CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Caim’s knees slammed into the floor as he and the shadow warrior landed in another corridor inside the ducal palace. He rolled away and put his back to the wall. Quick glances in both directions indicated he was alone.

The shadow warrior was dead.

Caim scooted over and lifted the helmet’s visor. In the long, narrow features underneath he could see a vague resemblance to the witch. And to his mother. But the dusky skin paled before his eyes, becoming thin like old paper. Shadows flitted in the hollows of the warrior’s eyes, deepening as his body melted away, the armor crumbling into flakes, until only a patch of greasy ash remained. Caim got up. A handful of shadows wriggled up his arms, their touch cooling the burning cuts.

The corridor arrived at another intersection. To either side were smaller hallways, but Caim ignored them for the set of wide double doors in front of him. Heavy oak with hinges set into the frame. If they were barred, it would take a team of men with a battering ram to break through. Caim didn’t have a team anymore, and he was short on siege weapons. But he had something else.

The sword pulsed as he pointed it at the portals. Before he could form the command, the shadows poured down his arms and along the length of the blade, and flew at the doors. They washed across the wooden panels in a great black wave. Holes appeared in the wood; brass handles and hinges fell to the floor with heavy bangs.

The black sword nearly yanked Caim off his feet. He dug in his heels, and the blade’s hum rose to a whine. All right. Just this once.

The pull lessened for a moment. Taking that for acquiescence, and wondering at his own sanity for trying to reason with the thing, Caim allowed himself to be led through the doors.

Eerie cold enveloped him as he stepped across the entryway. His breath misted in the frigid air. The walls of the octagonal great hall were buttressed with thick wooden pilasters at each corner, rising to a vaulted timber ceiling. In the center was a wooden throne. Caim assumed the man in fine regalia sitting in the chair was the duke—the late duke, for he was clearly dead. Dozens of bodies lay around the throne, male and female, all headless. Caim had seen many awful things in his lifetime, things that had made him doubt the inherent goodness of mankind, but the severed heads floating in lazy circuits around the throne turned his marrow to ice. Lord Arion lay at his dead father’s feet. What had brought the young lord to this end? Then Caim saw the cocoons hanging on the walls, more than a score of them, shaped like men wrapped in black shrouds. He spotted the tufts of Keegan’s unruly hair sprouting from a casing. Some of the men moved, a little, but many remained still. Caim took a step toward the nearest cocoon and halted as four dark shapes glided from the shadows of the room. A voice whispered from the darkness.

“All these years, I thought you were dead.”

Caim braced himself as the witch walked out from behind the throne, radiating power like a miniature black sun. She strode over to the nearest cocoon and paused a moment to touch it. Muffled cries issued from the bubble of shadows. The man within the grim prison struggled for a moment, and then hung still. Her fingertips came away reddened with blood, which she put to her lips as she smiled at Caim.

He tried to take another step into the chamber but found he could not move as the cold infiltrated his body. His limbs were locked in place, his lungs frozen in midbreath. Everywhere the chill spread, sensation vanished. He didn’t want to know what would happen when it reached his heart. Caim strained with every muscle, but the paralysis held firm. And the shadow warriors circled nearer.

The witch gave him a smile that bordered on seductive. “And when Levictus reported your presence in the south, I hoped he would kill you and save me the trouble.”

A soft glow sparkled beside him.

“Caim,” Kit whispered, almost too soft to hear. “It took me forever to get through all the energy laced around this place.”

He wanted to tell her to get away before it was too late, but he couldn’t talk. He widened his eyes as far as he could and darted them back and forth between her and the witch, but Kit just hovered in place. Think of something, Kit. Distract her—anything!

Kit flew up next to him and ran her hands across his chest, like she was swatting at cobwebs, but nothing happened. There was a flicker of shadow, and then the witch was standing before him. Her eyes were so black he could not tell where the pupil ended and the iris began. They seemed to yawn wider as she placed a finger on his chest. A stabbing pain cut through the layers of his clothing to penetrate his skin.

“I warned Soloroth about you, but he was always too headstrong to heed me. Sickening, how he allowed himself to be conquered by an untrained half-breed like you.”

Kit ducked out of sight. Caim hoped she had some kind of plan.

