“I’m here.” She reached for him with her bound hands, touching his face as gently as she could. His skin was like ice—the silver was stealing everything from him, heat and life and strength. “I’m here, Raz. I’m not going anywhere.”
He tried to speak. Failed. Tried again, and what came out was a wet, broken sound that barely qualified as a word.
“… Na… di…”
“Don’t talk.” Tears were streaming down her face now—she didn’t bother to wipe them away. “Don’t try to talk. Just stay with me. Just stay…”
Behind her, Kalo cleared his throat.
“Touching. Really.” His voice dripped with contempt. “The fae assassin and the Serpent, brought low by love. If I wasn’tabout to deliver you both to your deaths, I might actually feel sorry for you.”
Nadi turned to look at him, her eyes blazing with hatred she didn’t try to hide. “When I get free—and Iwillget free—I’m going to kill you, Kalo. I’m going to make it slow. Make it hurt. And when you’re begging me for mercy, I’m going to remember this moment and laugh.”
He smiled. “There she is. There’s the killer I’ve heard so many stories about.” He crouched down to her level, close enough that she could smell the blood on him. “But you won’t get the chance, Nadi. Because Ebiti and the other clan elders are on their way here. Now. Tonight.”
Cold dread settled in her stomach. “What?”
“The elders want to witness your execution personally.” Kalo stood, brushing off his knees. “We have to walk a fine line down here. We have to look loyal to the fae to other fae, but we have to bark on a leash whenever the Rosovs come calling. We had to save you from the Nostroms so Ebiti can say that she’s brokered peace with the vampires. The only reason we saved you was to show the Rosovs that we’re serious about our partnership—and to make clear to other fae what happens to traitors, they’re going to give up your heads.”
Nadi felt the last flicker of hope die in her chest. It was a good play.
“So they come here. And the last hope of your fae war dies with your corpses as the centerpiece.” Kalo’s smile was sharp as broken glass. “Ebiti will give her speech about the wisdom of alliance over conflict. The elders will vote—overwhelmingly, I expect—to formalize our arrangement with the Rosovs and by extension his siblings. And by this time tomorrow, the fae will be exactly where we’ve always been. Surviving. At any cost.”
He turned to leave, then paused at the door.
“For what it’s worth, Nadi…” His voice had lost some of its edge. Just for a moment. “I really did care about you. Once. A long time ago.”
Then the door closed behind him, and she was left alone with Raziel and the weight of everything that was about to happen.
The Serpent’s breathing was shallow now. Ragged. Each inhale seemed to cost him something, each exhale a small surrender. But when she looked into his eyes, she still saw that same unbroken defiance burning there.
Even now. Even at the end.
“We’re going to get out of this,” she whispered. The words were hollow, and they both knew it. But she said them anyway. “We’re going to survive.”
Raziel’s broken mouth twitched—what might have been a smile, if he could have managed it.
And outside, somewhere in the tunnels of the Wild, the fae elders were coming.
Coming to watch them die.
SEVENTEEN
The council chamber Nadi vaguely remembered from her youth had been transformed into something between a banquet hall and an execution ground.
Nadi was dragged through the doors by two guards who seemed to take a particular pleasure in making the journey as uncomfortable as possible. Her wrists ached from the cuffs, and her body still bore the bruises from their earlier treatment. But none of that compared to the cold dread that settled in her stomach when she saw what awaited them.
Long tables had been arranged in a horseshoe pattern, draped in cloth that might once have been fine but now showed the wear of years underground. Candles flickered in mismatched holders—some elegant brass, others crude clay—casting dancing shadows across the faces of the assembled fae elders.
And there were many faces to cast shadows upon.
Nadi counted at least thirty true-blooded fae seated at the tables, representing clans she recognized and some she didn’t. The Thessal were there, their amber eyes gleaming with barely concealed hostility. The Morvani sat in a cluster near the far end, their pale features made paler still by the candlelight. Even a handful of Lesti had made the journey from the far plains ofthe Wilds of Runne, one of the few fae clans who lived “topside,” their characteristic metallic silver hair marking them as clearly as banners.
Not a single human was present in the room. Not because they were banned—probably because of Raziel and his gift, she suspected.
At the head of the horseshoe, in a chair that looked like it had been salvaged from some long-dead human aristocrat’s estate, sat Grandmother Ebiti. The bark-like texture of her skin seemed even more pronounced in the flickering light, and her green eyes tracked Nadi’s entrance with the cold calculation of a predator watching wounded prey.
Beside her stood Kalo, his silver eyes bright with something that might have been anticipation.
