“I thought the only thing that kept you going was the binding spell branded into your skin.”

Holland cocked his head. “By the time you met me, the only thing that kept me going was the thought of killing Athos and Astrid Dane. And then you took that from me.”

Kell scowled. “I won’t apologize for depriving you of your revenge.”

Holland said nothing. Then, “When I asked you what you would have had me do upon waking in Black London, you told me that I should have stayed there. That I should have died. I thought about it. I knew that Athos Dane was dead. I could feel that much.” The chains rattled as he reached to tap the ruined branding on his chest. “But I wasn’t. I didn’t know why, but I thought of who’d I’d been, those years before they stripped me down to hate, of what I’d wanted for my world. That’s what drove me home. Not fear of death—death is gentle, death is kind—but the hope that I was still capable of something more. And the idea of being free—” He blinked, as if he’d drifted.

The words rang through Kell’s chest, echoing chords.

“What will happen to me now?” There was no fear in his voice. There was nothing at all.

“I assume you will be tried—”

Holland was shaking his head. “No.”

“You’re in no place to make demands.”

Holland sat forward as far as the chains would let him.

“I don’t want a trial, Kell,” he said firmly. “I want an execution.”

IV

The words landed, as Holland knew they would.

Kell was staring at him, waiting for the twist, the turn.

“An execution?” he said, shaking his head. “Your penchant for self-destruction is impressive, but—”

“It’s a matter of practicality,” said Holland, letting his shoulders graze the wall, “not atonement.”

“I don’t follow.”

You never do, he thought bleakly.

“How is it done here?” he asked, a false lightness in his voice, as if they were talking of a meal or a dance, and not an execution. “By blade or by fire?”

Kell stared at him blankly, as if he’d never even seen one.

“I imagine,” said the other Antari slowly, “it would be done by the blade.” So Holland was right, then. “How was it done in your city?”

Holland had witnessed his first execution on his brother’s shoulders. Had followed Alox to the square for years. He remembered the arms forced wide, deep cuts and broken bones and fresh blood caught in basins. “Executions in my London were slow, and brutal, and very public.”

Distaste washed across Kell’s face. “We don’t glorify death with displays.”

The chains rattled as Holland sat forward. “This one needs to be public. Something out in the open where he can see.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Osaron needs a body. He cannot take this world without one.”

“Is that so?” challenged Kell. “Because he’s doing an impressive job of it so far.”

“It’s clumsy, broad strokes,” said Holland dismissively. “This isn’t what he wants.”

“You would know.”

Holland ignored the jab. “There is no glory in a crown he cannot wear, even if he has not realized it yet. Osaron is a creature of potential. He will never be satisfied with what he has, not for long. And for all his power, all his conjuring, he cannot craft flesh and blood. Not that it will stop him from trying, and poisoning every soul in London in search of a pawn or vessel, but none will do.”

“Because he needs an Antari.”

“And he has only three options.”

Kell stiffened. “You knew about Lila?”

“Of course,” said Holland evenly. “I’m not a fool.”

“Fool enough to play into Osaron’s hands,” said Kell through clenched teeth. “Fool enough to call for your own execution. To what end? Reduce his options from three to two, and he still—”

“I plan to give him what he wants,” said Holland grimly. “I plan to kneel and beg and invite him in. I plan to grant him his vessel.” Kell stared in bald disgust. “And then I plan to let you kill me.”

Kell’s disgust turned to shock, then confusion.

Holland smiled, a cold, rueful twitch of the lips.

“You should learn to guard your feelings.”

Kell swallowed, made a thin attempt to mask his features. “As much as I’d like to kill you, Holland, doing so won’t kill him. Or have you forgotten that magic does not die?”

“Perhaps not, but it can be contained.”

“With what?”

“As Tosal.”

Kell flinched reflexively at the sound of a blood command, then paled as the realization dawned. “No.”

“So you do know the spell?”

“I could turn you to stone. It would be a kinder end.”

“I’m not looking for kindness, Kell.” Holland tilted his chin up, attention settling on the cell’s high ceiling. “I’m looking to finish what I started.”

The Antari ran a hand through his copper hair. “If Osaron doesn’t take the bait. If he doesn’t come, then you’ll die.”

“Death comes for us all,” said Holland evenly. “I would simply have mine mean something.”

* * *