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He looked to the sky. “The message is already away, carried by an owl shifter, one of Trubahn’s fastest.” The only part I understood was that the message was on its way. “I’ll hunt down the owl, you keep the Reaper in your sights.”
I spun away, but he dragged me back. “Do not get too close, Anaria, the Reaper is not your friend and will not hesitate to kill you.” He wiggled one of the bands beneath my jacket. “Use your magic if you must.”
I didn’t have a chance to tell him that was impossibly dangerous, but he was already gone.
I raced after the Reaper, red curls bouncing, the bright dress a beacon in the dense crowds. We headed away from the Keep, deeper into Southwell. My lungs burned, thighs trembled with fatigue when our final turn ended up leaving the Reaper cornered in a dead-end alleyway.
Tavion was right.
There was nothing left of my friend when the creature spun to face me, no hint of silver in its black eyes, baring teeth as sharp as knives. The thing eyed me, blocking its path to freedom, a wicked smile splitting its face in half.
“You are too late, little thief.” It rasped, a mockery of Ember’s melodic voice. “Now all your betrayals will be for naught and the seer and the spider will die.”
“Not if we stop your message from reaching Solok.” I had no knife, nothing to fight with, as the thing stepped toward me.
“The creature is not fast enough to catch the owl.” The Reaper’s smile turned even more gruesome, something black trickling out of its mouth.
I reached up, loosened one of the iron bands.
I had no idea of what to do next, but magic was my only weapon. The band slipped loose and power surged through me, I’d barely gripped the other, when I sensed someone behind me.
The Reaper hissed like a snake, black spittle flying everywhere.
“Let me past you, princess.” Lyrae’s calm voice did nothing to stop my panic when the Reaper hissed again. Gods, what if Lyrae noticed the magic glittering in the air? The hum of power that sent my bones vibrating?
“I knew she was wrong, the first time I saw her.” Lyrae growled. “How long has it been?”
“Five days.” There was no point in denying anything, not now.
She turned to face me. “You’ve known all along what she was, princess?” Lyrae’s blade hissed louder than the Reaper as she yanked it free. “Hiding secrets will only get you killed.”
“Is there some way to save her?” I retreated until I drew even with Lyrae, her attention focused on the awful creature.
“The only way requires pure magic, the kind the…Fae possess.” Her smile turned positively cruel. “Unless you have some of that hidden up your sleeve, I will slay this foul thing here and now.” The point of her sharp knife aimed directly at Em’s chest.
“Wait.” I grasped the iron tighter, wrestling with my choices. “I need a minute to think.”
“You don’t have time to think, princess. Let me kill this loathsome creature, before it harms an innocent.”
Was this my only choice? After everything, would Ember die in a dirty alleyway at the end of a knife through no fault of her own?
“How does the Fae magic work?” I asked, loosening the other band, wondering how Lyrae didn’t notice the spots of power dancing in the air around us. But she was focused on the Reaper, not stardust sparkling faintly in the afternoon sun.
“Reapers are made from dark magic, the kind born in Old Valarian. But Fae magic is untainted. In its purest form, it is powerful enough to kill a Reaper.”
“How, though?”
“The same way the Reaper got in. A wound must be made and the magic forced through that opening. The magic will eat the Reaver alive, leaving only the host behind.”
The Reaper snapped its sharp, unnatural teeth together and lunged, the same time Lyrae threw her knife. The blade struck Ember’s chest with a decisive thunk, black blood spraying. In that second, her eyes cleared to a silver-gray as her horrified gaze caught mine.
I tore the second band down my arm and shot my hand out, palm-first. White, glittering magic streamed straight around the blade into Ember’s crumpling body, turning the black blood even darker.
I caught Em before she hit the ground, ribbons of power obscuring Lyrae, the buildings, everything except for my dying friend. “I’m sorry.” Tears dripped onto Ember’s face as I pressed my hands around the hilt of the knife, trying to stem the flow of blood. “I’m sorry, I tried to save you, but I couldn’t.”
Then her chest—every place I touched—turned soft and liquidy. Ember decayed before my eyes, her flesh turning black, melting off her bones as I scuttled away, coated in slime, the foul rot I hadn’t smelled before choking me.
“Well, that was interesting.” Lyrae yanked her knife from Ember’s chest and held it out, close enough I saw every drop that flowed down and dripped from the point. “I’ve never seen Fae magic before. Didn’t know it would work so effectively.”
