Flesh was cheap. Flesh was part of the game. It would, indeed, be more interesting—more fun—for an Aetar to create a new civilization, new life, from scratch. No matter the cost.
And to them, there was no cost at all.
It wouldn’t cost them anything to kill this world, its humans and demons—even Grant.
Not true, part of me thought—a part that sounded too much like the darkness for comfort. Because you are in this world, and you are the creation that cannot be undone.
I looked back up the hill, at the piles of ash blowing toward us. I could barely recall taking those lives. Just the rage and righteousness, followed by the numb distance of the haze. What few memories remained felt cold, crisp: those pale, bald figures lost in their robes, lost to me and the power I had called on.
“They questioned me about your child,” said the Messenger suddenly, fixing me with that cold, piercing gaze. “Almost as much as they questioned me about my own corruption.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, then opened my mouth again, about to begin my own interrogation. But the woman beat me to it, with a sharpness in her voice that made me uneasy.
“Do you know how my kind discovered she is a creation of the Lightbringer’s seed?”
“I assumed they just . . . knew,” I said, lamely. “That there were spies.”
“Spies,” she echoed, staring at me like I was a fool. “No spies, Hunter. Only betrayal. The Aetar were informed about your child.”
Uneasiness became flat-out dread. “Who would do that?”
Bitterness touched her mouth. “They told me it was the Wolf.”
The Wolf.
Jack.
My grandfather.
CHAPTER 20
I suppose some people would have called the Messenger a liar, but she’d never given two shits about deceiving me. Threatening to kill me, yes—acting like an asshole, certainly—but lies? I wasn’t sure deception was even in her genes. Like, literally.
But I still didn’t believe her. I couldn’t. She had to be wrong; it was an Aetar trap, a setup. Plant some bad information, then let it leak. Watch me lose my shit and make stupid choices. It happened in the movies, right? Not that I needed a distraction to make stupid choices; I did that spectacularly well when I was fully focused and present.
“Jack wouldn’t,” I said, and inwardly cringed at the sound of my voice; like a plaintive five-year-old. My grandfather loved me. He could not have done this.
“He is one of them,” replied the Messenger, with cold assurance. “The gods are bound together, Hunter, through time and spirit, and intent. How can mortal flesh compare to bonds that have lasted the age of stars?”
I shook my head, walking away from her—stopping after just a few feet and bouncing on my toes. I wanted to run. “No.”
“As you wish,” she said, with only a hint of mockery, and crouched again over the Mahati. Her voice rose soft in song, barely audible, though I felt the chill touch of power shiver over me. It was all for the demon, though. I finally saw his back rise and fall. Still alive, just as she’d said.
The wind shifted. A sour, piercing scent filled my nose. I turned, looking deeper into the rocks and scrub, and saw a pale, naked foot. A couple steps closer revealed an entire person.
Several people, in fact, piled together and bleeding from their throats. Dressed in almost nothing, with hairless bodies and disconcertingly simple faces—as if a designer had been building androids that would only approximate human.
“Mules,” said the Messenger behind me. “My demon killed them first. He was wise to do so.”
Mules. Humans whose only function was to provide life energy. The engineered, enslaved Lightbringers would have brought them along as portable meals, necessary for their survival. Just as my energy, my life, had been necessary to keep Grant alive when he used his gift.
The Mahati demon stirred, shifting restlessly against the ground. He only had one arm; the other ended at the elbow. Scars from stripped, cannibalized flesh covered his back and thighs; long silver braids flowed around him in thick ropes. His head turned slightly, and his eyes began fluttering open; not quite conscious, but close. The Messenger sat back, voice dropping to a hum, gaze serious and dark. Her entire focus, on him. I didn’t want to interrupt—but, whatever.
“The Devourer,” I said. “Do you know that name?”
Her entire body twitched, a convulsive, electrocuted shudder; I might as well have jolted her with a cattle prod. Her voice broke into silence, and she tore her gaze from the demon to stare at me. I had never seen her appear so startled. It made her seem . . . young and human.
“Did the Wolf share that name with you?” she asked.