“When I swung at him,” Hypaxia said quietly to Ithan, ignoring Jesiba, “I put a bit of my power behind the blow.”
Hypaxia held out a bloodied hand to Ithan, and he realized that he, too, was bleeding all over, from the explosion of razor-like ice shrapnel. Rivers of red ran down his hands, his face. Hypaxia didn’t look much better.
He slid his bloodied hand into hers. Her hand glowed, and they were both healed. The cuts on her face vanished—along with his, judging by the tingle that washed over his skin. Faster than he’d ever seen any other medwitch work.
“Play later,” Jesiba said. “We have work to do.”
“What work?” Ithan asked.
“You kill it, you become it,” Jesiba said to Hypaxia. “You are now, for all intents and purposes, Head of the House of Flame and Shadow. And this place.”
Her face paled. “That’s not possible. I don’t want that burden.”
“Too bad. You killed him.”
Hypaxia advanced on Jesiba, her face twisted in anguish and fury. “You knew this would happen,” she accused. “You made me escort Ithan not to help him, but—”
“I suspected things might shake out in your favor,” Jesiba said mildly. “But even though you’ve inherited this place by right, you must make some decisions quickly. Before Rigelus becomes aware.”
“Like what?” Ithan demanded, looking to Connor, who still stood nearby at the top of the stairs, watching them all with awe on his ghostly face.
“Like what to do with the souls here,” Jesiba said, nodding to Connor.
“We let them go,” Ithan said. “We don’t even need the Quiet Realms at all, do we?”
“No,” Jesiba said. “Death worked just fine without them before the Asteri came.”
But Connor was shaking his head.
“No?” Ithan asked.
His brother nodded to Ithan’s clenched fist, clutching the black bullet. Connor opened his mouth, but still, no sound emerged.
“Oh, please,” Jesiba said, and turned to Hypaxia. “Order him to speak already.”
Hypaxia’s brows rose. “Speak.”
Connor blew out a breath, distinctly audible. Hypaxia was truly the mistress of this place. Ithan marveled at it.
And it was his brother’s voice, the voice he’d known his whole life, that insisted, “Don’t send us off into the ether.”
“Connor …，” Ithan started.
Connor held Hypaxia’s stare. “Don’t miss this opportunity.” He began walking down the stairs—nearly running—and it was all they could do to follow him. With that strong, sure grace, his brother stalked down the empty avenue flanked with strangely carved obelisks. All the way to the Dead Gate, its crystal muted in the dimness.
Only when they stood before it did Connor speak again. “That bullet,” Connor said, nodding to where Ithan held it, “was made by us—the dead. For Bryce.” A soft, pained smile crossed his face at her name. “To use with the Godslayer Rifle.”
“What’s so special about it?” Jesiba demanded.
“Nothing yet. But it was crafted to hold us. Our secondlight.” As if in answer, the Gate began to glow. “We had planned to make contact with Jesiba—to ask her, through her role in Flame in Shadow, to get in touch with one of you.” Connor shrugged with one shoulder. “But when you appeared earlier, Ithan, with the Under-King distracted … Well, it was a little earlier than we’d planned, but everyone was ready. I think Urd made it so.” After all Ithan had heard and experienced, he didn’t doubt his brother’s claim. “So they began the exodus through this Gate. They were finishing when I was summoned to you.”
A conduit, like the one Bryce had drawn from in the spring.
“All of our secondlight, from every soul here,” Connor said quietly. “It’s yours to put in that bullet. Use it well.”
Ithan’s throat constricted. “But if you … if you turn into secondlight—”
“I’m already gone, Ithan,” Connor said gently. “And I can think of no better way to end my existence than by striking a blow for all our ancestors who’ve been trapped and consumed by the Asteri.” He nodded to the bullet, the glowing Gate illuminating his face. “Look at the engraving.”
Memento Mori. The letters gleamed in the Gate’s pale light.
Jesiba let out a quiet laugh. “Got the idea from me, did you?”