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Another shackle. This one wasn’t bulky steel attached to a chain; it was a glassy black cuff clinging tightly to her wrist. Under Neir’s grip on her other wrist, she could see another.
“They feel terrible, don’t they? Locking your power into your skin itches so bad it almost burns.” Neir chuckled. “Thank the sun they work on you. Kael insisted they would, but I didn’t have any gods to test them on. I was the closest subject to compare.”
Dread returned to Lily. She tugged at her hand, though her strength was no match for Neir’s. He jerked her around, pinning her back to his front.
“It’s so good to see you, pet.” Sliding a rough hand down Lily’s arm, he found the hilt of the knife in her brace and ripped it from its sheath. He rotated it back and forth then brought it close to her face, but the blade only trailed through her hair. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”
Lily jerked her head away.
“Calm down. If I wanted you dead, I would’ve let Whart do it first.”
“Where’s Luka?” she demanded.
Neir lowered the knife. “Safe.” He flipped one of her hands, tightening his grip on her until it hurt when she flinched. He swiped the cavernbone over her palm, and stinging crimson bloomed across her skin.
Lily gritted her teeth. “I have no reason to believe a word you say. Especially not after what you just did to your own people.”
“What I just did”—the knife lifted from her skin—“was help you at the expense of my safety. And you, my little reaper, are going to return the favor.”
Lily’s gaze followed the knife until it was out of sight. “What do you want?”
“For you to do what I tell you.” Neir shoved a ghosted gun into Lily’s bloody hand. “First thing you’re going to do is take credit for the rest of Whart’s lot.”
Hearing this, Neir’s former comrade, the Stalker from Reave, shouted. The soldier working for Neir kicked him in the back.
The gun flickered to life in her grip. “Rot on Theila,” Lily hissed.
Neir inhaled deeply, his chest pushing against her back. “Call over Lilith’s friend, will you?”
After a moment, Xavier’s eyes flashed, and he slowly stalked toward them.
A sickening reality sank in.
“You brought him here,” Lily said in a whisper.
“They wanted another frenzied specter, but I insisted on him.”
“You did this?”
“He was the one harboring the Wraith. He resisted arrest. I never touched him, but I did offer him the choice: He could die right then, or he could keep on living.”
Lily wondered then what men and women were told to choose something like this. Did they even know what was going to become of them? What they were really choosing when offered an escape from death? Lily couldn’t imagine Xavier choosing this if he knew.
“This is not living,” she whispered.
“He’s breathing. Walking. Functioning. Valen’s Legacy considers this life. But if you insist it isn’t humane, then by all means”—Neir’s hand clasped over hers, a finger covering Lily’s over the trigger—“end it.”
Lily missed a breath, her muscles turning to ice as Xavier returned to the surface. The gun lit brightly in the dark, and his eyes widened, searching for his handler.
Lily’s fingers shook. “I can’t.”
“You will.”
“I won’t! Not like this!” she cried. “I’ll do it, but by my hand.”
Neir paused again, and for a sweet, blessed moment, she hoped he might listen. But Neir raised her arms—not with his unseen grip, but by his own doing—and pulled the trigger for her.
Lily gasped, knees buckling.