“Pathetic,” Sybelle said. “But my sister was a weak-minded fool, always adopting helpless creatures. And here you are, a stain on our family. One I intend to cleanse away for good.”

A cloud of tiny darknesses descended from the ceiling. Caim tensed as their minuscule fangs chewed through his clothes. He strained harder against the power holding him in place. If he didn’t escape, he was going to die, slowly, painfully. He tried to bite down on his tongue to elicit some feeling, anything.

“Fight her, Caim!” Kit whispered, as if he weren’t.

He called to the shadows. He felt them along the walls of the great hall, lining the cracks in the high ceiling, but none answered his summons. He tried again, and the sword quivered in his hand as a sudden pressure filled his chest. His heart thudded, once. And then again, sending warm blood flowing through his body. The cold retreated for a moment. If he could just move an inch …

A roar ripped through the chamber. The shadow beast. Caim pushed harder and felt a crackle along his spine. Something bit him on the shoulder, but he didn’t stop. With a final push, the paralysis shattered like a crust of ice covering his skin. The moment his arm was free, Caim swung at the spot where the witch had been standing, but the black blade cut only air. Then his grunt became a hiss of pain as the shadows tore into his flesh. He tried brushing them off, but they were everywhere. He stomped on the ground and swung his blades. Then the stinging bites vanished and the darkness lightened. Hundreds of shadows—maybe thousands—fluttered in the air like demented moths, colliding in the air and falling to the floor. His shadows had come to him after all.

As the pall lifted, Caim looked around. Kit was nowhere to be seen, and neither was the shadow beast, but he didn’t have time to find out why as four shapes glided toward him. He ducked under the curved blade of a sword-staff rushing at his throat. Rolling across his shoulders, buds of agony blossomed from the wounds along his back, but he was alive. For the moment.

A line of fire traced down his left arm. Caim spun around, but the shadow warrior had drifted out of range. He started to follow until another warrior advanced on his right flank, forcing him to turn in that direction to deflect blinding-fast cuts from a pair of black-bladed axes. Caim parried and circled away, never stopping, but the four warriors had him pinned. Every move he made put him in range of one of them. A twisting thrust from the scimitar broke past his defenses to jab his upper thigh. Caim smacked aside the midnight blade and riposted with a long lunge. The scimitar wielder parried his thrust, and Caim followed up with a combination of high-low attacks. The tip of his suete slashed across the cuisse plate covering the warrior’s thigh, but it didn’t penetrate. Caim jumped back as the other three closed in around him. But even that much success bolstered his resolve.

He wove around a slash from the sword-staff and rushed in low, dropping to his knees and sliding under the shadow warrior’s guard. His knife rose to ward off the sword-staff while he thrust with his other hand. The sword’s point dug between armored plates and punched through the mail underneath. Caim pushed until the blade’s length sank into the shadow warrior’s guts. He was up on his feet and turned around before the body hit the floor.

The remaining warriors pressed him harder than before. Caim backed away under their barrage of attacks, trying to keep one shoulder to the wall. The axe-man wandered half a pace too close and took a deep cut across his elbow. But before Caim could follow up, a jet of cobalt fire lit up the hall. Caim dropped to his belly, and a blanket of frosty air draped over him as the blue flames washed against the wall. Hoarfrost spread up the wooden paneling, which split under the intense cold.

Caim jumped up. The shadow warriors were gone. No, he felt their presence in the room, moving through deep patches of darkness even his vision could not pierce. The witch was gone, too, and that worried him more. Caim edged farther into the chamber. A draft of cool air wafted across the back of his neck.

Caim dropped to one knee and swung his sword as he spun around. The axe-man fell back, blood streaming from the stump of his severed wrist. His other hand came up. Caim blocked the overhand chop. The sword lashed out again and again until the warrior lay on the floor, his legs drawn together and one arm folded over his chest.

As Caim stepped away, a mass of dark webbing caught his left hand, its fibers clinging to his wrist. He turned with the pulling of the net and parried a spear thrust. As the weapon flicked out at him several times in rapid succession, Caim gave up trying to pull away and instead yanked himself closer to the spearman. The scimitar sliced the air behind Caim as he swatted aside another spear thrust. He made two quick counterjabs and the spear clattered to the floor, followed by the shadow warrior’s body, pierced through the throat under the chin.

