Page 227 of Starside

I turn in a circle, eyes wide, watching as a dozen immortal warriors are cut down in seconds, until I face Raker himself.

His eyes are sharpened steel. His body is taut with rage. Gaze locked on mine, his arm juts out—and his sword slams back into his palm with a force I feel in my bones.

I swallow.

“Nice trick,” I say, breathless.

He gives me a look that says, Idiot.

I give him one that says, I fucking know it.

Then, eyes still on mine, he throws his sword right at my neck.

No. Not my neck. His blade misses the side of my throat by less than a quarter of an inch, striking right behind me, where Lord Rodin is standing, his blade nearly to my pulse.

Raker takes a step forward. Another. I feel the whisper of his sword as he retrieves it, quick as lightning. I hear the body collapse behind me.

Raker has just killed an heir. He’s just killed everyone in this room except for me, with half a thought. I look around at the bodies surrounding us in a circle, their heads lying next to them.

Then I fall to my knees and retch.

Raker watches me. He waits. When I’m done, he offers his hand. I spit at his feet, still angry. He frowns.

But the next time he offers his hand, I take it.

39

Raker killed all of them. In rapid succession. Easily. His blade flew, spinning, cutting down, besting even immortals. I’ve always known it would take little effort for him to kill me, but now … seeing it …

I’m grateful he saved me. Again. But it doesn’t erase the time he didn’t. The time he decided his duty, or whatever else, was more important than helping someone.

It was years ago. It was before … before all of this. Still, those days have marked me in more ways than the carvings on the base of my spine. I have pinned my hatred on him for so long. He represented everything I hated about the wretched king’s guard I was taught to fear since I got my markings. He was their leader. He was the warrior without marks on his armor.

There’s only one person I can think of that would be able to defeat him, and he’s on his way here.

“The God of Death is coming,” I say as we race past rows and rows of statues dedicated to him.

“Let him come,” Raker says, not looking as worried as he should as he cuts through the wild parts of the untamed garden with his blade.

“Even you should fear the gods, Raker,” I say through wild breaths.

In a burst of unchecked anger, Raker’s arm juts out, his sword glimmering, and he slices the air in a flash. The nearest statue is reduced to rubble.

I swallow. Part of me expects the silver-haired god to emerge from the fiery depths of the underworld right now and strike us down. But he doesn’t. By some small mercy, he doesn’t.

And at the edge of Lord Rodin’s lands, we slip into the quiet of a forest without incident.

The rest of the day we walk in silence before camping in a final stretch of woods, protected by the starlight necklace Raker kept with him.

I barely sleep, expecting the God of Death to appear at any moment, surrounded by his demons. But the sun rises, just like I must.

You rise, I tell myself, even though I’m tired. Even though I don’t really want to. My knees crack as I get to my feet.

“Why do you say that?”

I blink. I didn’t realize I said it aloud.

Raker looks at me expectantly.