Page 78 of Where Light Cannot Follow

"Virgil." She tilts her head, mock-sympathetic. "You look tired. All that restraint must be exhausting."

“Unless you have a desire to join us on our journey, I believe we have nothing left to discuss.”

“We do not, it’s true.” Her gaze slides past him, landing on me with unsettling precision. "But he does."

I feel the weight of her attention like a hand pressing against my chest.

"I made no vow," I say. "I owe him nothing."

“That’s true,” she agrees pleasantly. "But you did commit verbally, at least, to a conversation. And he's grown impatient waiting for it." She pauses, letting the words settle. "He sent me personally to escort you. A courtesy, really. He could have sent others."

The implication hangs in the air. Others who would be less courteous. Others who wouldn't bother with conversation at all.

"And if we refuse?" Virgil's voice is steady, but I hear the tension beneath it.

Constance's smile widens. "Then I'm afraid we'll have to insist. And Virgil…” Her eyes flick to him with something almost like pity. "You know better than anyone what happens to those who keep him waiting."

Virgil is silent. His jaw tightens.

She's not bluffing. Whatever leverage she holds, whatever threat lurks beneath her polished surface, it's enough to make Virgil hesitate. And if Virgil hesitates, we're out of options.

“Of course,” I say, stepping forward. "I'll have the conversation."

"Dante—" Virgil starts.

"It's all right." I meet his eyes, willing him to understand. "I was considering one. Let me see it through."

His expression fractures. Fear, frustration, something deeper he won't let himself name, twisting his features. But he doesn't argue. He knows, as I do, that we've run out of road.

Constance watches this exchange with evident satisfaction. Then she turns, gesturing for us to follow.

"This way, gentlemen. He's waiting."

She begins to walk, and we fall into step behind her, Virgil close at my side, his presence the only warmth in this frozen world.

Ahead, the path curves toward a darkness deeper than any we've crossed.

And somewhere in that darkness, a god waits to make his offer.

29

VIRGIL

Following Constance, we no longer need to take side paths or roundabout methods. The ashen landscape softens as we walk. The smoldering crags give way to gentler slopes, the sulfurous air thins until it lightens to something almost pleasant. We leave behind the sacred place where Dante had given me such an extraordinary gift, his home, rendered within my sanctuary. A piece of him I can return to when he is gone, could anchor and keep if I choose.

And we walk directly into the fate I've spent all these precious hours and days and years avoiding.

Because if Satan wants a conversation with Dante, I know the purpose. It's not what Dante fears; it’s not merely to torment me. That would only be an additional benefit.

No, it's because he's seen enough pieces of Dante—through Constance, through Malrec, through the impressions left in his loops—to know that Dante is desirable for his own ends. A soul this strong, this capable, this newly cracked open and rebuilding itself? Such a thing has value beyond measure to one who collects power the way others collect art.

Dante appears entirely calm, though that means nothing. He and I are creatures cut from similar cloth. We long ago learned to swallow vulnerability and pain, to keep those sacred things hidden from anyone who would exploit them. I wish I possessed Constance's lack of moral compunction at this moment so I could reach into his mind and sense his intent.

Perhaps it's better I cannot. I'm struggling against rising panic as we approach the soaring garden gates—wrought iron twined with living ivy that has no business thriving in this realm. Dread floods through me like water through a breached hull. I'd rather Dante not feel it. Rather he not know that I'm holding onto him the way drowning men hold onto wreckage, and I don’t want him to realize how quickly we’re sinking.

Even Dante's flawlessly practiced mask slips for just a moment when we step through the gates and into the garden.

It's not the garden of ancient lore any longer. Not some half-wild beast filled with fairies and magic-infused serpents and fruit imbued with the kind of power that killed gods.