Caim sliced through the net holding his wrist and flung himself over his crumpled opponent. He turned as soon as his toes touched the floor, but the remaining shadow warrior held back, watching him from several paces away. Caim trembled from the exertion even as the sword’s hunger pulsed through him.

A snarl cut through the quiet, and the scimitar wielder collapsed facedown on the floor. The shadow beast perched on the warrior’s back, its jaws locked around his neck. Caim looked around, expecting to have the flesh blasted from his bones at any moment, but the witch was gone.

Heavy thuds sounded all around the chamber as the outlaws fell from the walls, their shadow-wrought cocoons evaporated. The men were covered in bloody marks, and they moved a little slow, but it looked like they would live. Caim thought he should feel some relief at that; instead he just wanted to be gone. Across the hall, he spotted the lingering remains of a gateway. He could see the direction it led, but not where it arrived.

It was a trap, of course. He thought of the many reasons why he shouldn’t follow, but then the sword sent a jolt of pure hatred spiking up his arm. He needed to end this now, while he had her on the run.

As Caim sprinted across the slick floor, someone spoke behind him, but he was listening to something else, a faint buzz at the edge of his hearing. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as a black hole split the air.

For Liana and Hagan. For my father, my mother …

He took a deep breath and plunged into the portal.

Caim swayed as he landed on hard flagstones. He reached out, thinking he was going to fall, but then his balance snapped back.

He had an idea he was still inside the city, but beyond that he was lost. The place was dark, though he could see well enough with the sword in his hand. High stone walls enclosed him on all four sides, decorated with bizarre pictograms, some of which might have been words but in a tongue he had never seen. A massive throne of black stone towered on a pedestal in front of him. Above it, something carved into the wall had been defaced and smeared with soot. Two smaller seats rested before the platform. The place had an odd smell, dry and acrid like a tomb. Or a temple.

A chill ran across his scalp. There was no sign of Kit, not that he expected any. He hoped she was smart enough to stay away. Caim tensed as something stirred beside him, and relaxed a hair when the shadow beast padded out of the dark. It sat on its haunches a few paces away, watching him like a tame hound. Caim didn’t know if he entirely trusted the creature; his dealings with it had been haphazard at best, but it had also saved his life. Whatever it was, wherever it came from, he was glad for its presence.

He found an open doorway behind the gigantic throne. The corridor beyond ran straight as far as he could see. The shadow beast entered, but the hairs on the back of Caim’s neck stirred as he followed.

He held the sword before him as he advanced. He saw movement down the corridor and made it out to be a shimmering sheet suspended across the passage like a black curtain stirring in the breeze. The shadow beast stopped and growled. Caim reached out with his sword. The curtain’s surface yielded before the tip, stretching like skin. Then the point pierced the membrane. Too fast for Caim to follow, the curtain detached from the corridor walls and slashed at him with curved ebony claws.

Caim lifted his knife to block, but the claws passed through his suete to score stinging furrows down his arms. Fluid as quicksilver, the rippling creature struck again, scoring on his thigh and hip; shallow cuts, but they burned under his skin. He jumped back to make some space between them, but it harried him with rapid swipes. Caim managed to deflect one with the flat of the sword, but the thing was more powerful than it looked, and the parry almost tore the hilt from his grasp. The creature dipped under his guard, and Caim braced for another set of fiery cuts, but before it could strike, the shadow beast jumped onto its back. The two creatures rolled across the floor. Then, with a sound like tearing leather, the shadow beast tore a hunk of material out of the creature’s center. A keening wail filled the corridor as pieces of silken flesh fluttered in the air. Caim prodded the curtain to make sure it was dead.

The shadow beast sat a couple paces away. It didn’t lick its paws or pant with a lolling tongue; it didn’t do anything a normal animal would do.

“You ready?”

The shadow beast started down the hallway, and Caim followed. Another fifteen paces brought them to an ornate archway that marked the end of the corridor. Intricate scrollwork was carved into pillars of pale limestone and across the arch above. Beyond the aperture there was only blackness.

Well, I’ve come this far.

Caim called, and the shadows gathered around him in the hundreds. Their tiny voices hissed in his ears. With their bodies wrapped about him like a second skin, Caim stepped through the doorway. A moment of panic gripped his chest as the temperature plunged. A bitter wind snatched at his clothing. Once he was through, he looked back and saw only a wall of bare stone behind him. His breath curled in the air as he tapped the wall with the butt of his knife. Solid. At least a foot thick. What did I do?

