Where have you been? I bellowed inside my head.

  Through the bond, he heard.

  If you knew half the things I had to do to get here . . . His growly words filled my head, an all-consuming tide drowning my anger.

  We hobbled the remaining guards, our expert teamwork heralding the screech of an alarm. Dang it! Other soldiers would arrive any second, yet we had a final obstacle: Vyle.

  With his patented almost grin, he trained his harbinger on us. “You can’t beat me,” he stated, smug.

  “We don’t have to. You’re already defeated.” Domino pushed the words from my tongue. I soaked up his confidence and swagger, gulping straight from the tap. “Tsuri comes. You are soon to drink the cup of his wrath.”

  I didn’t know the specifics of the threat, but what a threat it was. My skin bristled with goose bumps, as if the air itself electrified. Vyle turned ashen.

  Flawlessly in sync, the librarian and I stepped forward, unafraid.

  Our challenger reacted with a flurry of urgency, hammering at the gun’s trigger. Bullets zoomed our way. Perhaps I was seeing through Domino’s eyes. I watched those little missiles approach in slow motion. I could have moved aside but didn’t bother; there was no need. My body flickered in and out of intangibility, going from solid to mist and back to solid all within a heartbeat. The bullets flew through different sections of my torso, spraying the soldiers who had entered the hallway behind me. Down they fell.

  Shock glittered in Vyle’s eyes. He ejected the clip, shoved in an extra, and fired anew. As Domino and I walked . . . jogged . . . sprinted forward, we twirled the makeshift daggers made from the bracelets and misted as necessary. Almost within striking distance . . .

  With one swing, we would remove the executioner’s head.

  We lifted the blades.

  Boom!

  A new shot rang out from behind us. A white-hot pang stung my side, and I jerked as Domino was shoved out of my body. Anguish pulsed in every inch of me. Blood poured down my side. Panting, I craned my head to glance over my shoulder.

  Roman held a smoking gun. He sighed with displeasure. “I told you we weren’t friends, Ardie.”

  “From behind?” I spat as my knees buckled. “Coward.”

  “That wasn’t a kill shot,” he told me, unabashed. “Just a little trim to ensure you stay put.”

  New guards poured into the hall. They bypassed the lord-in-training and came straight to me, binding my wrists with metal cuffs and hauling me roughly to my feet. My gaze remained on Domino, my sole source of comfort.

  “They won’t kill you,” he stated, panting as if he, too, experienced pain. “Briar Rose hasn’t rendered her final decision, which means you’re still in the running. Cyrus, even as Astan, won’t let anyone end you—yet. I’ll return, and we’ll get you out of here. Survive, Arden. That’s all you must do.”

  He vanished before I could respond. Good thing. I only gurgled a series of incomprehensible noises. I’d lost. I’d taken a gamble, and I’d lost. Now, all of CURED knew what I was, and there was no going back.

  Sickness churned in my belly as a grinning Vyle approached. “You almost had me convinced you’d chosen CURED.” He sheathed his gun. “You were a much worthier opponent than I’d expected.”

  Were. Past tense. As if he no longer saw me as a threat.

  As the alarm died, a new voice rang out. “Explain.”

  A single-word command Mr. Vyle heeded without delay as Cyrus marched our way. “Lady Roosa attempted to sneak to the Rock. When I sought to apprehend her, she fought. This is the result of her capture. She is Soalian, Majesty. A powerful glower, judging by her movements.”

  “Her affiliation isn’t your concern.” He looked between us, lingering on me several beats longer, his fury growing.

  What little hope I’d retained withered to ash the second I noted the golden stars in his irises. He’d agreed to host Astan again. Or perhaps Astan never really left him.

  Yes. That. Fury sparked. I’d bet my savings I’d been tricked. Now, there was no going back—for either of us.

  “Why is she injured?” The fury graduated to a rage icy enough to freeze my cells.

  “The lord-in-training, Roman, is responsible,” Vyle stated. “He is Mercurio’s chosen, and he prevented her from leaving.”

  Behind Cyrus, the guards parted, providing a clear path to the guy I’d once admired.

