“Sleep is for lesser beings.” I traced a line of text that spiraled up one wall, ancient words glowing with power. “Look at this. Three centuries ago, a mortal broke free of Vesalia’s binding by—” I stopped, jaw clenching. “Never mind. She died two days later.”
“Thorne.”
“Don’t.” I pushed more power into the weave, watching golden threads spiral out to connect seemingly unrelated events. “Every bargain has a loophole. Every binding has a weakness. I have to find it before?—”
The magic snapped, recoiling like a whip. I caught a glimpse of Paesha through the dissolving threads, blood on stone, shadows writhing, her voice raw from screaming at ghosts only she could see. Then it was gone, leaving only the bitter taste of failure in my mouth.
I’d paid whatever cost to find her in every life. I’d rewritten the rules of gods and mortals to keep her breathing. But I couldn’t reach her now, when she needed me most. With deliberate care, I pulled the Chrysalis from my pocket. Even in the dim lamplight, shadows swirled beneath its dark surface, promising answers if I looked deep enough. But I was starting to suspect those answers were as false as Alastor’s promises.
“There’s still time,” Tuck said quietly.
“No. Time is the one thing we’re running out of. I traced the memory of this ball, something Alastor probably thought I’d be too distracted to do. It’s a false Chrysalis. Just a godsdamn glimpse of her and nothing else. He wants me to believe she’s spiraling more than she is, but it’s tied to possibility, from what I’ve gathered. Which means this could be her soon. And I’m completely fucking stuck.”
I pulled the Chrysalis closer, watching as she dragged her bloodied fingernails across the stone floor. Even in madness, she was breathtaking, a storm given mortal form.
“You’re going to crack that thing if you keep staring at it so intensely. It’s been days.”
I didn’t look up as he walked into my office. I knew what I’d see there. The disappointment.
“I’m not allowed to interfere on either account. What else can I do but work?”
“Shall I define obsession?”
“Did you come looking for a fight?”
He stepped farther into the room. “I need you to focus. There are other matters that’ll affect your Huntress. Minnie says the king is dying on the inside, which means his body will follow shortly after.”
That got my attention. “Mortals don’t simply die without cause.”
“They do when their hearts break. He lost a son. Asshole or not, he had faith in him. He lost a daughter he never knew was his, and now his onlylivingson refuses to be in the same space as him.” Tuck’s voice carried an edge of accusation. “The physicians say he hasn’t left his bed in days.”
“A little depression. He’ll be fine.”
“We need to get Archer?—”
I waved my hand dismissively. “Archer’s tantrum isn’t my concern. Paesha?—”
“Is exactly why you should care about Archer. She cares for him. You know this. And if the king dies with this rift between them, Archer will never forgive himself. And this kingdom will fall to war. It’s guaranteed. Why do you think Bellatora and Minerva are both here? Our old friend is trying to prevent what Bella’s trying to build.”
“Set that to the side for a second and rationalize something out with me.” I rose, crossing over to the cabinet full of liquor.
“Let’s maybe not start drinking at…” he looked at his watch. “Actually, never mind. Make mine a double. What are we figuring out?”
“Why does she have Remnants?”
His broad shoulders slumped as he scratched his beard. “One could argue, she’s always had them and never had enough power to use them. When she killed Farris, and stole the power, it fed the well, waking the depth of power.”
“That’s what I assumed as well. But, here’s the odd part,” I handed him the glass. “She told me the Remnants have voices of her past lives. How isthatpossible? Do Alastor’s Remnants speak to him?”
“It’s possible. Paesha is a soul descendant of two gods. She’s the Huntress thanks to Irri, but the Remnants have always been shards of lost things. It stands to reason, and don’t you ever tell Minnie I said that, that Paesha’s power latched onto the first lost thing it could find. Her soul.”
“How do we shut them down? Take her power? She’s losing her damn mind.”
“Can’t do that or she dies.”
“Wrong,” I said, swirling my glass. “Alastor is holding Irri’s power. Some here call him the God of LostandBroken Things, when we know him to only reign over the Lost.”
“Have you ever seen himuseIrri’s power? Think about it. If we draw power from human adoration, he’s making sure thehumans don’t forget about her, by spreading her title around. She’s being fed power by mention alone. It’s quite smart, actually, regardless of where she is. It’s the only thing he can do to soothe that missing connection to his Ever, I’m sure.”