He was in some kind of chamber. It had a subterranean feel. A shroud of shadows obscured much of the walls and vaulted ceiling. The place stank of alchemy and death, quicklime and camphor infused with the rot of the grave. Caim couldn’t see Sybelle, but he got the impression she was here, in the dark that ebbed and flowed around him. His skin prickled from more than the cold. He had stepped into the viper’s lair.

At least the shadow beast had come with him. It stood near his feet, its broad head swinging side to side, nose to the ground. That’s it. Sniff her out.

Without warning, the beast leapt into the murk. Caim froze, listening for sounds of fighting, but all was quiet. The shadows clung to him as if afraid to wander from his person. A lilting chant whispered in the dark. Caim looked around, trying to pinpoint the source, but the song came from multiple directions. The words were alien, but also somehow familiar. Had he heard something like them before? It almost sounded like …

Caim dove sideways as a stream of bitter cold rushed past him. He came to his feet with both weapons extended. A throaty laugh tickled his ears.

“I remember that night.” Her voice filled the air, like she was speaking directly into his head. “When we came to crush the worm who dared to abduct my sister.”

Caim slunk forward, straining every sense to locate his quarry. The floor was covered in something like gravel or broken glass. He strived for utter silence, but he’d only taken a few steps when the sword’s point struck a wall and rang like a gong. He jumped back, and another jet of freezing air hurtled past the spot where he’d been standing. The shadows on his back squirmed while Caim listened. Obviously Sybelle couldn’t see him either, or this hunt would have ended already.

“Your father was twice the fool,” she said. “First, to think he could abscond with a daughter of the Shadow, and then to believe he might live the rest of his days in peace.”

Caim kept his ears open as he traveled along the wall.

“The truly absurd thing about it,” Sybelle continued, “was that my sister didn’t resist once we got her away from that sty where she’d been living. I think she longed to return to proper civilization almost as much as I did. If we hadn’t come for your mother, she would have left on her own in time.”

Caim bit his tongue as he worked his way around the edge of the chamber. His fingers found the splintered remains of a cupboard or bookcase, and he avoided the debris. But as he crept onward, it became increasingly difficult to concentrate. The urge to lash out built inside him, as palpable as physical lust, until his blood was pounding and sweat ran down his back. The sword thrummed with fury, as if the blade had its own vendetta against the witch. He saw his father again. Dying.

He knelt at their feet, with a sword’s pommel jutting from his chest.

Caim shook his head, but the image refused to leave. The sword’s vibrations shook him from his thoughts. The witch’s voice had moved again.

“The conceit! To think he could keep her,” she said. “Mud-born aristocrats. Grant titles to a nest of vretch and it would mean as much. Even my Erric, for all his beauty, is still only … was …”

She sounded nearer now, but Caim still couldn’t pinpoint her. He decided to leave the safety of the wall and strike out into the unknown middle reaches of the chamber. He held the sword up to his chest so it wouldn’t give him away again as he probed the area for Sybelle, but she had fallen silent. When he reached a point he judged to be the center of the room, Caim stopped.

“A shame about your fair duke,” he said. “Whose handiwork was that?”

Caim threw himself flat to the floor as furious shrieks assaulted him from all sides. Blasts of ice-cold air exploded above him. Rubble showered the floor. Confined to the darkness, he imagined titanic sorceries gouging holes in the walls and ceiling.

When the clamor died down, he crawled to his feet. Deep sobs sounded in various spots around him. Then he realized what she was doing, and a plan came to him. It was risky, maybe even fatal, but he didn’t see that he had many options. Let’s see how you enjoy it when I play your game.

Opening his mind to the Shadow, he formed a portal and stepped through. It snapped shut the moment his feet touched down on the other side of the room. The vertigo lasted only a heartbeat or two as he stood still, listening for any sign he might have been heard.

“I will make an example of you.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “For what you’ve done to me and my family, I will feed your soul to demons of the Outside, bit by screaming bit.”

Caim turned to his right. He thought he had a bead on her now. When she dropped the volume of her voice, the reverberation was lessened and the source seemed to come from a far corner. He kept low as he circled toward her position.

