“You’re a real motivational speaker, you know that?”
The barest hint of something—was it amusement?—crossed Serrik’s face. But it vanished faster than a candle flame in a hurricane.
“I do not require motivation. I require action. Earlier, I told you that I would require your decision next we spoke.”
Ava stopped pacing. Turned. Looked directly into those impossible golden eyes. “And what exactly makes you think I’m going to choose either of those spectacularly awful options?”
Serrik stood. For the first time, he moved away from the harpsichord. Each step was calculated, predatory. Like a cat deciding whether to play with its prey or simply devour it whole.
“Because,” he said, drawing out the words like he drew out his steps, “you have no other choice. Inaction is the same as the first choice. Humans have a remarkable capacity for survival. You adapt. You persist. Even when logic suggests you should not.”
She wanted to melt into the floor. Disappear into the aether. Be anywhere but where she was, as he stepped up to her. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“No. Merely an observation.” He was close now. Close enough that she could see the intricate gold symbols etched into his jewelry. Close enough to smell something that wasn’t quite wind, wasn’t quite lightning, mixed with the scent of citrus and herbs. “As we speak, your new…hosts…are scheming as to what to do with you. Nos wishes to trade you to a more powerful resident of the Web in exchange for influence and to erase old debts.”
“And…what about Ibin?” She fought the urge to take a step back.
He looked off, as if he could actuallyseethem. “She seeks to aid you, for she does not wish to die. Her foolish view is the same as her queen’s and suffers the same fatal flaw.”
“Which is?”
“Queen Abigail has relied upon convincing those bound to the grimoire that the fae should continue to exist, rolling the dice time and time again.” His gaze returned to her. “Eventually, no matter how diligent she is, no matter how pure the intentions, shewillfail.”
“Can Valroy honestly destroy the world?”
“Yes.”
A statement of fact. She had no reason to not believe him. Then again, he had every reason to lie. “And why should I believe you?”
“What choice do you have, little butterfly?” He lifted a finger and crooked it under her chin. His expression was as kind as a cemetery statue’s. “I am offering you power and freedom—access to my magic, and through it, the grimoire. They are offering you slavery to a fae. To be at best theirpet,at worst theirplaything.Which would you prefer?”
Now she took a step back. His touch sent a shiver through her of something she didn’t know what to do with. “You’re ignoring the whole genocide thing.”
“The eventual destruction of your kind, or the immediate death of mine. One or the other is inevitable, mark my words.”
“Okay, let’s just say—let’s justassumeyou’re right.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. She couldn’t believe she was actually even considering this. “And I go along with your psychotic genocide plan. What happens to me, when you get loose, go on some kind of serial killer spree, murder your entire people, rip Tirg no-Ale?—”
“Tir n’Aill,” he interjected. That time, he really did smile. Slightly.
“Whatever. You rip it off of Earth. Yay. Human race saved. Whathappens?”
“All those with magical connections to the fae will lose their source of power. Witches will find their gifts missing.” Heshrugged. “But the Earth and the rest of humanity will be spared demolishment at the hands of a tyrant. I assume that would be the priority.”
“Including me? I would lose my ‘magic’ too, yes?”
“In this hypothetical situation, as you would be using my power, you would lose access to it as I would be gone, yes.” He turned his back to fetch his wine from the edge of the harpsichord.
“Right.” She let out a breath and started counting off on her fingers. “Be homeless. Get abducted. Turn into a witch. Commit genocide. Getun-witched.Get sent back to Earth. Still be homeless. Probably be batshit crazy. Maybe be mutilated. Fucking awesome.”
Serrik rolled his eyes. “If you are concerned for your livelihood after all this business has concluded, I am certain something can be arranged.” He gestured at the artifacts strewn about on his table. “We are not found wanting for treasures.”
Side with Serrik. Agree to help him escape in order to commitgoddamn genocide.
Or…die in a horrible, horrible way at the hands of the fae.
The memory of Gregor lingered. The sight of him, the sound of his rasping death rattle. He was alive in there foryears. Decades.Trapped in the shell of his own corpse.
That was going to be her.
