Chapter 41

Only a few minutes had passed when I heard my name called, but a strange, unreal quality had taken over my mind, one that turned seconds into days. I watched the stone face, waiting for a crack to appear—waiting for Nash to emerge from beneath it, having found yet another way to cheat death.

"Tamsin!"

Familiar hands, warm and callused, cupped my face, turning it away from the stone. Emrys appeared among the shadows, studying me with urgency before looking down at Nash.

"Oh, hell," he whispered. "I'm sorry, I'm so damn sorry."

"It was … there was a curse …," I said hoarsely. The still-rational part of my mind knew I was in shock, but in that moment, the only thing that registered was the feeling of being locked inside my own body. As if the curse had transferred through Nash's touch and was now entombing us both.

I tried to pull my hand back, but it was encased in Nash's rough stone fingers. The more I tried, the more erratic my breathing became, my body heating with waves of panic and horror.

"Hang on," Emrys said. "Just a second, Bird, you'll be all right—"

He turned my face away again, pressing it against his chest so I wouldn't have to watch. His heart raced against my ear as he picked up a sword. The harsh clang of metal against stone wasn't half as terrible as the dull throb of each strike, and, finally, the feeling of Nash's hand crumbling against mine as Emrys struck at the fingers with the pommel.

The moment I was free, Emrys lifted me back onto my feet, holding me there until my legs solidified and the blood was no longer pounding in my ears.

"What were you doing down here?" he asked.

The shouting and hollering from the Wild Hunt hadn't ceased, nor had the sizzle of spells. A truly malevolent stench blanketed the air—burning flesh and ozone. Smoke and sparks of magic drifted past the open door at the top of the stairs.

"Tamsin?" Emrys said, drawing my attention back to him.

"He was …" I couldn't bring myself to explain any of it, not just then. "We need to … we need to find Neve."

The High Sorceress had made it sound like she was bringing Neve to her own quarters, which appeared to be on the third floor, farther down the eastern wing from where we'd been held. The video feed Robin had shown me seemed to confirm that.

"Do you know where she is?" His beautiful eyes were studying me again in obvious concern, but he would never stop me. I knew that, and so did he. "Do you think she's still on the third floor?"

I nodded.

"They protected the roof, so the hunt was forced to enter on the first level and fight their way up," Emrys said. "We're going to have to figure out how to overtake them."

My thoughts were still thrumming with fear, but the basic pieces of a plan were there, starting to assemble themselves.

"If we can't get to her room the normal way, we can try to crawl there through the vents," I said.

"Neve is probably the safest person in this entire building," Emrys said. "How do we know they haven't gotten her out yet themselves?"

I set my jaw. "We don't, which is why we need to see for ourselves. Once we have her, there's an open Vein in the attic we can use to escape. "

Emrys seemed confused by all this information, but he gamely nodded. "Then that's what we'll do. Let's fly, Bird."

I took his hand when he offered it, trailing after him as we made our way along the hall, back to the stairs that would lead us to the first level of the estate. At the top of the stairs, I looked down the hallway, but Nash's stone body was shrouded in smoke.

It was a warning of what was to come.

The first floor was on fire.

The hunters had triggered several of the curses, and lines of fire had forced them to move down a single, narrow path through the hall into the foyer.

"Release me! Release me! "

I spun, searching the drifting clouds of smoke for the source of the voices screaming like sirens.

"Damn you!"

I lunged away from the nearest wall—from the mirror hanging there. A hunter launched himself at the glass, trying to shatter it from the inside. As the smoke rose, dozens more faces appeared there in the mirrors covering the walls, moaning and begging.

"The spells are holding," Emrys said, the silent for now hanging between us. "Let's go."

The carefully laid spikes had doubled in size, becoming a tangle of thorns across the hall. I followed Emrys's exact steps as he wove a path through the eerie glow of the scattered flames. I was forced to release his hand so we could climb over and around their deadly points.

With only a gasp of warning, Emrys shoved me to the outer edge of the hall. He forced us both down into a crouch behind one of the spikes jutting up from the floor. A moment later, three of the hunters staggered past us, their ghostly bodies flickering in and out of material forms.

"Wh-What did they do to us?" one gasped out .

The hunters trapped in the mirrors pounded against the glass, screaming their voices hoarse. The new arrivals jumped as the smoke parted to reveal the traps.

"Bloody hell!" one of the hunters yelped, backing up. "I told you it was the wrong way—"

"There!" came a woman's ragged cry. Four sorceresses materialized out of the billowing smoke at the end of the hall, whipping fresh lines of fire at the hunters. They crowed as the flames caught one of the hunters just as he took on physical form.

