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Shadow seems to accept this response and lays back down at my feet. Looking at the tired faces of my friends who have become family, I cannot help but think I do not deserve them all.
But time is not on our side, and I do not have time to indulge in emotions any longer.
"I will be going after Himureal on my own," I say slowly, bracing myself for the inevitable blowup that is coming.
It comes quickly.
"Absolutely not!" Morrow shouts, jumping onto his feet. "Fuck, Shadowweaver, you're so stubborn. How many times do we have to have these conversations?"
"Numen, you cannot," Mace tacks on, leaning back and propping himself up on the table behind him. "You do not have to do this all alone."
Taegan speaks quietly, "You haven't seen what he's like now, Shadowweaver."
"He's right," Cirrha speaks up. "He's worse than he was when you left."
Jaz and Plume do not speak, but the former has their jaw clenched and arms crossed tightly across their chest. Tulip narrows her eyes at me as if she is trying to discern my motivation, but she keeps her mouth shut.
"Areyou all done?" I say, propping my hands behind me and relaxing backward. I tilt my head back and look up at the ceiling. "Because I will explain my reasonings if you are."
"By all means," Tulip says, and I can practically hear her eyes rolling. "Let's hear it."
"I lost my high priest." My voice is soft but Mace flinches all the same. I push on. "That means I am no longer able to have devotion funneled into me. My magic is a bit more limited."
"All the more reason to take us with you!" Morrow says loudly.
"How are we getting to Ytopie?" I ask, leveling him with a glance.
"Shadow vision," Cirrha says, a loud exhale following the words. "And when you traveled with Zeph, Taegan, and me, it almost knocked you out afterward. Zeph had to funnel a lot of devotion into you."
"Exactly," I say as I point at Cirrha. "She's exactly right. If I try to carry you all with me, I may not have the reserves needed to fight against Himureal and then return."
"So we travel by sea," Jaz interjects.
"Or by beast," Plume adds, a sadness in her voice.
"Sure, we can do that," I reply, scrubbing my face with my hand. The blood on both from my mutilation of Amaryn tightens my skin and makes me want to gag. "If we do that, though, you have to accept that every day it takes to travel is more fae Himureal is butchering. We have played dumb before when we were traipsing across the Lowlands, but now we have confirmationthat he has escalated drastically. Are you all willing to give up those lives?"
That sobers the group, and Morrow lets out a noise that is a cross between a scoff and an angry grunt. "Fine, Shadowweaver, say you travel on your own. What is your plan?"
"That's why we're all here." I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees, the pressure of their gazes and the responsibility I have to the realm sinking my shoulders. "I need ideas."
"Well, you're three Gods and a quarter, right?" Tulip says. "He's just three-quarters of a God. So you can probably overpower him easily."
"He's smart," Cirrha supplies. "And insane. He thinks differently than we do. Just a head-to-head fight may have a ton of collateral damage. I have no doubt he's keeping himself surrounded by supporters. Nimh never left his side."
Mace stands up, pacing, chewing on his thumbnail. "You have to get him alone. Can you convince him you've finally come to join him?"
"Do you think he's dumb enough to fall for that again?" I say with a scoff. "Seems unlikely."
"There has to be something you can do magically," Tulip suggests. "You have all of the magic now. You should be able to put something together."
Ideas fly through the room, our voices echoing as we raise them with excitement for ideas and frustration when they get struck down. Eventually, Plume's soft voice cuts through the din. "Yearning."
Cirrha's head whips towards her. "You can't be serious. Yearning is dangerous. You mean for her to seduce the Frostweaver?"
"Not seduce. What if you blend it with Influence? You can then guide the Yearning to have him believe you have love and affection for him as his daughter." Plume is looking directly at me as she speaks, her wide eyes bloodshot with grief. Her long, beautiful hair is in a loose braid over her shoulder, and she wears a beautiful sky-blue dress, looking out of place among the rest of us who are clothed in dirt, violence, and leather. Even as her heart is breaking, she is still a beautiful picture perched there on a bench.
"An Illusion," Morrow says cockily. "Add in Shadow and Light, and you can create an illusion of love and affection."
