The beings in the room cheered. Then the solemn one surprised the wind. He smiled.
It was then the wind knew, without a doubt, the solemn one was truly gone.
This was a new being. A hateful, pitiless, uncaring being. It was what the rocklike one had always said he would become.
The solemn one had fought hard, but in every battle against the rocklike one, he’d always lost.
The wind slid to the pixie-like woman’s skirts and rustled them, pushing her to go.
But instead of leaving, the pixie-like woman shook out her skirts, kicking the wind loose, and started to clap. It was a slow, teasing, mocking clap.
The solemn one’s muscled back stiffened. The tentacles lengthened and turned toward the noise. They twisted, seeking the source of the sound.
Slowly, the solemn one turned around.
The pixie-like one’s lips curved into a teasing smile. “It seems you’ve managed to lose your humanity. How nice.”
The solemn one stared at the pixie-like woman. If the wind had expected him to smile or laugh or greet her happily, it would’ve been disappointed. The only reaction he had was letting out a slow puff of air.
“Winnie,” he said, as if he’d tasted something sour and wanted to spit it out. “Come to rescue me?”
She laughed, and it rang over the room like the gong of funeral bells. “I wasn’t certain I’d find you. You look good. I like the . . .”—she patted the air behind her shoulder—“nightmare squid things. Really nice.”
The wind laughed. Was the mournful executioner’s tree making a joke?
The solemn one’s gaze hardened. “I don’t want you here.”
“I like the beard too. The tattoos. Your decorating style could use a little work, but . . . we can’t have everything.”
“Maker,” the shouting man said, “should I take ’em to the arena now. That one too?” He pointed at the pixie-like woman.
The solemn one ignored the man. All the inhabitants of the room were watching him: the new ones in the line like he was wearing silk and a golden crown; the depraved like he was a fearful, wrathful thing that could devour them or throw them scraps to feast on at any moment.
“So . . .” the solemn one said, his tentacles swaying behind him like vipers. “You’ve come to take me back to Hell Gate.”
The woman held out her hands. “Hell Gate? Hmm. No.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “No?”
“Hell Gate’s gone. Nearly everyone’s dead.”
If the solemn one cared about the girl or the innocent one, he would’ve asked if they’d survived.
He didn’t.
“What do you want then?”
“You,” the pixie-like woman said.
The man blinked.
“To come back with me. You left a few things unfinished.”
“No.”
“You don’t have a choice. I’m the princess rescuing the villain. That’s how our story works.”
The solemn one laughed. The sound was yanked from him like a rusty knife sliding up his throat. He grinned at the pixie-like woman. “Kill her.”
