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Laine closes her eyes, fighting the dizziness that now washes over her. So, this. This is what Étienne didn’t want to tell her, the piece of information that he’d feared would put her in danger. This is why Raven had been so intent on getting Rose as his Harbinger, why he had sent Laine to her, why he had spent so much time and effort over the years on her.

Of course it had to be a reason like this. Why didn’t she try harder to find out what Raven’s interest in Rose was? Why hadn’t she asked more questions? Why hadn’t she been more suspicious, less obedient?

Rose would have argued. Laine can feel it in her bones, can almost hear her friend’s logical arguments and the questions she would have asked. The scientific jargon she would have tossed at Raven. In her position, Rose would have pushed back, would have resisted, would have fought Raven’s orders.

I don’t deserve you, Laine had once told Rose. That had been the day when Raven finally gave her the fateful assignment, when Laine knew that their friendship was coming to an end.

She didn’t deserve her. But hell, she would try.

“He has her in London,” Willow now tells her in a low, steady voice. “I cannot enter his estate without alerting him to my presence. But you are one of his Harbingers, meant to set foot inside.”

Laine feels like a knife of ice has slid between her ribs. If Raven has Rose in London, and she hasn’t heard about it yet from Étienne, then it means something has happened to Étienne.

Willow lifts her chin, then reaches out and gently touches Laine’s blue pendant. As if in response, the pendant sparks for a moment.

“Can you do this, Harbinger?” the goddess says.

Laine feels faint, as if this has always been their destiny, to cross paths over and over again. The balance of power between the gods is tilting to the point where it will break. Laine can feel the cracks in the air, the shifting alliances as everyone moves into position to defend their dominions. And somehow, Rose has found herself at the center of it all, bearing a power that frightens Laine.

What’s going to happen to them all? How can Laine protect her now?

In her mind, she revisits the night when she’d told Étienne about Rose.

“She’s going to fight,” she’d told him. “She has a particular knack for getting under your skin in the best way, like there are things she believes about the world and about people that will make you question yourself.” She turned quieter. “She makes you want to be a better person.”

Étienne snorted at that. “I’ve seen enough people display their true colors once they’re backed into a corner.”

“Not her,” Laine replied.

She had pledged herself to the god of Death in order to save her mother, had watched gratefully as her mother walked away from that marriage. Even now, she checked in sometimes, glad to know that her mother was slowly rebuilding herself. She would never regret becoming a Harbinger for that, would choose to tie her mother’s life to her own again and again.

Even if it meant betraying a friend.

If it weren’t for Raven, she would have never met Rose. They would have never become friends. The thought, even now, is unbearable.

Now, Rose’s fate is once again in her hands.

She bows her head to the goddess of Earth. “I will,” she says.

28

When I awaken, I’m curled in a tight ball on the floor of a chamber in Raven’s estate, the room empty save for a fireplace in one corner, still burning. My mind feels foggy and slow. Vaguely, I recall seeing Thorn’s body disintegrate before me, being dragged up the stairs and away. I remember Raven’s bleak eyes meeting mine, that immortal, gray gaze.

When I sit up, I realize that my hands and feet are shackled and chained to the wall. The world around me still feels unreal, a slippery and unreliable thing.

I lean against the wall and close my eyes, fighting to understand all that happened. My eyes are dry. A dull ache that begins in my chest spreads through my entire body, paralyzing my muscles and bones until I can hardly feel anything at all. Étienne is dead, his soul trapped within the Eternal Tree. And I had claimed Thorn, had killed a god.

My hands tingle, numb and cold. I try to concentrate on my breathing, but even that feels like a struggle.

Transient paralysis. An imbalance of potassium levels in the body, a disruption to ion channels responsible for muscle contraction, triggered occasionally by mental or physical stress, or shock after a severe accident. I imagine the blood flowing through my veins, the beating of my heart, the restriction of my tear ducts, the parts of my brain that should light up now shutting down, going dark. I imagine the inside of my body so thoroughly that I feel as if I am outside of it, a doctor peering down at his patient on a table, trying to pull her back to life.

Then I think of Laine, her arm looped through mine, laughing hysterically with me as we make our way through a Christmas market. The snow is picking up, and we should probably head home soon, but there is a steaming hot chocolate in my hand, and I don’t want to leave.

Rosie, Laine says, nodding at the sky. Do you think we’ll keep in touch?

Are you kidding? I laugh and squeeze her arm. I’d find you, no matter what.

The memory fades, and after a while, I’m able to wiggle my fingers again, can feel the warmth of my body returning as my muscles tingle to life.