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I'm shocked at his confession. Shocked, and a little flummoxed. "You…love me? How do you figure?"

"We have gone through much together. And I am experiencing all kinds of new feelings around you. Some are not good—like guilt and grief. But when I am with you, the happy times are much…happier. The sex is better. Everything is better when I see you smile. Is that not love?"

Is it? Or is it just him misreading his emotions because they're new to him? "I'm not sure, Kassam. I mean…we've been pulled one way or another this entire time. We're barely friends. I'm not sure you can be in love with me. I haven't done anything."

"You wish to become friends before I declare love again? Very well." A hint of his normal impish personality returns. "We will become very good friends, and next time I declare my love, you will believe it."

"Is that a command?"

"It might be." He gazes down at my chest, at the red stitching there, and his expression grows murderous again. "Remind me that our vengeance must be delayed."

"Don't touch him until we get what we want," I say softly. "It'll be better in the long run if he doesn't see it coming."

Kassam sighs. "Is that a command?"

"It might be," I echo back to him. "You've waited a thousand years for Riekki. Let's not wait any longer."

And just like that, I somehow convince my lover not to kill my murderer. I must be an idiot.

42

I can't sleep.

It's weird, to lie in bed, running my fingers up and down the stitches between my breasts, and not hear my pulse in my ears, or need to breathe, or anything like that. I'm dead, but I'm not. It frightens me a little, so I lie in bed, determined to try and feign sleep even if real sleep won't come. Kassam sits across the room, sticking to his vow to stay at my side. The window is open, eagles and falcons and even pigeons flying in to report to him, only to turn around and leave after they've shared their thoughts. The conmac lie at the foot of my bed, silent as ghosts.

Despite the crowd in my room, I still feel alone. I wish Kassam would come and lie next to me, but he has to communicate with his army. We're leaving first thing in the morning, and he's sent a message to Seth to let him know. If Seth still wants to work with us, he'll meet us at dawn. If not, we go on alone.

He'll meet us. He's put too much on the line not to.

I rub the stitches on my chest again, my eyes closed as I try fervently to sleep. If I sleep, it means my body is back to normal. If I sleep, it means all the other bodily functions will kick in again soon. It'll mean that I'm not really dead.

But I lie there, and lie there, and sleep, which has always been easy to come by, eludes me. Hours pass and I lie in the bed, silent and still, waiting. I close my eyes again—

—and when I open them, I'm no longer in our rooms at the palace. I stare up at open sky, an aurora rippling through it. The stars dance and move in front of my disbelieving gaze, like fireflies moving through a forest. Startled, I sit up and realize I'm no longer in a bed, either. I'm naked and there's no ground beneath my feet, nothing but more stars. I reach a hand out in front of me, trying to touch the green, shimmering aurora, only to have it snake away again. "Kassam?" I call. "Are you here?"

"Are you one of the Faithful?" a strange, low voice asks. It's not Kassam's voice. This one is low and smoky and urgent, without a hint of the laughter that seems to permeate Kassam's personality. The voice is also rich with power, reverberating through my surroundings.

I look around, but I don't see a face or a form to put with that voice. There's nothing but darkness and stars. "Hello? Who's there?"

A figure strides out of the shadows, with dark hair and piercing green eyes, and features that seem too large for his strange face. He's tall and ominous looking, dressed all in black and a scar going up one side of his face. He gazes at me as if he's trying to figure me out, circling around me, and even though I'm naked, I don't feel objectified. If anything, I feel oddly disconnected.

"Are you one of Kassam's faithful?" he prompts again. "Your soul is trapped, mortal. I am intervening and I must know where to send you."

Oh. This must be the god of death, the one that's returned to his home. He knows I'm some weird quasi-zombie and he's come to fetch me. "I don't know if I'm his faithful? I'm actually his wife…"

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