Did you find Willow? I ask. Is she okay? Did he hurt her?

She’s fine. She’s with your brother.

My breath eases with relief as Nadir exchanges a look with his father. In his expression, I see that any qualms he had about killing him have been wiped away, leaving only pure, seething rage churned from a lifetime of neglect and abuse.

Nadir, I’m freaking out.

His gaze swings to me. Don’t panic, Lor.

Sure. I won’t panic. Another fucking test, but this time it isn’t my life on the line but Nadir’s. That’s assuming Herric keeps his word about anything.

How did we come full circle?

Herric continues performing for his minions, working them up into a frenzy that tells me they want action, and they want it now.

I study these . . . creatures—these souls of the dead. Even from here, I can sense their emptiness, their hearts and spirits given up to the earth. To whatever body they might find next. They snarl and shriek, and it’s obvious there’s nothing mortal left. They’re mindless animals scenting blood. Were they always a bit like this? They found their resting place with the worst of Ouranos. Maybe here they enjoy free rein to cater to their basest instincts.

“I think,” Herric screams, drawing my attention back to him. “It’s time we begin!”

He lifts his arms and drops them down, and everything goes black. A second later, I remain cloaked in darkness, but the world no longer sways beneath my feet, suggesting I’ve moved from my cage. It’s a small consolation because I have no doubt that whatever Herric has planned will be so much worse.

I’m surrounded by a disorienting mash of voices, whispers and chants, laughs and jeers. I look down at my wrists as they start to glow with the pulsing blue of arcturite. These cuffs are different from the ones Tyr wore—his were more like thick bracelets, but these are thin and smooth, more like vambraces. I wrap a hand around the left one, finding no seams or breaks in the material.

“Nadir?” I call tentatively into the heavy blackness, relieved to discover I once again have use of my voice.

“Lor!” My name punctuates the veil of darkness, and if I squint, I imagine I can see the faint glow of arcturite in the distance. It’s difficult to gauge how far away he is.

Stand still. Don’t move. I think we’re on some kind of ledge or platform.

I think he’s right. I can’t explain why, but it feels like we’re high up. When Herric granted us these outfits, he also braided my hair. A breeze tosses the few strands framing my face, tickling my cheeks. The idea of him clothing and manipulating us makes my skin crawl, but that’s the least of my problems right now.