Iris stretched out her hand. Her fingers passed through Enva’s arm.
It was one of her stolen powers at work. The magic of illusions and deceptions. She was here but not truly, as if she had known her presence was a fated thread in the tapestry of Dacre’s demise.
Enva didn’t seem to be able to speak, but she indicated Dacre with a tilt of her head.
Iris stared down at him, sensing his coldness. He looked younger and softer in sleep, and Iris thought of what could have been, and what could still be now that he would be gone from the world. Extinguished like a flame. His soul and magic turned into smoke, dissolving as it rose skyward.
Teeth bared, she brought the sword down on his neck.
It was easier and harder than she had expected. Easy, because the sword cut through bone and sinew as if Dacre were nothing more than a cobweb. And hard, because another bruise formed on her heart, marked by the killing.
Dacre’s blood began to flow, a glittering gold on the stone. A sickly-sweet smell enveloped the air as Iris found herself dropping to her knees, the sword clattering from her hand. But she felt the pressure change, making her heart skip a beat.
From the corner of her eye, Iris watched as Enva’s illusion evanesced into the shadows.
{51}
Spilled Ichor
Roman was still dreaming when he felt the ground slide beneath him. There was the clink of iron, a hiss of steam. A painful throb around his wrists. A man’s voice, cursing through the static.
“Wake up!”
A hand shook him and, when that failed to rouse him, slapped his cheek. Roman stirred, his eyes heavy-lidded and full of grit. It took a moment for the colors to return to his sight, for all the blurred edges to turn crisp and defined.
To his immense shock, he was staring up at Lieutenant Shane.
“What are you doing?” Roman asked.
“What does it look like? I’m getting you out of here.” Shane took hold of his arms, dragging him up. “Can you stand?”
Roman found his feet but wobbled. “Give me a moment.”
Shane supported Roman’s weight but huffed in impatience. “We don’t have a moment. We need to hurry. Things are evolving in ways I didn’t expect, and we need to return above.”
“What do you mean?” Roman took a step forward. With each passing moment, he felt steadier, although his head viciously throbbed. He flexed his hands, realizing they were free from the chains. “How did you…？”
Shane withdrew a key from his inner pocket. It was still stained with Captain Landis’s blood. The key that had gone missing, or, Roman realized, that Dacre had set out as bait on the table, to see which of his soldiers would swipe it.
“Why did you steal it?” Roman asked. “Are you part of the Graveyard?”
“Yes. And we need its power,” Shane said, hurrying him along the path. He kicked a small skull out of the way. “We can lock or unlock any of Dacre’s doorways. We can glean the resources from the under realm now.”
“What about the other four keys?”
“Val is presumed dead. He never fetched Iris, if you were worried about that. We don’t know where he is, but he failed to return after he brought you here. His key is unaccounted for, although I can imagine who has it.”
Roman drew in a slow, shaky breath. But his bones ached when he wondered where Iris was.
“Dacre is also dead,” Shane said simply. As if he were announcing a weather forecast, and not the end of a god. “But I haven’t heard where his key is.”
Roman tripped. “Dead?”
“Your girl Iris cut off his head. Brought it up to a café not long ago. Or so the rumors are spreading. Here, we need to hurry.”
Roman didn’t have time to process it, although when he blinked, he saw a flash of Iris, dragging Dacre’s severed head by his golden hair.
He shivered at the vision.
“You left Oath to enlist for Dacre,” Roman said next, slowly piecing together Shane’s past. “But you never had the intention to serve him. You’ve been fooling him this entire time, gathering information for the Graveyard. How to kill a god. Finding a key for the underworld. Memorizing the ley lines.”
“Does that shock you, Roman? Were you not doing the same?”
“He wounded me and then took me into his service against my own volition. I didn’t choose him.”
The men’s conversation stalled when they reached the door, lined with citrine crystals and vines. Roman tried to keep pace with Shane, but his breath began to heave. His throat felt constricted, his lungs small. He paused to cough into his sleeve, numb when he saw a constellation of blood spotting the fabric.