“We’ve drawn their attention. You’re evidence of that. We’ve been expecting them to come after us for years.”
“But not like this. With such . . . sloppiness. Two Aetar died on this world. That is too important for anything but precision.”
I couldn’t argue with her. I’d had a nagging feeling that something wasn’t right about this situation . . . and she’d just managed to give voice to what was bothering me. “What should they have done?”
“Captured me first,” she said, without hesitation. “Interrogated me. And then sent an overwhelming force, more of my kind, to take the Lightbringer. During the day, when you are without the power of your demons. Or better, when the two of you are separated by distance. Drug him, remove him from this world. Poison the demon army, then. Wait for your child to be born, and—”
“I got it,” I interrupted, disturbed. “The Aetar would not have come themselves.”
“Never. They value their lives too much.” The Messenger’s eyes glittered. “Something is wrong, Hunter.”
How could things be worse? I wanted to ask her. Instead, I rubbed my stomach and watched the slow rise and fall of my husband’s chest. “If it’s not the Aetar, then who?”
“There is no one else,” she said. “That is what I do not understand.”
“If we’re being manipulated . . .” But I stopped, unable to finish that sentence. If we were being manipulated, it still didn’t change the fact that my husband was dying and that we’d set loose a fatal disease on other humans. Something had to be done.
I backed away. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”
Uncertainty flickered across the Messenger’s face. “I will do my best here.”
“What is it?” I asked. “Is there something else?”
I wasn’t certain she would answer me. But her shoulders stiffened, as did her jaw, and, in a low voice, she said, “Part of me still belongs to them. They made me, Hunter. It is . . . difficult for me to fight against the Divine Lords.”
It was the closest to vulnerable I’d ever seen her. I didn’t make any typical human overtures—no reaching out, no sympathetic noises. Not that I was very familiar with those, myself. Instead, I looked her dead in the eyes.
“No one gives two shits that they made you,” I said. “All that matters is what you make of yourself.”
She frowned at me. I felt like the worst Hallmark card ever.
“Just remember they’ll kill you,” I added. “How about that?”
Her mouth twitched. “They will torture me first. But yes, I see your point.”
Great. I glanced down at my husband again, feeling useless as shit. Worse, I felt as if I had a monster breathing down my neck. Inside that crystal skull, I’d looked into the eye of Sauron like some little hobbit, and Sauron had looked right back.
I felt like he was still looking.
I tossed a blanket over the crystal skull. Mary didn’t seem to notice, staring straight ahead, cheeks flushed, wild hair drooping. I stepped back, right hand clenching into a fist. Quicksilver glimmered across my skin, that mirrored metal etched with a slow-moving tide of tangled coils: roses spiraling, galaxies, or labyrinths. I fixed my mind on my grandfather and Mongolia, on my need for answers. I had to find him. I had to know what was true and the lie.
One last deep breath. No pain. No smoke in the air. I half expected not to be able to breathe at all—the memory of my burning throat was so strong.
That’s not going to happen again, I thought.
You should stop lying to yourself, whispered the darkness, as I fell into the void.
IT was night where I landed, tumbling into grass beneath a sky filled with stars and a low-hanging crescent moon. The air was cold on my face, and I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the boys to wake up.
Only, they didn’t.
Long seconds passed. A full minute. I counted the time in my head, waiting and waiting, growing sick with alarm. The boys tugged on my skin—an uncomfortable, intensifying pressure—but that was all.
I wanted to puke. I looked straight ahead, dimly taking in the flat grassland that stretched to the horizon. To my right, far away, I saw the prick and flicker of firelight. Just one small fire, not much bigger than a star.
Jack, I thought.
And still, Zee and the boys fought to wake. Except now, it hurt.
Rip off the Band-Aid fast, I’d always said. Slow was worse. Slow was horrific, like being chewed through a wood chipper, inch by inch. Each slice, every break, drawn out to its full potential for agony. I was, literally, being pulled in all directions at once—torn apart in the tiniest of fragments. I gritted my teeth, didn’t make a sound. Screaming would have hurt, too. Screaming would have been worse.