Crouching, he plucks upthe mask and examines it with benign fingers. My hackles rise. He’s being too quiet. Too gentle. The calm before a lethal storm. “I remember it very well. Would you like me to remind you?” His gaze flicks back to me. He flexes muscles beneath the tight black of his tunic, shaking his head with a deceptively soft laugh. “‘I will allow you, Zephyra of the Syl, a chance at true freedom. I will allow you one hour to run, to truly run from me. I will allow you one hour to swim away from this castle and to never return before I hunt you.’” He plucks up my hand, ignoring that I try futilely to tug it away. “‘That is what you have always coveted, isn’t it, dear? Freedom?’” He brushes a kiss on my inner wrist, even as I use my other hand to claw at his arm. “‘All I require… is that you cut out his heart.’” He bites my flesh, and I shriek at the sudden burst of pain. He draws blood.Drinksit, lapping at the wound with his tongue before dropping my arm to stand. He towers over me like the demon he is while I cradle my wrist to my chest, seething. But as much as I hate him… I also hate myself.
Jacin’s angry gaze. Jacin’s skin, rough with barnacles.
That dull fucking knife.
No. I shake my head. I can’t remember this. Irefuseto remember this.
Arion growls, clutching his own weeping wound, but it’s a weak, feeble sound. He’s dying quickly. Too quickly now. And the others don’t move. Theycan’tmove. Either from the sorcerer’s magic or fear, I don’t know, but Gavriall, Vesper, and Amaya watch with wide eyes and silent lips. We’re screwed. We are totally, completelyfucked. I wipe the red from my wrist and force myself to rise as high as I can with my tail tucked beneath me.
“A shame,” I spit, “I was rather hoping you’d been eaten by a kraken.”
The sorcerer ignores me. He strokes the porcelain mask with bloodstained fingers. “I hope you did not give Vasiliev too much trouble, dear. He was a loyal servant for so long. One of my favorites. I couldn’t have orchestrated this without him.”
“Who?” I ask—
