“Should we run?” I ask Vitar and Solat, but I can’t bring myself to care, not that much. Death does that to a person. I get no answer, and look around. They’re gone.

In fact, everyone’s gone.

Well, I guess that’s my answer.

I get to my ghost-feet, but the man is already standing in front of me. He lowers his hood.

This must be the god of death. His skin is deathly pale, his hair black as night. His brows are black slashes and his nose is big and would be overwhelming if it weren’t for the cloud of thick, loose waves that somehow break up the harshness of his features, and the softer line of his mouth. He’s missing an eye.

A green one.

“I know who you are,” I say, surprised. That surprise zings through me. It’s the first real, honest emotion I’ve felt since I died, and it feels…good. “You’re Rhagos, aren’t you? God of the Dead? Original owner of Aron’s left eye?”

He reaches up and touches my chin, and his hand doesn’t pass through me. Huh. He tilts my face up and studies it. “So this is Faithful.” His voice is deep and smooth, like rich chocolate.

“Nooo, this is Faith.” I point at my face.

“I was curious to see what made you so different from the others, but I see it now. You’re not afraid of us, are you?” He considers me. “You’re not worried about offending the gods.”

I shrug. “You’re not my gods.”

“Just so.” He smiles and offers me his hand. “At any rate, you belong to me.”

I hesitate. “That’s nice of you, but I’m pretty sure I belong to Aron.”

His smile broadens, as if my answer amuses him. “That bond was severed in death, Faithful. You are dead, thus you belong to me. Come. I have things to show you.”

I move to his side, but I avoid taking his hand, and that makes him smile wider. I cross my arms over my chest and when he starts to walk away, I walk faster to keep up. “Can my friends come?”

“No, they remain in the Field of the Forgotten until their god retrieves them. Their hearts are dedicated to another.”

For a moment, I wonder if I should stay with Vitar and Solat, but I have too many questions for this Rhagos guy. So I jog after him as he heads through the fog. “So, you’re back on your throne? Which Aspect won? Which Rhagos are you?”

He just looks at me. “Does it matter?”

“I guess not? But for the High Father to make such a big deal out of splitting your personalities, it seems weird to me that it’d all be forgotten the moment you return home. Like, my Aron? I’m pretty sure I can’t imagine him without arrogance. It’s part of who he is, you know? And that arrogance isn’t bad, not really. It just has to be tempered. He’s a good guy.” I try not to stare at the scar over Rhagos’s missing eye. “Well, sometimes he’s a good guy.”

“Mm. You talk a lot. I’m not used to the dead having so much to say.”

“Because they’re afraid of you?”

He nods. “Because of the places I can send them for eternal torment if they antagonize me.”

Is that a threat? “I guess it’s a good thing I’ve never heard of those places or I’d be shitting in my pants about now.” The fog parts, and a massive, ominous-looking palace rises from the middle of nowhere. It’s all black stone and darkness atop a rocky cliff, and overhead, the stars twinkle in the sky like thousands of pinpricks. I’m not entirely surprised to see a drawbridge drop down, and we step inside to more red and black gothic-looking decor. “Nice place.”

“I’m glad you approve, as you will be remaining here until the negotiations are over.” There’s a dark amusement in his voice.

“Negotiations?” I ask, curious.

But Rhagos ignores me. He waves a hand and a door at the end of the hall opens, and we head into a throne room. I don’t know if I’m supposed to keep following him or what, but I do. Inside the room is a large, uncomfortable-looking granite throne on a dais, a bajillion skulls lining the walls, and fire-lit sconces to provide more ominous lighting.

And between two pillars? There’s an enormous spiderweb that makes the pit of my stomach drop as Rhagos approaches it.

Not this shit again.

To my surprise, he waves a hand in the air and the web shimmers and a picture begins to form in the center. That’s…unexpected. “What is that?”

“It is my connection to the Aether, since I must spend my time here in the realm of the dead. It allows me to communicate with the other gods.”

“You can see the other gods?” I clutch his arm, full of longing. “Oh my god, can I see Aron? Please?”

He shrugs me off. There’s a look of shock on his hard face. “You dare to touch me?”

Like I care? I’m dead. What’s he going to do to me, condemn me to a thousand years without Aron? There’s nothing he can do that I’m not already prepared for. “I just…please, can I see him? I died and I don’t know if he ascended back to his home. I want to know if he’s still the same guy and if everything’s okay—”

Rhagos stares at me with that one green eye, his expression cold.

“Please,” I ask again, clasping my hands together. “I won’t ask for anything ever again.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” he says drily. “You truly love him? Aron of the Cleaver? Lord of Storms? Butcher God of Battle?”

I frown. “Everyone has flaws.”

He barks a laugh. “Flaws? Is that what we call them?”

“Look. He might not be your favorite person, but he’s been good to me. If he’s a little battle hungry, he’s just a guy devoted to his work. There’s nothing wrong with that. I love him. I even love his arrogance. I just…I need to know he’s okay.”

“He is a god. Why wouldn’t he be ‘okay’?” Rhagos gives me an imperious look.

I’m starting to think Arrogance might have won out in Rhagos, too. “Please.”

The god of death studies me for a long moment. Then, with an impatient flick of his hand, he gestures at the web and the shimmering gives a subtle shift. A second later, I see mismatched eyes under dark brows, and scars. I ache at the sight of him, all of my body full of yearning. My Aron. He’s so handsome.

The web “zooms” out and Aron’s moving, fighting as he swings his mighty axe, surrounded by men. It’s an enormous battlefield, full of swarming, fighting people and as I watch, Aron raises his axe and lets out another battle cry.

I press my hands to my mouth, horrified. “We didn’t stop the war?”

“Oh, you stopped the war.” The god’s voice is full of irony. “He started another.”

“What?”

Rhagos gives me another one of those fascinated looks, studying my face. “Aron ascended the moment you died. He was rather furious, because it seems he was unaware you had to die in order for him to return. He is laying siege to the Underworld.”

I clutch my throat, shocked. “Why?”

“You have to ask? It is because you are here and he refuses to let you go.”

Oh. Warmth floods through me. He said he wouldn’t forget me. It’s all I wanted. Now, I have a new want. A new yearning. I want to be with him. I don’t care if I have to spend my afterlife surrounded by a bunch of bloodthirsty warriors. As long as I’m with Aron, it’ll be the happiest forever-until-eternity. I turn to look at Rhagos, pleading in my eyes.

He simply studies me, like I’m something he can’t quite figure out. “I’m told he approached the High Father and demanded your return. That he shouted so angrily that storms flooded the mortal world for a month straight. Magra was quite displeased at his little tantrum.”

Aron’s fighting to get me back?

He approached the High Father?

I feel so warm and fuzzy. “God, I love that man.”

“Yes, you have said so.”

I send another pleading look to Rhagos. “Will you let me go to him? Please? I can make him stop.”

“Do you think I care? Let him fight. The dead are dead.” Rhagos shrugs. “He knows I will give you back, but only under very specific conditions.” He nods at my direction, and the web goes dark, the picture of Aron fading. “Take her away. There is time yet.”