Page 163 of Under the Iron Sky

Emelda fiddled with her skirts. “We think so. We think he has the Bane, too—and that the only reason he’s still alive is because of his magic. He can manipulate blood, so there’s a good chance he can … cleanse his blood or body or whatever of the Bane while the rest of us suffocate from it.”

There was so much Soraya wanted to ask, but Aeris was already cutting in, “So the Bane is real, then?”

Malakai stared down sadly at Emelda. “That unfortunately is true.”

Aeris held his wife’s gaze, his eyes softening—just a little bit. “But if we can breathe Vordellian air, then why does he need the Arch?” he asked, his voice much softer now.

Emelda seemed to relax slightly. “We’re not sure. But all of this has been to reunite the Arch. Now and before, with Aleena. He needs it for something, but it’s not to free us.”

Soraya rubbed her temples, feeling like her head was going to fall off from all the thoughts swirling around in it.

It was all one big lie. The rituals, the executions, even their greetings, those two simple words meant to soothe and offer comfort, all served Ramapheal’s agenda.

Breathe deep.

Breathe deep and all will be well.

Breathe deep to calm yourself.

Breathe deep to keep inhaling this thing that gives you magic so you believe me and serve me blindly.

Soraya braced a hand on the arm of the sofa, needing something to hold onto.

“Okay,” Soraya said, hoping that if she voiced everything out loud it might make a little more sense in her head. “You lot can breathe Vordellian air. Magic comes from the vapor. Ramapheal’s a big old liar,” she looked at Malakai and Emelda, “and the two of you are Ma’varea. Emelda, I can understand, that was your sister and if Ramapheal had done that to my family, I’d want to watch the bastard burn too, but Malakai …” Soraya met his gaze, the man who’d been on the other side of that helmet for the last two years, unable to stop the scratching feeling in the back of her mind. “What was Varena to you?”

At the mention of her name, a light switched on in Malakai’s eyes. “Everything,” he said, then looked to Ikarus. “If this entire thing goes to shit, I will gladly take all the blame and let the rest of his followers tear me into a thousand pieces, I just want to watch the fucker burn first for what he did to her.”

Soraya nodded, the last threads of this picture finally stitching together. The lingering glances and secret conversations between him and Emelda. The look on his face when Emelda had fallen asleep in the courtyard, the way he’d brushed her hair back. He hadn’t really been seeing her, but the ghost of the fairy he’d lost.

Emelda stood from the chair and crossed the room to where Ikarus was still standing in front of the fireplace. Tension was rippling from every muscle in his back, magic curling around him so violently it was a miracle the entire room hadn’t come apart.

“Ikarus.” Emelda’s voice was gentle. “Please say something.” When he didn’t reply, she reached a hand toward his shoulder. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. We didn’t mean to hurt you—”

He whirled around before she could touch him. “Hurt me?” he spat. “It’s a bit fucking late for that. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You’ve practically wrapped a noose around all our necks with this.”

Emelda squared her shoulders. “I know it’s a lot to take in—and the humans losing another piece of the Arch today is less than ideal, but we’ll recover—”

The chandelier on the ceiling vibrated beneath Ikarus’s powers. “You want me to let this carry on?”

Shadows crackled behind him. Soraya didn’t need to turn around to know that although Aeris may have been angry with Emelda, he’d crush Ikarus without question if he pushed her too far.

Emelda didn’t seem to need his protection, though. “No,” she said smoothly, confidently, not a care for the living death standing in front of her. “I want you to help us. You’re his right hand. We’ve only been able to feed the Vordellians bits and pieces before because we were so worried that you were going to catch us—but think of the damage we could do with you.”

Ikarus scoffed, turning away. He looked at Aeris, eyes sharpening. “And I suppose your decision has already been made, hasn’t it?”

Aeris stared at Emelda for a long time, then walked toward her. It was like watching a blade slowly slide back into its sheath. The harsh set of his mouth, the tension in his jaw and hands, even that last bit of sharpness clinging around the edges of his eyes had fallen away by the time he held her face in his hands and kissed the crown of her head.

“Emelda is my wife,” he said, pulling back just enough to stare down at her and wipe a tear from her cheek. “There is no decision to be made. If she is sided with the Vordellians, then so am I.”

Still standing by the fire, Ikarus looked on the verge of combusting into flames.

Emelda made to step toward him, but Ikarus held up a hand. “Don’t.” It was all he said before vanishing with a loud crack, all the furniture in the room shaking in his wake.

The answering silence lasted about ten seconds before Malakai threw an arm around Soraya’s shoulders.

“Well,” he said, pulling her against his side like they were old friends, “I think he took that quite well, don’t you?”

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