He scoffed. “After you killed Harlen, you want her help?”
My stomach soured at that piece of information.
“It had to be done,” Valyrie explained without a hint of emotion. “It had to be a sacrifice the clan would feel. Be happy it wasn’t her.”
Cypherion lifted his scythe as if he’d repeat what we’d just done to Thorn, but before he moved, a battle cry echoed from the city. And over the tops of the buildings, a mass of white, misty bodies charged.
Spirits.
Literal spirits, broken from the Hall of Wandering Souls. Headed by?—
Fucking Angels.
“Lyria,” I choked out as I gripped the dagger carved with my sister’s initials.
She led the front line of an army of spirits, Mila on the ground ahead of her. The ghostly white forms fell among the battle, targeting those Thorn had claimed and seeming to wrench their minds back to their bodies. But my sister and Mila…together, they raced to me.
Lyria floated down, her form outside of the Hall now the same as the Spirits I’d seen during my Undertaking a year ago. White and misty, a clear differentiation from the living.
“How are you here?” I whispered.
“I told you I was working on a way to help. I couldn’t let you have all the fun,” my sister teased. That same dress as before hugged her form, no armor or weapons in sight. “We can’t stay long, but we bought a little time.”
“To win,” I said, matching her taunting tone, though my eyes fucking stung.
“Damn right, baby brother. I’d been trying to find a way for the spirits caught in between to return for short periods since I was trapped there.” Her expression softened. “There was always something stopping us, and I was afraid to tell you in case I couldn’t solve it, but then Mila visited…”
“As soon as I saw Lyria, my Reflector powers reacted,” Mila finished. “It showed me another realm where devout worshippers of a deity could use spells to place themselves into a temporary sleep in place of the spirits.”
And now, with their precarious place on the cusp of life and death, the Spirits could help pull our warriors back to their own sanity. They could sever Thorn’s hold on them.
I’d always known Lyria was supposed to be here still. I hadn’t realized perhaps shecouldbe in this battle from beyond the realm.
“Xenique helped,” Lyria said, andthatshocked me. “With her priestesses in the city.”
“That’s amazing,” Cypherion said, still scanning the skies for Vale.
“Damn spectacular. Thank you,” I added, hugging Mila as tightly as I could. Dammit, we really were all here. Making a final stand together. “Let’s go?—”
“Stop!” Valyrie demanded as we turned toward the heart of the city. I’d forgotten the damn Angel.
“Whatdo you want?” I growled in frustration.
“Ophelia needs you.”
Chapter Eighty-Four
Ophelia
Mythical creatures pouredacross the skies in perfect formations, like they’d been trained to fight battles of legends, and tears blurred my vision as I watched them. The myth power I’d shot against Echnid—I’d hoped it might find a few, but it had done this. It had woken an army and called them to our cause in one last desperate defense, to the aid of the known gods they answered to.
My chest tightened as the phoenixes dipped low, wings igniting the shadowed beasts attacking our forces. A gryphon sank its talons into the chest of a demigod and flew the male into Zanox’s path, the khrysaor spewing blue fire over its godly body. He writhed and screamed as smoke spiraled into the air, the scent of charred flesh thickening in the night.
And I nearly fell to my knees as a wolf bound before me, Ricordan atop its back.
Nodding, the Mindshaper said, “Revered.”
“Thank you, Ric.” My voice cracked over the words.