  “Majesty.” Roman bowed in deference. “I will serve you faithfully for—”

  Cyrus palmed a gun, twirled it in his grip, and fired a shot without ever turning around, nailing Roman between the eyes. “Mercurio can select someone else.”

  The trainee fell forward, already dead.

  I gasped at the speed and violence of everything, horrified all over again.

  “What would you like me to do with the girl, Majesty?” Vyle asked, undisturbed.

  Cyrus didn’t miss a beat. “Lock her in the dungeon for now.” He shot out his arm, capturing the other man by the chin to ensure he listened well. “Have her tended, and make sure there’s not another scratch on her, or I’ll be . . . perturbed.”

  Vyle paled, as if there were no greater threat, and inclined his head. “I’ll see to her recovery personally.”

  Cyrus flicked his tongue over his teeth, holding my stare as I panted through my pain. “I suggest you behave, sweetness. My patience with you grows thin.” As he spoke, he lifted a finger and mimed a spin, which turned out to be a command Vyle heeded.

  The executioner picked me up and forced me to stand.

  Cyrus slid the rings from my fingers, adding, “You won’t like what happens if you attempt another escape.”

  “I don’t like you,” I spat at him, my knees nearly buckling. But fall? No. “That’s the problem.”

  “You don’t know me.” Eyes narrowed, he erased the gap between us, butting up against me. “But you will.”

  Though I hurt, I didn’t let myself back down. Here I was, peering at a face I cherished, breathing in a scent I treasured—although, yes, I noted a slight difference now. A tad sharper. But I digressed. In any other situation, I would’ve been confident of Cyrus’s desire to protect me. Today, I couldn’t trust him, and it sucked, especially because I knew what was coming. The battle. My sword slicking through his flesh.

  “So beautiful.” He grazed his knuckles along one side of my cheek. A corner of his mouth twitched, a reaction Cyrus often had with me as well. He was in there, aware. He must be. “You value the truth, so here is an unvarnished fact, nothing hidden. You will host Briar Rose or die. As always, the choice will be yours.”

  He turned on his heel and stalked off.

  Vyle gave me a shove in the opposite direction, forcing me to walk over slain soldiers. Blood wet the soles of my boots, a squeak sounding with every ensuing step. I even left little crimson prints in my wake.

  When I didn’t move quick enough for his liking, he gripped my bicep. It hurt, but to be fair, everything did.

  “Don’t think I won’t tattle about your treatment of me,” I muttered.

  “Don’t think he’ll always care,” he replied, smug. “You’ll refuse him, and he’ll kill you. I’ll be his favorite again.”

  So much for Briar Rose’s vision of a happily ever after—the dragon as enamored of me as Cyrus.

  We descended a staircase and passed through a shimmery veil. Between one step and the next, we exited a narrow hallway and entered the dungeon with bloodstained walls and barred cells lining both sides. Most were filled with moaning, groaning maddened. Some contained glowers. All were trapped in various stages of starvation and torment.

  “I think you’ll be pleased with your cellmate,” Vyle said, leading me toward a cage smaller than the others and occupied by only one glower.

  Another shock. Victors, here. He sat in the far corner, one leg bent at the knee, with an elbow resting at the crest. His bored expression never wavered. He wore torn, dirty clothing, his hair sticking out in spikes. The injuries he’d sustained in captivity hadn’t fully healed, his skin bordering on sallow.

  “So good to see you again, Lady Roosa.” His voice lacked substance, but his joy was true. “You’re right on time.”

  Vyle unlocked the door and hauled me inside. He pushed me at the cot pressed against a wall. My knees gave out, and I plopped onto the stretched cloth, doing my best to appear bored as well.

  A guard rushed in with a medical kit. Vyle claimed it, then tossed it on the cot beside me. “Don’t die,” he commanded before stalking out and confining me inside. “Ask your friend what he’s endured. Soon, you’ll experience the same firsthand.”

  He stalked off, and I deflated, air leaking from a part in my lips. “I’m both thrilled and sad to see you again, Victors. Wish it had been under better circumstances.”

