It cut through the rotten air that haunted this place.
Roman inhaled, drawing the music deeper into his lungs. The song was calming. It coaxed his focus inward until he was braced by yearnings so fierce it felt like his bones had turned to iron.
He wasn’t aware of his strength fading until his limbs tingled with pins and needles. His mind turned foggy like a greenhouse window, but it was too late. Roman fought it before realizing it was better if he simply embraced the strange dream that beckoned to him.
He lay down and drifted off to that smoke-laden sleep.
* * *
Dacre’s fingers slid from Iris’s throat, his clawlike nails scoring her skin. She didn’t know what had stayed his hands until her eyes flew open.
It was Enva, standing eight paces away, a creek of sulfur bubbling between them. But through the curls of steam, Iris saw her vividly.
The goddess was radiant, dressed in a blue sleeveless dress with constellations sewn along the hem. Ruby-spun brooches gleamed at her shoulders, and a golden belt was cinched at her waist. A crown made of bloodred flowers and berries graced her brow, and her hair was long and loose, dark as midnight.
Iris was so stunned by the sight of her that she could only shiver, knowing this was how Enva had looked the night she had joined Dacre below, giving him her vows. The night they had married each other, beneath striations of minerals, far from the shine of the moon and the veil of clouds. A night that had planted the seeds for this war, centuries to come.
Dacre took a step closer to Enva. He paused, transfixed by her; she held her ground as he continued his approach, his strides becoming urgent.
Iris, heart pounding in her throat, pushed herself up to her knees. No, she wanted to shout, but it felt like she had swallowed sand. All she could hear was the roar of her pulse in her ears, making her light-headed, but she was certain Dacre was saying something to Enva. He was almost face-to-face with her, his body taking a violent stance, and Iris lurched up to her feet, grasping the sword.
The words Enva had shared with her in the museum dream burned through Iris again, propelling her forward.
If he were to kill me as he longs to do, then he would take all my magic unto himself. There would be no end to his power.
“No!” Iris felt the word rumble through her chest. We can’t let him win this battle. We’ve come too far for this.
She was about to jump over the sulfur creek when she felt someone grasp her arm, holding her back. She turned to see Attie, violin tucked under her chin and bow clenched in her right hand. Attie’s curly hair whipped in the windstorm, and her eyes were wide but keen.
“Wait,” she mouthed to Iris, resuming her playing with a seamless motion.
Iris wanted to protest, but Attie had noticed something that she hadn’t. She spun around, looking at the divines again.
The eithrals continued to circle overhead, their wings churning cold, moldering air around them. Dacre’s shorn hair tangled in the breeze, as did Iris’s and Attie’s, but the gale didn’t touch Enva. Her hair remained sleek and still, her raiment like the water of a quiet pond.
Dacre raised his hand to strike her. All the tension gathered in Iris’s bones; she couldn’t breathe as she stared at Enva. Enva, who didn’t move or speak but only beheld Dacre with a dark gleam in her eyes.
His fist never touched her.
His legs failed him first as he dropped to his knees before her. He wavered for a beat, as if fighting the spell that was pervading his bones, but even Dacre couldn’t resist the siren call to sleep. His hand dropped limp at his side as he sank to the stone, sprawling on his back.
After him, the eithrals began to fall, one by one, from above.
Iris and Attie crouched down and huddled close to each other, the rotten air stinging their noses. But Iris kept her eyes open, watching as the wyverns crashed into the pools and the stone pathways. Their bellies split open on the impact; their scales melted in the sulfurous water. The ground shook as their wings splintered.
And then the world became quiet and tranquil.
Iris pulled the wax from her ears and rose, drawing Attie with her.
The girls stared at Dacre’s supine body, Enva standing before him. The goddess gazed down at her sleeping husband before she lifted her eyes and looked at Iris and Attie.
It felt like a welcome, and the girls walked carefully along the slick stone to reach the divines.
“Enva,” Iris said, full of wonder. How had she reached them here? Why hadn’t she fallen to Attie’s enchanted lullaby? But then it occurred to Iris, standing close enough to notice the translucence on Enva’s skin. The faint shimmer of her wedding dress.