“Would you like to see her again?” the witch asked. “One last look upon your dear mother before you die? I could make that possible.”

Caim halted in his tracks. The shadows trembled against him, and the sword swung back and forth regardless of how he fought to hold it back. He growled as something inside him refused to remain silent.

“She’s dead.”

“No.” The witch’s voice echoed around him. “She lives.”

Before he could draw it back, the sword sliced through the space beside him. But it met no resistance and quivered in his hand at the end of the arc. The witch’s laughter filled the chamber.

“Put down your sword,” Sybelle commanded. “Kneel and bow your head to me. Then perhaps I will let you see her.”

Caim’s fingers tightened around the hilts of his weapons as the craving to feel the witch’s blood on his hands gnawed at him, but he had to know what she knew. It was a hunger deeper than rage, fiercer than vengeance. He hadn’t fully appreciated it before, but a gaping hole had yawned inside him his entire life, ever since that fateful night. He’d tried to fill it with money and women, with discipline and death, even with Kit, but the only thing that could make him whole was the sure knowledge of what had happened to his family. And the witch would tell him, one way or another.

Sybelle’s laughter floated past. This time Caim was ready. He opened another portal. As soon as he landed, he swung both weapons, low cuts at the height of a woman’s knees. An invisible punch slammed into his chest out of nowhere and knocked him back a couple steps, followed by a second clout, and a third. Caim dipped and wove, but the rain of ethereal attacks battered his body and face with the force of mule kicks. The shadows encased around his body absorbed some of the impact, but enough got through to leave him shaky. A punch caught him flush in the midsection and flung him against a wall. He landed on his knees and rolled through another gateway.

He collided with another wall when he emerged. Face smarting, he turned around and put his back to the surface. You’re cutting it close, Caim. Next time you might land inside one of these walls.

His chest burned where he’d been struck, and it took a few breaths before his lungs stopped aching so bad he wanted to throw up. That was stupid. You might have known she would be better at this than you.

But what else did he have? Her sorcery was superior, and he couldn’t get close enough to strike. He didn’t even have Kit to help him out. Thinking of her, Caim felt a soreness inside him that had nothing to do with the bruising he’d suffered. There was too much left unanswered between them, as usual.

Caim stalked the darkness with a sense of resolve. Before he took more than a few steps, a thunderous growl broke the stillness. Caim spun to his left as the witch shouted—only a single Word, but the sound of it stopped up his ears and stung his eyes. Caim jumped in the direction of the noises. One moment he was moving through the dark, and then the veil lifted. He emerged to see the witch huddled against the wall, dark blood pouring down her arm from a vicious bite. The shadow beast was crouched to spring.

Stop! He wanted to shout, but the beast was already pouncing.

The point of Caim’s sword pierced its side. The beast yowled and twisted around. Caim launched a series of stop-thrusts. To his shock, the creature retreated. He waded in closer, forcing it back, but even as he did so Caim felt bad for the creature, which looked confused by this treatment. The shadows wriggled up and down his body as if in protest. What would Kit say if she saw this? He pushed the thoughts out of his head as he pressed forward, driving the beast away from Sybelle and the answers he needed.

Step by step, he pushed the shadow beast back into a corner. Caim’s knee connected with something low, a retaining wall of dark gray stones, but he focused on keeping the beast at bay. The creature snarled and snapped, but it would not come within range of his sword.

Caim started to turn away, but a grip like solid ice closed around his head. The witch’s fingers, cold and caressing, clamped onto his temples. A wave of bitter cold closed around him, locking his muscles. The shadows shrouding his body shivered and spat as Caim struggled to break free, but she turned him with inexorable power until he faced the low stone wall. A still pool lay inside, its waters dark and impenetrable.

“Look,” Sybelle whispered.

The waters roiled and bubbled, but no steam rose from the pool. Then the gray miasma cleared, and the chamber—along with the witch and everything else—fell away. When the gloom rolled back before his gaze, Caim was soaring high above a bleak wilderness. The land below was cracked and pitted, devoid of any vegetation he could see. A pallid splinter of the moon hung above the dark horizon, where jagged mountains rose against the night sky. His perspective raced toward them at a terrific rate, though he felt no sense of movement.

This is a dream.