  “But, my girl,” he said, as brazen as I remembered him. “The real fun is just getting started.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Your war isn’t with flesh and blood but with the spirits within them.

  —The Book of Soal 2.8.10.3

  “Real fun,” I echoed hollowly. “We’re prisoners, Victors.”

  He frowned, as if disappointed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Miss Roosa. We’re nothing of the sort.”

  I didn’t have the strength to match wits with him. I tried to catch my breath as I examined my wound. Not a kill shot, exactly as Roman had claimed, but it hurt. Still, his death hurt more. I hated what he’d done, but I hadn’t wanted him dead.

  “I’d offer to help you with the doctoring, but my vivisection says no.” With a sunny smile, Victors motioned to the bandage peeking out from the neckline of his shirt. The lightness in his eyes provided a shocking contrast to our miserable dungeon, our abysmal situation, and the barbarity inflicted upon him.

  “How were you recaptured?” I asked, opening the first aid kit.

  “Oh. That. I turned myself in again.”

  You’ve got to be kidding me. “Why would you do such a thing?” Especially after all he’d already suffered.

  “For starters, I didn’t want to miss the big finale. Also, I thought it might be nice to take a beat and prepare you. The worst is still to come, my dear.”

  I flinched and muttered, “We are living in a horror novel.” I needed as much strength as I could muster, as fast as I could muster it. Hands shaking, I withdrew the disinfectant. No painkiller. Better to maintain my wits right now. As I squirted the cold liquid directly into my wound, I struggled to silence my scream. The sting! I could only breathe through it, waiting for black dots to stop flashing. When I could see again, I applied the healing gel, then a butterfly bandage to seal the sides of broken skin together.

  Deep breath in. Out. In, out. Okay, the worst was over, at least.

  “Have you forgotten The Book of Arden is a romance?” Victors asked. “Give it time.”

  “Romances are supposed to end with the bad guys defeated and the couple headed for a bright future. It’s science. Look it up.” My shoulders rolled in. “I can’t see a way we can recover from this.”

  “That’s too bad. The you I see has learned from her mistakes and is making better decisions, heading for a better destination.”

  Well, he wasn’t wrong about that. I had learned from my mistakes. If I could go back, I would avoid Cyrus on the battlefield, exactly as ordered, trusting my fellow glowers to aid him.

  Where would we be today if I’d listened? Here, now, we’d accomplished our goal, yes. Cyrus wasn’t just king; he was emperor. But at what cost?

  Bonding to Domino had been the beginning of the end for my relationship with the high prince. I’d helped save our lives, but I’d also changed both our destinies. While part of me wanted to resent the librarian, I couldn’t bring myself to regret our dealings. But now, we were all on a train speeding along the tracks, no longer able to brake.

  “I’d argue the use of the word better,” I muttered.

  “And that’s your problem,” Victors said. “You are focusing on the moment rather than the end.”

  “This is the end.”

  “So shortsighted,” he tsked. “Do you really think I’d be here without a foolproof plan to save you?”

  “Why do you even care?” I muttered. “I’m one person.”

  “Ah, but you’re our person.”

  Anger flared. “Cyrus is—was—our person, too, yet here we are,” I griped. “He’s possessed, and the war is raging.”

  “I hear blame in your voice. You know nothing of what we’ve done for him,” Victors snapped with an unexpected anger of his own. “Nothing I’ve done. Did he share with you the messages I brought? The warnings Ember and others delivered? Tell you of his meeting with Soal? Explain the whole story he read?”

  I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth and shook my head. I’d had no idea Victors visited him. No idea Cyrus met with Soal himself.

  “No one but Cyrus is responsible for his choices. Not even you, Arden. You accept that, I hope.”

  “I do,” I said and sighed. The new emperor of Ourland was as much a free moral agent as I was. “And I don’t.”

  Victors tsked again. “Careful, my dear. A little drop of doubt poisons the entire glass of water.”

  I pursed my lips. “How very Victors of you. Cryptic responses have always been your specialty.”

  “Thank you,” he said and grinned.