The victory was short-lived. With a snarl, the hunter nearest to them threw a dagger, then another—the sorceresses at the front were quick enough to dodge, but the one in the back, a statuesque blonde, caught a dagger in the throat, choking on her own blood as she fell to the ground.

With wrenching screams, the sorceresses charged, forcing the hunters farther back toward the entrance. Emrys took the chance to pull me up and lead us forward again. We slowed as we passed the fallen sorceress; her emerald eyes gazed back at us, emptied of life.

With a grimace, he pulled the blade free from her flesh with a gruesome spurt of blood. Wiping the weapon off against his jeans, he handed it to me. "Take this."

I couldn't muster a protest.

Once we were through the spikes, we kept low and hugged the right side of the hallway. Billowing red mist poured through the atrium, overwhelming my sense of the space as it wove through the silver smoke. The clash of blades and shouts met us at the entrance to it. Kasumi's voice rose above all the others with her call of "Push them back!"

Lights from spells flashed on the floors above us, sparking bright and fading quickly. A rider tore through the crimson veil, his armor glowing silver as his horse galloped forward and leapt, climbing on nothing but air to the second floor. A sorceress followed at a run, her face streaked with sweat and her dress torn. The end of her wand blasted out spirals of magic, her shouts of rage echoing in my ears. With a swirl of her wand, she created enough spiraling wind to launch herself after the rider.

My heart raced faster than my feet until the adrenaline left me feeling unsteady. I gripped the dagger as hard as I could, worried that the sweat coating my palm would allow it to escape my hold.

Emrys ran to where the stairs should have been. Remembering the way they vanished before, only to reappear at Kasumi's command, I began to search the floor for a sigil.

"The stairs were here when I came down!" Emrys said. Something seemed to occur to him. "I think there's another way up—"

I tried to run after him, but the mist was too thick, too disorienting. A burst of panic moved through me as I lost sight of him, only to find his shadowed form a moment later.

But that shadow became two, and as I approached, a scene took shape in the mist.

One of the hunters stood over a terrified sorceress, who was scrambling on hands and knees across the blood-damp carpets to get away. He raised his sword above his head, death magic writhing along the silver blade in anticipation of another claimed soul. The hunter turned his face just enough for me to recognize the man he'd once been.

"Dye!" I shouted.

Endymion looked over his shoulder, his glowing eyes sparking with amusement. His humanity had been the mask, and death had only revealed the monstrosity that had always lived inside his skin.

The sorceress seized her opportunity to escape, fleeing into the maelstrom without a backward glance. Now that I had the hunter's full attention, I couldn't seem to remember why I'd thought this was a good idea.

"Well, this is certainly a surprise," he said, with a smile that revealed his sharpened teeth. "How convenient that I'll finally be able to kill you, too."

"Can't say I like the new look," I told him, edging back in the direction of the hallway. "Undead tends to be an unflattering shade on most people, though. "

"Undead?" Endymion laughed. "My child, I am so much more than that. My power is beyond your comprehension."

"You're probably right about that," I said. "I don't speak Asshole, and the One Vision doesn't seem to be willing to translate."

"And here I thought I might never hear the legendary wit of the Larks again," Endymion said. "How satisfying to know that it'll truly be the last time I'm subjected to it."

I stood my ground as he sauntered toward me, knowing the dagger in my hand wouldn't be powerful enough to stop him.

Death magic emanated from the core of his being. There was a burning sensation on my jaw as his phantom hand turned to icy flesh and came up to grip it. My death mark echoed the pain, searing.

Tell him who you are, my mind whispered. He won't kill what his master wants.

"Cat got your tongue?" Endymion sneered, lifting me by the collar of my shirt. I fought, kicking my legs to no avail.

"Father."

Emrys stood a short distance away, hand curled around his sword hilt once more. He squared his shoulders, and there was no fear in his eyes. Only a carefully controlled hatred.

There was something immensely gratifying about the shock that crept over Endymion's gaunt features as he turned toward his son. His hand slackened and I fell to the floor in a heap, gasping. Emrys's mismatched eyes darted toward me, making sure I was all right, before returning to his father.

"This is not …," Endymion began faintly. "You're not …"

"Real?" Emrys finished, circling us. Endymion tracked the arc of his path, his neck twisting unnaturally. "Breathing? Here? You have a wide assortment of words to choose from."

Endymion shook his head. If he'd been alive, perhaps his lungs would have worked like bellows, or he might have clawed at his pale hair. But now, he could only release a guttural sound.

