We kneel on either side of her, our dead between us, the others surrounding us in silence.
Renaud murmurs a few Ninephene words then kisses the boy's forehead and lowers him carefully to lay next to my mother. I flinch. It's Embriel's face, Embriel's innocence. He cups her cheek, looking at her the way I’ve seen Danon look at me. A brother’s love, a ruler’s guilt.
My breath comes in ragged gasps now, though it must be an affectation of this plane—we're in no physical space.
The Prince turns to me, peels his lips back and lunges. I throw myself backward but he's fast. He’s crouching over me, incisors sharpening, his clawed hand around my throat.
“You.”
He's choking me, and I try to fight him but there's little strength in my arms as I dig my nails into his hands.
“Mother,” I manage to choke out. “My mother.”
That's all I want—to see her before he kills me. In this place I'm tired, more weary than I have any right to be at my tender age, and any fires in me to take his life, to avenge her death, have sputtered out.
I want to sleep.
The Dragon rumbles. Armored feet pace forward, the massive figure looming over us. Then the gray angel is there—though I think the wings membranous, rather than feathered—crouching at Renaud's feet, the outline of his head tilted as he stares at me, then the Prince.
My breath is slowly being cut off.
“You will kill her,” the Dragon rumbles. “She will not come back if you kill her here. Consider with care.”
Renaud's fingers tighten.
“We're at war,” the armored male says, voice hollow. “I remain unconvinced, but killing her now offers no advantage. It will change nothing and she may be useful. In any case—death is mercy. Do you feel merciful?”
The hand tightens, and my vision goes dark. The shadowy angel lunges close to Renaud, reaching out to grab his wrist. A snarl comes from that amorphous chest.
“This is not what you want,” comes the angel’s low, cold voice. “Think.”
“Let him choose,” the armored one says.
“No,”the angel snaps.“None of you are qualified to make this choice.Iam the one who?—”
“If we don't allow him to choose, we will always be at war.”
The Dragon turns his head, eyeing us all, and sighs a snort of hot air.
“I'll destroy us all,” the angel snarls. “If this child pays—and we orchestratedeverything—then so will we, I swear it.”
The Prince loosens his hold and I gasp, begin to cough. He lowers his head, bracing himself with his hands on either side of me and if it weren't such a predatory position it would feel intimate.
But murder is intimate.
Renaud lifts his head, his eyes glassy and those pale, perfect cheeks still stained with tears. He raises to his knees and reaches out a hand again, this time the fingers almost gentle. The gray shrinks, revealing whites, a thin rim of black around blue irises.
“Myson,” he says.
His anguish is crushing. “And my mother.”
Those glassy eyes focus, staring into mine. “I know.”
Renaud slides his hand to cup the back of my neck and lifts me to a half-sitting position as if he's going to replace the boy he'd cradled in his arms moments ago with me. His other hand rests on my lower stomach.
The shadow angel slowly releases Renaud’s wrist, still with that watchful aura. The armored male turns and walks away as the Dragon continues to watch.
“It is almost time, little Harpy,” the Dragon says. “We waited, as promised.” Big, impassive blue eyes turn toward the boy.