  “That wasn’t a compliment.” Frustration uncoiled, wrapping around me. My chin trembled. The shock of it all was fading, leaving me with emotions I wasn’t ready to deal with and certainties I didn’t like or have any idea how to change. “Soal imprisoned Astan before. He should be able to do it again.” Thereby freeing Cyrus.

  “Tsuri imprisoned the gods.”

  Hold up. “Tsuri became the Rock after bringing Briar Rose back to life. How did he create the prisons?”

  Victors didn’t explain. “Reimprisonment isn’t the way forward. Total annihilation is. The time has come. We’re finally ready.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment. Where did this leave Cyrus?

  “Good news is, Astan isn’t all powerful. None of them are. Though they abide in their hosts, they require constant anchors and total agreement.”

  “Say more. Please,” I added.

  “Emotions act as a sealant. Astan specializes in fear, greed, and pride, as you’ve noted. Root those from Cyrus, and the god will lose his stronghold. Cyrus can eject him.”

  His words reverberated. Before I’d come into his life, Cyrus had been fear-free. What if I’d shared the fruit of my anxiety with him?

  I thought back to the moment trepidation had first reared its ugly head. The train car ride to Fort Bala. It had overwhelmed me, almost palpable and worse than any other distress I’d ever felt, almost as if I’d tapped into a rushing vein. Rather than fight it, I’d buried it for study later, allowing it to grow.

  I leaned forward, closing my eyes and resting my head in my upraised palms. Had Astan targeted me even then, his sights set on using me to bring down Cyrus?

  Flash. I saw the shadow that had risen from the body of Tagin Dolion seconds after his death. How we’d stared each other down for several beats. Maybe the plan to win Cyrus over was born in that moment. Maybe even before it. Either way, I’d played right into his hands, sticking my head in the sands of “later” rather than facing my enemy head-on right from the start, giving him time to establish roots.

  “Now, now. None of that,” Victors said, guessing my thoughts. “No need to get down. Even when you make a wrong turn, there’s always a way to get where you need to be.”

  I really, really hoped so. “How far in the future have you read?”

  Another grin spread, there and gone. “Past the climax, all the way to the ending celebration of victory. It’s glorious, I promise you. The comeback story of all comeback stories. That’s the theme, in case you were wondering.”

  Good to know. “Do we all survive?”

  “There will be casualties. In war, there always are.”

  Figured. “So what are the tropes of this comeback story, hmm?”

  His eyes glittered with humor. “Those are up to you.”

  Fair enough.

  Footsteps rose above the moans and groans echoing all around us, reaching my ears. An ambrosial scent hit next, sparking as much dread as anticipation. Cyrus.

  I sat up straighter as he and an army of armed guards entered my vantage point. His intense, star-studded stare promised the worst had yet to come. Before, I might have withered. But this was Astan, not Cyrus, and I wouldn’t cow to my enemy, giving him what he craved.

  He’d changed again, now sporting a sleek black suit and tie. He looked good, but I recognized a weapon when I spied one.

  I didn’t bother rising when he stopped at the barred door. “Guess you figured out what to do with me.”

  “I have,” he confirmed. He dropped his gaze to my side, where the bloodstained hem of my shirt had gotten trapped in the corner of the bandage. Though he stiffened, he commented not. Rather, he turned his attention to Victors. “Enjoying your stay, old friend?”

  “Honestly? Yes. I didn’t turn myself in for nothing.” Victors flashed his most guileless grin. “The more you swagger about, the closer we come to the final chapter in The Book of Astan. It’s a tragedy.”

  Cyrus brushed invisible lint from his sleeve. “Soal made a mistake, basing his victory upon the integrity of his word. His precious truth. If only one detail in his book is altered, he loses everything.”

  I tried to make sense of what I’d just heard. Was he implying the crux of the entire war between CURED and Soal boiled down to Astan making Soal a liar? But that made no sense. Unless there was something at play I wasn’t seeing.

  Victors laughed so hard, he coughed. Though he clutched at his wound, he didn’t stop laughing. “You think . . . mistake . . . you . . .”

  He was still chortling when a glowering Cyrus dragged his narrowed gaze to me. “Come.” He shoved the command past clenched teeth. “There’s something we must do.”