"You're dead," Endymion said. "This is a trick. "

"No trick," Emrys said, facing his father. He began to back away, receding through the red smoke as he taunted, "Come on now, Dad. Is that any way to greet your beloved only child? Your son and heir?"

I scrambled to my feet. The hunter's jaw sawed back and forth, all but unhinging itself in agitation.

"A trick," Endymion repeated. There was a note of pleading in his voice now. The sword fell from his limp hand, bursting into sparks of silver as it struck the floor.

"Was it worth it?" Emrys asked, hidden in the depths of the smoke. "Everything you did to us? Did it make you feel powerful to know that you could hurt your wife? Your son?"

"You are not him !" Endymion raged, charging toward the sound of his child's voice. "You are not my son!"

"Did it become harder and harder to satisfy with each hit, each punishment? Did it kill the weakness in you the way you hoped?" Emrys asked. "When my blood splattered onto your face, did you recognize the taste of it as your own?"

Endymion descended into ominous silence. It stretched on long enough that my hands began to lose their feeling. But slowly, so slowly, his expression turned from rancorous to almost … morose.

"I burned your heart," Endymion said as Emrys appeared ahead of us again. He inclined his head toward his son, as if listening to something beyond my hearing. "How can it still beat?"

"You bastard !" I snarled. I lunged at him, only for my blade to pass through his intangible body and fall to my knees.

"I'll show you how," Emrys said, so calm. "Give me your hand. Feel mine."

I watched in sickening horror as he held it out for his father to take. Endymion drifted toward him, lifting his wraithlike fingers as if in a dream. The hunter's hands turned to flesh and bone in front of my eyes again, the skin gray and bloodless. Emrys's hand closed around it.

"Goodbye, Father," he said.

Endymion looked up in confusion, but it was already too late. Emrys spun him hard, heaving his father forward through the mist—to where the Mirror of Shalott hung on the wall.

Endymion collided with its magic, and with a gasp of fury, he tried to pull back from its snare. Wisps of body, his transmuted soul, tore away at the touch of the rippling glass, as if the mirror were inhaling him.

Endymion dropped to the floor snarling, clawing at the mirror in a futile attempt to break its hold on him.

"Master!" he called. "Master!"

The mirror shuddered and rattled against the wall, swallowing the last of Endymion Dye's soul with a satisfied sigh.

Emrys hooked my arm through his and drew me away from his father's screams of fury—safe, for once, in the knowledge that this man could no longer hurt him. His shoulders shook as we retreated toward the entry hall.

"Are you okay?" I asked tentatively.

But as I met his gaze once more, I realized he was laughing.

It was a laugh of incredulity and elation—the delirious release of some impossible weight, some hideous shadow, lifting from his shoulders. He leaned down and kissed me, pouring every ounce of his relief, his joy, into it. I gripped his arms to steady us both.

"How adorable," came a silky voice from the atrium's entrance.

The laughter died on Emrys's lips.

We turned to meet the sorceress striding toward us. Madrigal seemed unbothered by the fighting still raging on the floors above us, the inhuman bellowing of phantom horses and their riders. Her appearance was immaculate; not a single strand of her bright red hair was out of place. It was as if she'd only just arrived, and she moved with the confidence of someone who knew they were untouchable. That they weren't in any danger.

The realization dawned cold and terrible.

"You," I breathed out. "You told him about Neve—where to find her." She'd been the one to feed the information about Neve to Lord Death—how long had she been working with him? Since Neve's first letter?

Emrys sent me a questioning look, but the sorceress spoke first.

"Your cleverness failed you this time, Beastie," Madrigal said. Her gaze moved over me, disgust warring with curiosity. "Lord Death told me I was mistaken, that someone else —someone even more pathetic—has the soul."

He's still nearby, I thought, fighting the barb of fear. I couldn't feel the cold pressure of his presence, but he couldn't have gone far with the fight still raging on.

Madrigal turned to address Emrys. "Kick your sword over and bring her to me, pet."

Emrys stepped in front of me. "I'm not your pet."

Madrigal's lips curled as she raised her wand. "I'll ask you one last time."

She took his silence for an answer.

"Emrys—" His name fell away from my lips as his body suddenly seized, tensing until his spine went straight as a board. The tendons in his neck strained, the muscles in his arms and back bulging. The sword fell from his hand, clattering to the floor.

"Emrys!" I gripped his arm, fear flooding my veins. His hand rose, shaking.

"Run," he choked out. "Ru—"

His face hardened, and between one terrifying heartbeat and the next, his hand lashed out and wrapped around my throat.