“With what? How do you know this isn’t a plot amongst the tribes to get you out of the way? Or a deal that Azrael made with Orcus to snuff out this revolution? Or with Lena for that matter?”
“I don’t.”
The possibility of treachery did not sway you, so I attempted another tactic. “The warborn are making progress with their raids. We’re annexing more lands every week. We’ll win this thing, eventually.”
“We need the Thrones on our side. You’ve said before that their power is limitless, and so long as Azrael is under their protection, so is he. If Thirran’s soul is what they demand, then we must bring it to them.”
“Let someone else go in your place—Hyas or Ashur, Lucian even. Or let me go instead. There’s no need to risk your life when there are others who would sacrifice themselves for you.”
“Not very heroic, Henri.”
“I don’t want you a hero, Vincent. I want you alive.”
You were quiet at that as your face settled into a determined scowl that meant nothing good. “It has to be me. We both know it.”
“Then I’m going with you.”
“Henri.”
“I agreed to this already. To hell and back.”
“I can’t keep putting your life in danger. You didn’t ask for any of this.”
“And neither did you. Besides, this isn’t about me, Vincent. When I…” I halted and remembered holding you in my arms at the end of your human life for the very last time. The smell of your hair mingled with that of your blood and death, the utter anguish I experienced in losing you, my lasting grief. And then again in the desert, when you were stolen right from under me…
“It’s okay, Henri.” You were suddenly at my side, your arms wrapped around me, holding me tightly. “It’s okay. You can come with me.”
I nodded silently and reached up to find my cheeks wet with tears. In my mind, it was settled. If you didn’t return from the under realms, neither would I.
