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I back out of the empty room and continue my search for the God of Winter. I check every room and open every door as I wander through the eerily quiet Palace. My feet stutter and bring me to a stop in front of a familiar door.
Mace's office. The one that became Zeph's once we fled.
Every part of me knows that Himureal sits behind this door. I take a moment to call my magic, making sure my Illusion and deceptions are solid.
This is the best it's going to get.
I open the door just enough to slide in, and I close it softly behind me.
Sitting behind the desk is the Frostweaver, his eyes wide and wild, his white hair billowing around his shoulders in loose waves. His skin, so pale I can almost see the blue veins running underneath it, is on full display as he only wears an open black vest on his torso. His face stretches into a huge, hopeful grin when he notices me, and he stumbles, rising to his feet.
"Shadowweaver." He breathes my name like it is his salvation, and I see the magic I have woven take hold as his eyes soften. "You've returned."
"So I have." He doesn't make any moves to walk closer. He leans on his hands across the desk, moon eyes staring at me. I slip into a chair and prop my boots up on the surface. "I came as soon as I could."
"I knew you didn't leave me, I knew you were taken. Taken. Taken from me."
"I was," I saysoftly, letting the magic of Yearning and Influence coat my tongue and coaxing trust and love from the God. "But I am here now, father, for us to be together."
His ice-blue eyes light up, and he moves around the desk, leaning against it. He's so close I can almost touch him, but it is not the time yet to take his magic from him. "Everything I've done has been to get you by my side, my side, my side. I have purged the city of those unworthy of us. Everyone here is ready to pledge their lives to us, Shadoweaver."
The door behind me opens, and I spin to see Nimh, the Neried that Cirrha warned me clung to Himureal, walk in. Himureal's sharp eyes cut to her.
"Out! Out out out!" he shouts, voice full of venom.
Nimh ducks her head. "Frostweaver, I apologize, but I must…"
"OUT!"
Before I can even flinch, Himureal grabs a dagger with a blade of shadow and hilt of ice, twin to my own, from the desk and hurls it across the room, where it embeds itself into Nimh's chest. She drops to the floor, her legs unable to support her through the shock and pain.
"I am talking to mydaughter," he sneers. "I'm sorry, Shadowweaver," Himureal says, his voice calm as he turns back to me. "Where were we?"
I roll my eyes at him and stand, crossing to where Nimh lies on the ground, bleeding out in the doorway. I squat down, grabbing the hilt and yanking the blade from her chest. "I'll take this."
Her hand, slick with her own blood, grabs my wrist, and she begs, "Viola, please, heal me. I know you can." Her eyes are going glassy as tears trail down her cheeks. Her breath is coming in rough pants, and every beat of her heart pushes more blood out of the wound. Himureal watches us impassively, with no emotion for the fae who stood by his side the entire time he was in Ytopie.
"I don't think I will," I tell her with a wry smile on my face as I wipe the blade on my shirt.
"Please. Zeph was my friend. He would want you to. Please," she continues. Every word is a great effort as she fades in front of me.
My laugh fills the small room, the sound out of place in the situation I have found myself in. "Funny story," I say quietly so Himureal can't hear me. "Zeph told me all about how you helped and supported Himureal. Cirrha and Taegan told me about you marching your neighbors to slaughter."
I rise to my full height and look down at her fading form. "Also, Zeph is dead." I turn away, pushing the sounds of someone fighting for their life out of my head, and stand in front of Himureal. "Where were we, Frostweaver?"
He beams at me, not even asking for the blade I have in my hand back. "Yes, yes, yes, now that that unpleasantness is taken care of, I was saying, the whole city left is ready to pledge themselves to us."
"Us, or you?" I ask, tilting my head to the side.
His eyes are dreamy from the magic that still holds him hostage. "Well, it's the same, right? You are of my magic, here to support me, and so they prostrated themselves before me and will be there for you, too."
"It sounds like you didn't give them much of a choice." I keep my voice light and curious.
"Well, of course not. If they didn't want to submit and chose to die for their convictions, who am I to stop stop stop them?"
"Submit or die?" I muse, chuckling as I adjust myself to be just a little bit closer to him. "That's what you asked people to do?"
He beams with childlike joy, and for a moment, it hurts my heart. This God is my ancestor. I am luring him to his death like a siren. In another realm, another time, he and I could have stood proudly side by side.