Yet by the clarity of the vision, he was sure it must be a real place. Was this the Shadow realm? That didn’t seem right. For all its depressing monotony, the scenery appeared ordinary enough. As the mountains rushed closer, his vantage plunged toward the ground. The view wavered for a moment. When it cleared, he hovered before an enormous construction perched on the desolate plain. Its construction was foreign. The angular black walls were riddled with silver veins and pockets of polished crystal. Gargantuan towers rose like titanic fingers, topped with dagger-sharp spires. As his view flew over the outer curtain wall, Caim felt a presence before him. Even though he knew this wasn’t real, a kernel of anxiety opened in his gut. The vantage slowed as it approached a massive structure at the center of the cyclopean city, a pyramidal building of the same black stone. A window yawned in the side of the structure, and Caim’s perspective halted before a narrow balcony. A man wrapped in a loose cloak stood looking over the city. Shadows cloaked his face, but his eyes shone with the dark majesty of a new moon. Caim forced himself to meet those haunted eyes without flinching. There was something about him …

Caim’s gaze was wrenched away, to another window near the top of the building. A slender figure was silhouetted in the lighted space, with long dark hair hanging down to her waist.

Wake up, Caim! This isn’t real. Wake up!

The mountains and the vast citadel were gone. He was flying again. The sky had lightened to a sheet of purple; the orange patina of dawn’s arrival glowed in the distance. The rooftops and walls of a great city spread out beneath him. He knew its winding streets and high rooftops at once. Othir.

“Look,” the witch crooned in his ear. “And see what the future holds.”

Dust and smoke wafted from fallen gatehouses as packs of large, brutal men roamed the city streets, their fur cloaks thrown back over brawny shoulders. The dead were piled in alleyways and against buildings like stacks of cordwood. Caim turned his gaze to the highest point in the city. The sight of the Luccian Palace, reduced to a pile of slag and rubble, hit him like a hammer to the forehead. Columns of black smoke rose from the ashes.

The pool darkened, returning Caim to the chamber. Despair crushed his windpipe. Was all this for nothing? Supple hands massaged his temples.

“Give your life over to me, Caim. I can be merciful. Take my son’s place and save the ones you love.”

His weapons were like lead weights. He didn’t want to fight anymore. He saw his mother in his imagination, standing in a field of summer grass, her gaze turned longingly to the northern woods. To see her again, to touch her hand, to smell the lush perfume of her hair. Just one more time …

A faint sound buzzed in the back of his mind, but it was hard to hear, and he was so tired.

Fight her, Caim!

The words filtered through his consciousness. Fight? A shudder raced through his hand.

His small hands gripped the hilt of the sword and pulled. The wound made a sucking sound as the blade slid free.

Caim shook his head. His father had died rather than relinquish his freedom. Caim understood now. There was another side to death, a noble side. To die in the pursuit of justice was not to perish in vain. The muscles in his right arm trembled.

“You were born of the Shadow.” Her cool breath rustled the hairs at the back of his neck. “You cannot deny your blood, Caim. Accept it and claim your birthright.”

Caim opened his eyes. The shadow beast crouched before him, its bright gaze locked on him. He felt like there was a question in its look. What do you want from me?

But the answer shivered in his hand. The sword twitched, wavering before Caim, and he saw the blade for what it was, a weight around his neck dragging him down. Killing had become easy, convenient. How long before he started to enjoy it? Or is it already too late?

Caim flung out his hand. The hilt stuck to his palm for a moment, and then the blade sprang free with a tearing sound. Before it touched the floor, the shadow beast leapt.

Caim opened his arms as the creature struck. Instead of knocking him down, the beast plunged into his chest. Not through him, as Kit had done countless times, but into him, into his flesh. The pain was beyond anything he’d ever felt, worse than the bear mauling. It tore all coherent thought from his brain. He saw his mother again, leaning over his bed. The pillow came down … No!

She sang to him as she touched his chest. For a moment he could not breathe. It felt like he was underwater. And then …

With a small, sad smile she pulled away. In her hand was a ball of darkly shining light. For a moment it looked like a little animal, all black and glossy, curled up in her palm. He sat up as she left the room. Don’t go, Mommy. I’ll be good. I’ll be …

Caim grunted as the witch’s icy nails dug into his skull. Caught between the twin torments of the beast and her touch, he could only hold onto the tattered edges of consciousness and ride the pain, hoping to see the other side of it. He heard the sound of breaking glass, and then he was splintering into a thousand pieces. I’ll be good. Just come back.

