Like Eiswald warned me, I am become my greed.
Emeric kneels in front of me, face taut with pain, left arm still dangling. “Vanja. I have to do it. I’m the only one who can stop this.”
He has the prefect coin, and only he knows what to say to call the court.
I hang my head. “I know.”
I know this, and still. And still. And still.
Kunigunde is barely holding Adalbrecht off now. There’s a cacophonous clang as he strikes the spear from her hands. It flies across the plaza, landing in the gallows.
Emeric cradles my face with his good hand. I make myself look him in the eye. It’s the least I can do for him now.
All I can think is that he is a good person, one ready to die because it will save countless strangers, and I—I am dying of my own selfishness.
The story is ending with him. And I am not ready for it.
The full moon begins to crest over his shoulder.
His lips move, like he’s struggling to find the words. I still them with my fingertips, while they’re still mine. Judging by the numbness spreading up from my knees, the curse won’t let me keep my hands much longer.
“Tell me after,” I say softly. Then I kiss him one last time. We linger only for the briefest moment, stolen as the monster rages behind us, as the curse devours me from within.
Emeric reaches into his pocket for the prefect coin. His eyes shut as he pulls it out, white-knuckled and shaking. “In the name of Emeric Conrad,” he whispers, “initiate of Hubert Klemens of the Helligbrücke First Office of the Order of Prefects of the Godly Courts, I convene the Court of the Low Gods.”
There’s a long, brutal silence as he waits for the axe to fall.
It doesn’t.
In this moment, I am grateful for three things.
Emeric opens his eyes, uncomprehending.
As he unfurls his hand, I am grateful that mine have only just now crusted over into solid ruby.
I am grateful that he has not seen my lips move to say his name, not caught the words I am barely breathing aloud as my lungs calcify into pearl.
And I am grateful that this beautiful damned boy left his prefect coin in the same pocket he always does.
In his palm sits a single red penny.
“—of the Godly Courts,” I gasp, “I convene—”
“Vanja,NO—” He seizes my arm, cutting himself on the rubies.
It’s too late. With the last of my breath, I squeeze out the final words of the incantation: “. . . the Court of the Low Gods.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Vanja,Yes
Time is the first Low God to arrive. Or at least, the first I notice. But Time is hard to miss.
The world goes silent in a way you don’t hear outside the realm of the Low Gods. It reminds me of living with Death and Fortune in their cottage; it’s a kind of quiet that nothing can break, not even you. I could cry and laugh and yell as loud as I wanted, and no one would tell me to hold my tongue.
Time sweeps into the plaza in a flowing, glittering gown, surveying the scene. “Huh,” he says. “Isn’tthisa mess?” Death arrives second. “Vanja, what have you done?” she demands. Her face is frozen in my features. That’s when I realize with a jolt that I am standing—well, in
myself. I seem to have both feet planted in a mass of rubies and pearls. It’s my body, or what’s left of it.
