The moment Tharanoth arrived, Ysira knew it from the way Neri, now strapped into the couch, gasped. The way thenavigator twitched and pulsed as though thrashing in fear. A deep, acidic ache built in Ysira’s chest.
The scientist fell prostrate on the floor before the front window. Her shoulders shook with quiet sobs, and a terrified refrain that sounded like “Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.”
Ysira braced a hand against the crescent table to conceal her shaking. Beyond, the god stood with a dozen soldiers at his back. He towered over them, still as a pale statue. His eyes met Ysira’s, and she forced herself to hold his gaze, defiant.
Tharanoth lifted a device to his lips. His words echoed through the inside of the craft, clear as if he stood beside her. “I can control the navigator from here. You’ll never reach the planet’s surface alive.” As if to emphasize his point, the brain quivered and spasmed. “I’m giving you one last chance. Come out, and we’ll talk.”
Ysira felt Neri’s eyes on her. She gathered herself and said, “We’re not going anywhere.”
Tharanoth’s face tightened, almost imperceptibly. From that, Ysira gathered he could hear her.Good.
“My subjects,” he said, “have led you to believe you have the upper hand. You do not. I am eternal. You cannot comprehend what I can do.”
“You’re a monster,” said Ysira. “I won’t help you devour my world.” “A monster?” Tharanoth laughed—a hollow, inhuman sound. “You’ve no idea how right you are. This veneer of civilization has been for your benefit. Make no mistake: wearemonsters. And I am your god.”
But he wasn’t. Ysira had cared little for his Church even before her Harvest. He might be powerful, a nigh-invulnerable body hosting a dangerous demon . . . but that was also true of Ysira. There was nothing—nothing—that separated him from her in any meaningful way. Nothing but the world from whence they came.
“You took my life,” Ysira said. “You tortured me. You tried to kill me and made me claw my way out of a grave.” Her voice nearly broke before she could finish. “I am going to destroy you.”
Covered in the blood of Tharanoth’s servants, staring him down amidst the evidence of what he’d done to her, she knew—surely as she’d ever known anything—that she would not rest until he was dust. He stared back, flat and inscrutable as the unknown dark. His mind pushed against Ysira’s. Her passenger warned her, the feeling familiar now, and she shuttered him out. Her defenses wouldn’t last, but she could keep him at bay long enough. He couldn’t control both her and the navigator.
When something finally flickered in those emerald eyes, she recognized it: hate.
“Maggot,” he hissed. “I will burn everything you ever loved to the ground. I will inflict torment on your species such as you cannot fathom.” He licked his lips. His eyelids clicked together. “I will hunt you down and dissect you piece by piece, after I cook and eat your child in front of you.Ysira.”
“Not Ysira. Not to you.” She matched his awful gaze, heart pounding. “Var Naktis.”
For the first time, she claimed the title of the valak. Telepath or not, mistake or not, she bore a demon. Not just a passenger but ademon, and now she knew its name:Iyelekirin. She wielded tremendous power, and the evidence was all around them.
“You parasites may think you know what pain is. You think you know fear. You think you know despair.” Ysira lowered her voice. “You knownothing.But you’ll learn.”
Seconds dragged by in leaden silence. Tharanoth stared at Ysira, and she stared back.
“You have made,” he said at last, very soft, “a grievous error.” She shook her head. “The error was yours.”
She slammed her hand down against the ejection panel. The craft shot forward. Before Tharanoth could force the navigator to do anything, she turned to the exposed brain, cupped it between her hands, andsqueezed.
“No!” the scientist screamed.
The craft disengaged from its dock, and they hurtled down, rudderless, to the vast expanse of red below.
21
PENANCE
JACEN
When Jacen woke, he did not know where he was. The aftermath of Akkani’s psychic assault had driven him to unconsciousness, and he still felt hollow, like the scraped-out carcass of something left to die in the desert. The stench of urine burned his nostrils. The walls loomed dark and grey, his confines claustrophobic as a grave. When he tried to stand, he stumbled sideways into the wall.
Like a knife between his ribs, memory returned to him.
Jacen had been an instrument of the very thing he professed to fight—a servant of demons. It was everything he’d feared and worse. His whole world was a lie, and his life’s work meant nothing.
He’d made a bloody mess of everything. Akkani would be after all the members of Ged’s coup, Ogden and Ysira, and Seth. And Nines, who’d done nothing but exist in the wrong place at the wrong time. The realization hit Jacen with the force of a sandstorm, shoving him under. He slumped to the floor. The cell smelled like death. He buried his face in his sleeve, eyeswatering. The stench proved impossible to get used to, but then, he had no way of knowing how long he’d been left to rot, only the nagging suspicion that it had been far too long. Or perhaps he’d already lost his mind.
He squinted up at the shadows of three guards who watched him like vultures. No metal slab to block out the light for him, no blessed darkness. As reason failed him and withdrawal gnawed at the edges of his sanity, he let himself do some undignified things. He punched the walls. Kicked over his waste bucket. Shouted obscenities at the guards. He could have sworn they were taunting him, laughing as he slipped into delirium.
Bugs scurried about the periphery of his vision. Little black dots darted up the walls and disappeared when he turned to look. Before long, they crawled all over his legs and torso. He scratched his skin raw trying to get them off, to no avail. Cold, stinging sweat slicked his body. He could not stop shaking. He’d never been so sick in his life. Was this what Ogden had warned him about? Was he dying? Did he care?
