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But what if Arkimedes was gone by then? What if…?
“All those years away will make it easier to forget your love for the Beekeeper.”
“Get out of my head,” Devon growled, and his annoyance spiked further when Dargan’s smile widened.
“You came into my land to bargain with a god, Devon Black. I’ll do as I please.”
Devon craned his head to make full eye contact with this giant. “Fifty years.”
“One hundred years and not a day less.” Dargan extended his hand to Devon, and what had once been black swirls like his brother’s aura were now golden streaks dancing around him, like the light coming from his eyes.
“No,” Devon said, and the portal somewhere behind him fizzled. He was running out of time, and he needed that potion. “Unless I get to return to Caztian and won’t be brought here until you need me. I intend to use my immortal years to destroy the Crows.”
“You will do as I command if we make a deal,” Dargan said. His careful words wouldn’t undo whatever spell of a treaty the gods had struck with the founders so many years ago. “What you do with your free time is not my problem. I don’t meddle in the Caztanians’ affairs, as long as they respect what I’m owed. One hundred years and that’s my offer, pet.”
“One hundred years,” Devon agreed, and his knees touched hard ground. He couldn’t see much around him, but the air grew crisp, full of a scent Devon couldn’t place. “But I get to stay in Caztian if I choose to—until you call for me.” Devon paused, and he slowly inched away toward his portal.
“Fine,” Dargan said, and everything around Devon took on a solid shape.
The cavernous walls resolved into an enormous dome, as if he was standing inside a human-made throne room. Its interior was carved from dark onyx, and underneath him, a floor of polished, rounded stones spiraled into the center of the room where Dargan stood.
“Welcome home, Crow.”
