Vaguely, I realized I wasn’t moving anymore. My eyes blinked slowly. A pale morning sky stretched overhead, streaked with white clouds.

Scuffing footsteps. Shimmering crimson.

Xever appeared, standing over me. He smiled. “Can you feel it, Robin? That he’s gone?”

I stared up at him, my chest heaving with pained breaths.

“Compared to a payashē, male demons are weak.” His red eyes glowed like bubbling magma, roiling with madness. “See for yourself.”

He waved to my left. I rocked my head to the side and peered across the crumbling plateau.

Fissures zigzagged the granite, hunks of debris scattered over it. Among the rubble, an unmoving form was sprawled. Zylas, crumpled facedown. A short way beyond him, Nazhivēr lay in a heap, one wing twisted into a caricature of its normal elegance.

“Weak,” Xever repeated, drawing my attention back to him. “Just like you.”

I watched that strange roiling in his crimson eyes—and realized it wasn’t madness. It was the payashē trapped inside him, raging desperately against her flesh-and-soul prison. Raging against the human who was stealing her power.

“I am the Red King,” he whispered feverishly, lifting his hand toward me as power formed a crackling orb beneath his palm. “The most powerful mythic in history.”

“You,” I said hoarsely, “are a monster. Ori novem!”

Cool magic tingled against my palm, and I thrust my arm up. The long purple harpoon that Saul had used against Zylas flashed as I shoved it into Xever’s gut.

He gasped, reeling back.

“Daimon hesychaze!”

My infernus vibrated against my chest. A streak of power hit it, then bounced out, solidifying.

Zylas’s claws slashed, and Xever had no chance to unleash his magic. A swift strike, a spray of blood, a crunch of bone—and the most powerful mythic in history fell to the ground, limbs spasming.

I pushed up onto my elbows, forcing myself to watch as the summoner writhed. As his breaths gurgled from his torn throat. As his eyes bulged with terror and enraged denial. As his limbs stilled and the air wheezed from his lungs.

Sorrow for the slain payashē flickered through me. At least she’d died quickly instead of spending years as Xever’s slave.

He was dead, and my parents were avenged. I expected to feel more than quiet, grief-tinged relief, but his death couldn’t bring my parents back.

“Robin.”

Zylas dropped to his knees and pulled me to his chest. A cool shiver of his magic ran over me as he checked my injuries—heedless of the blood dripping from his torn clothes.

Uneven footsteps plodded heavily over stone. Zylas tensed, then pushed to his feet, lifting me with him. Together, we turned to face Nazhivēr.

The Dh’irath demon halted a few long steps away. He lightly touched the Vh’alyir Amulet hanging around his neck, then lifted it off and held it out.

Zylas pulled it from the demon’s grasp, his fist clenched tightly around the chain. Neither demon spoke.

A deep, thundering crack vibrated through the ground beneath our feet. All three of us looked across the plateau—at the fissures and fractures webbing the massive slab of granite that formed the hilltop.

Another crack rang out like a gunshot. A grinding sound as stone shifted.

Nazhivēr whirled on his heel, broken wings flaring, and charged away from us. Zylas snatched me around the waist and launched after the Dh’irath demon, and for a terrifying second, I wondered what we were fleeing.

Then I saw the pink glow ahead and realized we weren’t running away from something. We were running toward the portal.

The plateau was damaged. The rock was shifting—and all it would take was one crack in the array to destroy the portal.

Power sizzled through us as Zylas ran onto the glowing array. The portal loomed ahead, a dark circle fifteen feet across. The alien sky on the other side had lightened to murky cobalt.

Nazhivēr didn’t slow, didn’t hesitate. He reached the edge and dove headfirst into the vision of a foreign sky. His body dropped through and disappeared.

Zylas skidded to a halt a step from the portal. I clutched his arm, anguish ripping through my chest.

His gaze swung from the portal to me. “Do you remember what to do?”

“Yes,” I gasped, choking on the grief-stricken denials building in my throat. I scrabbled at my pocket, unzipping it, and pulled out an alchemic marker. The node of the array that I needed to alter was only a few feet away.

Another grinding crack shuddered through the plateau.

He looped the amulet chain over my head. “Amavrah.”

“Zylas.” I pressed my trembling hands to his face. “I love you. I’ll never forget you.”

His warm hand caught the back of my neck, and he touched his forehead to mine.

Then he pulled away, his touch disappearing, and stepped to the circle’s edge. His legs coiled, tail lashing.

He didn’t look back as he plunged into Ahlēavah’s deep blue sky.

Chapter Thirty-Three

- ZYLAS -

Home.

Scents of sand. Recent rain. Night-cool rock.

Directions spin and reverse as I fall, then ground appears beneath me. My hands press into the red sand. Dig in my fingers, feel the rough grains. Inhale. Taste it. Home.

Look up, senses reaching out. Nazhivēr is close. Just ahead, on his knees, head bowed. Bleeding, wounded, wings shattered. Difficult to heal. Can he do it?

Doesn’t matter. Don’t care.

Push to my feet. Pain. Blood. Wounds are bad but won’t kill me.

Clear sky above, dark blue that’s growing lighter. Soft orange on the horizon, shining through the Ahlēvīsh that surround me, jutting high above my head. Their power calls to me. Kish lēvh. Become spirit. Can hide in them and recover.

Hide, fight, hide, fight. That is my world. That is my life in this world.

Turn around. The circle, the portal. Inside it, a soft sky and pale light. Like Zh’rēil’s vision, the circle sits upon a destroyed Ahlēvīsh. Power stolen, transformed, turned into something new.

On the other side, she is there. Soft and warm. Beautiful, gentle, foolish, safe. She is there, alone.

She’s begun the magic. Can feel it. Can feel her.

Drop to my knees in the cool sand. Call on my magic and create the spell from the Vh’alyir Amulet.

It appears. A circle around the portal, surrounded by webbed lines. Runes describe the bridge between worlds, between Ahlēa and human magic. More runes to unmake it.

Concentrate. Must be perfect. No mistakes. My House created this, and now I will break it. Time to change Ahlēavah. Time to end the magic so my world can heal.

The payapis would maybe be impressed. Should I find her again, tell her what I did? What I learned? What I lost?

Maybe.

Concentrate. Press hands into the sand. Jaw tight. Ignore pain. Ignore the others drawing near. They sensed us, and now they come to see who has returned. The new Ivaknen.

I am Ivaknen.

It is a strange thought.

On the other side, she has begun her chant. Her voice is distant. Quiet. Almost can’t hear, even though she’s so close. So far. Out of reach.

The sky brightens. Beyond the Ahlēvīsh where jagged rocks rise, orange stains the blue.

Footsteps coming closer. They stop. Nazhivēr watches me.