The goddess was radiant, dressed in a blue sleeveless dress with constellations sewn along the hem. Ruby-spun brooches gleamed at her shoulders, and a golden belt was cinched at her waist. A crown made of bloodred flowers and berries graced her brow, and her hair was long and loose, dark as midnight.
Iris was so stunned by the sight of her that she could only shiver, knowing this was how Enva had looked the night she had joined Dacre below, giving him her vows. The night they had married each other, beneath striations of minerals, far from the shine of the moon and the veil of clouds. A night that had planted the seeds for this war, centuries to come.
Dacre took a step closer to Enva. He paused, transfixed by her; she held her ground as he continued his approach, his strides becoming urgent.
Iris, heart pounding in her throat, pushed herself up to her knees. No, she wanted to shout, but it felt like she had swallowed sand. All she could hear was the roar of her pulse in her ears, making her light-headed, but she was certain Dacre was saying something to Enva. He was almost face-to-face with her, his body taking a violent stance, and Iris lurched up to her feet, grasping the sword.
The words Enva had shared with her in the museum dream burned through Iris again, propelling her forward.
If he were to kill me as he longs to do, then he would take all my magic unto himself. There would be no end to his power.
“No!” Iris felt the word rumble through her chest. We can’t let him win this battle. We’ve come too far for this.
She was about to jump over the sulfur creek when she felt someone grasp her arm, holding her back. She turned to see Attie, violin tucked under her chin and bow clenched in her right hand. Attie’s curly hair whipped in the windstorm, and her eyes were wide but keen.
“Wait,” she mouthed to Iris, resuming her playing with a seamless motion.
Iris wanted to protest, but Attie had noticed something that she hadn’t. She spun around, looking at the divines again.
The eithrals continued to circle overhead, their wings churning cold, moldering air around them. Dacre’s shorn hair tangled in the breeze, as did Iris’s and Attie’s, but the gale didn’t touch Enva. Her hair remained sleek and still, her raiment like the water of a quiet pond.
Dacre raised his hand to strike her. All the tension gathered in Iris’s bones; she couldn’t breathe as she stared at Enva. Enva, who didn’t move or speak but only beheld Dacre with a dark gleam in her eyes.
His fist never touched her.
His legs failed him first as he dropped to his knees before her. He wavered for a beat, as if fighting the spell that was pervading his bones, but even Dacre couldn’t resist the siren call to sleep. His hand dropped limp at his side as he sank to the stone, sprawling on his back.
After him, the eithrals began to fall, one by one, from above.
Iris and Attie crouched down and huddled close to each other, the rotten air stinging their noses. But Iris kept her eyes open, watching as the wyverns crashed into the pools and the stone pathways. Their bellies split open on the impact; their scales melted in the sulfurous water. The ground shook as their wings splintered.
And then the world became quiet and tranquil.
Iris pulled the wax from her ears and rose, drawing Attie with her.
The girls stared at Dacre’s supine body, Enva standing before him. The goddess gazed down at her sleeping husband before she lifted her eyes and looked at Iris and Attie.
It felt like a welcome, and the girls walked carefully along the slick stone to reach the divines.
“Enva,” Iris said, full of wonder. How had she reached them here? Why hadn’t she fallen to Attie’s enchanted lullaby? But then it occurred to Iris, standing close enough to notice the translucence on Enva’s skin. The faint shimmer of her wedding dress.
Iris stretched out her hand. Her fingers passed through Enva’s arm.
It was one of her stolen powers at work. The magic of illusions and deceptions. She was here but not truly, as if she had known her presence was a fated thread in the tapestry of Dacre’s demise.
Enva didn’t seem to be able to speak, but she indicated Dacre with a tilt of her head.
Iris stared down at him, sensing his coldness. He looked younger and softer in sleep, and Iris thought of what could have been, and what could still be now that he would be gone from the world. Extinguished like a flame. His soul and magic turned into smoke, dissolving as it rose skyward.
Teeth bared, she brought the sword down on his neck.
It was easier and harder than she had expected. Easy, because the sword cut through bone and sinew as if Dacre were nothing more than a cobweb. And hard, because another bruise formed on her heart, marked by the killing.
Dacre’s blood began to flow, a glittering gold on the stone. A sickly-sweet smell enveloped the air as Iris found herself dropping to her knees, the sword clattering from her hand. But she felt the pressure change, making her heart skip a beat.
From the corner of her eye, Iris watched as Enva’s illusion evanesced into the shadows.
{51}
Spilled Ichor
Roman was still dreaming when he felt the ground slide beneath him. There was the clink of iron, a hiss of steam. A painful throb around his wrists. A man’s voice, cursing through the static.
“Wake up!”
A hand shook him and, when that failed to rouse him, slapped his cheek. Roman stirred, his eyes heavy-lidded and full of grit. It took a moment for the colors to return to his sight, for all the blurred edges to turn crisp and defined.
To his immense shock, he was staring up at Lieutenant Shane.
“What are you doing?” Roman asked.
“What does it look like? I’m getting you out of here.” Shane took hold of his arms, dragging him up. “Can you stand?”
Roman found his feet but wobbled. “Give me a moment.”
Shane supported Roman’s weight but huffed in impatience. “We don’t have a moment. We need to hurry. Things are evolving in ways I didn’t expect, and we need to return above.”
“What do you mean?” Roman took a step forward. With each passing moment, he felt steadier, although his head viciously throbbed. He flexed his hands, realizing they were free from the chains. “How did you…?”
Shane withdrew a key from his inner pocket. It was still stained with Captain Landis’s blood. The key that had gone missing, or, Roman realized, that Dacre had set out as bait on the table, to see which of his soldiers would swipe it.
“Why did you steal it?” Roman asked. “Are you part of the Graveyard?”
“Yes. And we need its power,” Shane said, hurrying him along the path. He kicked a small skull out of the way. “We can lock or unlock any of Dacre’s doorways. We can glean the resources from the under realm now.”
“What about the other four keys?”
“Val is presumed dead. He never fetched Iris, if you were worried about that. We don’t know where he is, but he failed to return after he brought you here. His key is unaccounted for, although I can imagine who has it.”
Roman drew in a slow, shaky breath. But his bones ached when he wondered where Iris was.
“Dacre is also dead,” Shane said simply. As if he were announcing a weather forecast, and not the end of a god. “But I haven’t heard where his key is.”