The agony faded. He was whole again. Not just in body. Something pulsed inside him, filling a space he had never known was vacant. Before he could plumb the new feeling, a furious hiss erupted behind him.

Caim turned, faster than he expected. His body moved with a speed and a grace he had never known before. Sybelle glared at him, holding up her hands as if they had been singed. Her lips parted to speak, and Caim opened a portal before him. As he passed through, a sudden inspiration made him split the gateway’s path into two forks. He didn’t know quite how he did it, but when he exited the portal, another empty hole yawned on the other side of the room. He hurled his suete knife as Sybelle turned to the wrong one. A pair of shadows flew up to deflect the missile. She reached out to Caim, and a shaft of pitch-black energy leapt across the distance between them.

Caim thrust out his empty hand without thinking. The air shimmered in front of him as the bolt of energy vanished. How in the hells did I…?

But he was too busy to think as the witch launched a volley of spectral attacks at him. Some he saw coming, but others he could only defend by instinct. Time and time again he neutralized them. He took a step toward the witch. Her features changed as he closed in, from rage to frustration to the first inkling of apprehension. When she hurled another bolt of black lightning, Caim focused his attention on her motions. The energy dissipated into the air before it reached him. Sybelle curled her hands into white-knuckled fists. Something passed behind her eyes. A portal opened beside her. Caim traced its path through the darkness; it led outside the chamber to somewhere in the north quarter of the city. Before she could step through, he slashed the air with his hand.

Sybelle emerged from the portal only a few yards from where she had entered and jerked to a halt before she collided with the wall. She turned to him with an expression of astonishment. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but he didn’t give her the opportunity to bewitch him; he lashed out with every shadow at his disposal. He lost sight of her in the vicious whirlwind of darkness. When she fell to the floor, he lifted a hand.

The shadows parted to reveal the witch propped against the pool’s retaining wall. Her skin had taken on a pale sheen. Rivulets of blood trickled down her face and neck, and leaked from the many rips in her diaphanous gown. She looked nothing at all like the imposing sorceress she had been before. But Caim didn’t care.

“Where is she?” he asked.

Sybelle coughed, and winced as her upper body convulsed. Her hand reached down to caress a shadow shivering at her side like a despondent pet. Caim dropped to one knee and grabbed her by the shoulders.

“Tell me where she is!”

Her lips turned upward in a crooked smile. “You have her eyes.”

Caim shook her hard. “Where is …?”

Her hands latched onto his wrists. “Find Erebus. Your moth—”

Caim jerked away as a curl of smoke rose from her mouth. Stumbling to his feet, he could only watch as green flames erupted from her clothes. Even as she burned, the witch did not cry out, but only watched him with her midnight eyes, eyes he had chased across leagues and decades only to see her end like this. A word whispered from her smiling, charred lips.

“Erric.”

Her body collapsed into itself, the fire’s greedy fingers licking the air, until only a pile of gray ash remained on the floor.

Find Erebus. Was that a person? It sounded more like a place. Caim recalled the black fortress from his vision, and the man on the balcony.

Across the chamber, the black sword lay against the wall where he had thrown it. It was quiet now, showing no sign of its earlier zeal. For an instant, the urge to pick it up and turn it upon himself was overwhelming.

“Caim!”

Kit appeared out of nowhere and jumped into his arms. Her touch was a mere tingle on his skin, but it had never felt so good.

“I thought you were dead,” she murmured into his chest. “I was shut out. I couldn’t feel you. I thought …”

“I’m all right.”

She looked at him, her features drawn up in an expression more earnest than he had ever seen on her before.

“I love you,” she said.

“I know.” He tried to swallow, but his mouth had dried up. “I love you, too.”

The words were true before he spoke them, but saying them aloud had a power all its own. There was no taking it back. He tensed as she floated up and kissed him. Electric tingles ran through his lips and across his tongue.

“I’ve been wanting to do that,” she said, not nearly as breathless as he was, “for a damned long time.”

He was still enjoying the rush when she held him close and asked, “What about Josey?”

“I don’t know.”

Over her slim shoulder, he stared at the pile of ash.

“I don’t know.”