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And that was more than enough. “You’re dismissed,” Az said.

With a final sigh of longing, Erebos faded into shreds of black mist. “May the Mother’s dark blessings be upon you, Shadowsinger.” Then he was gone.

Az rubbed his eyes with relief. He trusted Erebos to not touch one red hair on Lucien’s head, but . . . gods, he hated dealing with that thing.

Erebos had seen Truth-Teller plenty of times through the centuries, but had never mentioned singing. Was this another change Bryce Quinlan had brought about?

It didn’t matter. Az would never use or even wear that blade again. He stalked back to the couch and collapsed onto it, his shadows now rushing to curl at his feet, his knees. He ignored them and instead stared at the age-worn carpet. As if he could see through it, through the mountain, all the way to the pit where he prayed Bryaxis now slumbered. Or perhaps she was patiently waiting for her next victim.

Fear itself had returned home to the mountain.

Yes, a number of Valkyries now stood between that monster and the city, but if even Nesta had been ineffective against Bryaxis yesterday, what good would they do?

Worse, the last time Bryaxis had resided here, the House had been just . . . a house. Now Nesta had Made it into something more. Something sentient. Powerful. How would Bryaxis be affected by dwelling within that sentience?

There were too many possibilities, none of them good. And with Clotho having locked them out of the library for the time being, answers would have to wait. Not that they were in a hurry to confront Bryaxis. Only one of them had even been able to face her and fight, and that had ended with Bryaxis still intact.

Watch your tone, Nesta had snarled at Rhys the night before. As unafraid of the High Lord as she’d been of Bryaxis.

Something like guilt panged through him. She’d defended him last night. Gone toe to toe with Rhys, knowing full well the High Lord was dangerously close to violence.

Nesta shouldn’t have wasted her breath.

And yet . . . perhaps she’d done it because she knew precisely how it felt to be on the receiving end of Rhys’s wrath. To be shoved to the outside and forced to look in. Nesta understood, and even though he’d been a piece of shit to her recently, she’d fought for him.

He had no idea where that left him. Cassian, too, was still speaking to him, but the rest . . .

Mor certainly wasn’t going to talk to him anytime soon. Nor Rhys. And Mother save him when Amren found out. Az rubbed his neck, his stomach muscles aching with the motion.

He should speak to Elain. Somewhere outside, perhaps, so he wasn’t tempted in any way. But they should talk, and try to figure everything out. Even if he didn’t really know what everything was, what he wanted, except for her.

Rhys couldn’t understand, not really. So if Rhys wanted to banish him somewhere, fine. Elain would come with him. They’d leave, and good fucking luck to Rhys with the impending war.

To hell with all of them for trying to come between him and Elain, for not grasping what was so very obvious.

Some small part of him bucked and thrashed at that thought. Some small part of him wanted to shake himself by the shoulders and roar.

But what did he have left, really, if not this blisteringly bright thing with Elain? She made his shadows disappear—made them run. How could the others not understand what a gift that was to him?

He was death, and she was life. Where his soul was soiled and bloodied, hers was pristine, verdant.

Perhaps his father’s hateful wife had been right: he was a demon who should have been drowned at birth. If Bryaxis had taught him anything yesterday, it had been that, deep down, he was still that monster, still capable of doing things his friends would never, not in a million years, consider.

His shadows curled at his shoulders, in his lap. The world is dimming, they cautioned. The winter dark closes in on all sides—

He banished them with a flash of teeth. They slunk back to the corners of the room.

He’d find Elain. He’d talk to her, after everyone had some time to cool off. Together, he and Elain would figure out a plan.

And then they’d make everything right.

CHAPTER

24

Nesta

Nesta inhaled through her nose, silently counting to three. The salt and damp of the sea filled her nostrils, along with the sweetness of morning grass and the faint rot of falling leaves.