EVANDER

THE DEVALIANT HOLDS the blade as if she were born for it.

Her violet eyes narrow as she shifts her body into the correct form. The afternoon sun gilds her hair, turning silver to fire, and catches on her cheeks as she angles her head down. She’s focused. Lethal. Beautiful. I could watch her like this for hours.

Release.

The knife buries itself in the target across the garden with a satisfying thunk. My chest swells—with pride, maybe. Or is it possession? Every day she stays, it’s getting harder to tell the difference.

Because the truth is, I’m obsessed with her.

“Again,” Amara commands. “And this time, remember to breathe. You’re still holding too much tension in your shoulders.”

The Devaliant grips another blade. She inhales, shifts her weight forward, and lets the knife fly.

Gorgeous.

I walk over, letting out a low whistle. “Look at you, making progress with the knives you swindled out of me.”

Her head whips around. “Was that a compliment?”

“Treasure it—they don’t come often.” I glance at Amara. “Can I borrow you for a minute?”

Amara nods. “Keep practicing,” she tells the Devaliant, following me.

I lead her toward the crumbling remnants of a fountain choked with climbing roses. She crosses her arms over her chest, wings snapping, and I notice flashes of purple beneath the powder dulling their vibrancy. The true shade is one of a kind—as recognizable as mine.

“What is it?” she asks.

I shove my hands in my pockets, faking a calm I haven’t felt since I found those butchered bodies in Hellevig. “Does the name Rhosyn mean anything to you?”

She tilts her head, thinking it over. “No. Should it?”

“I’ve been hunting vermin in Vartena.” I keep my tone light, but memories of the warehouse flash through my mind—the body parts piled neatly, the stacks of blood-matted feathers. “The kind that trades in black market parts.”

She flinches. “Old or new?”

“New,” I say grimly.

“Fuck.” Her chest expands on a ragged breath. “Okay. Go on.”

“The place I stumbled across in Hellevig looked like the Bloody Court’s chop shops. Rhosyn’s name came up, along with the initials BC. I thought you might know something, given your familiarity with their particular brand of hospitality.”

At the mention of the Bloody Court, Amara freezes. Magic crackles through the air, and the ground trembles beneath my feet. It’s only a matter of time before she ascends. It’s getting to be a constant low-level pressure as the realm stretches itself to accommodate another Eternal; it’s carving out space for her.

“Names changed a lot in the pits,” she finally says. “Some we chose, others forced on us by—” She breaks off, swallowing hard. “Rhosyn’s not one I recall, but there’s a lot I carved out afterward. Some memories aren’t worth holding on to.”

I nod. Remembering is its own kind of cruelty. No matter how deep we bury the bodies, they always find ways to dig themselves back up. Haunting us in the midnight hours and scratch scratch scratching their way out of the silt.

“Of course,” I say. “If anything comes to you—any scrap of information—”

“I’ll tell you.” A humorless laugh. “Nothing quite like a stroll down that blood-soaked memory lane, right? Almost as fun as your walks through Turpori’s ashes.”

I wince. “Amara.”

“Just promise me something. If you have to bring Alexios into this, swear to me you won’t let him find me, okay? I don’t want him to know I was taken to the pits or what I did to survive it. He can’t—I need him to still think—”

Something in me gentles. Behind the hard exterior, she’s still that frightened girl who fought and killed and clawed her way through that nightmare, only to emerge with pieces of herself missing.

“You have my word.”

“I just… I hear the realm whispering, you know? And I think that means I’m going to become—”

“An Eternal. I know. I feel it.”

She plays with the ring on her finger. The only thing she’s kept that belonged to her Chosen. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“We’ll handle it.”

It’s been five centuries since my ascension. The memories have faded, leaving only impressions behind—the cold, the crushing pressure. The way magic shredded me apart before putting me back together. I had my brother with me when I crawled out of my own ashes, steadying me as the realm heaved and bucked to accommodate a new Eternal.

The price of godhood, my mother once told me, is that you have to die first.

“There’s a place far from any demis,” I tell her. “Where you can let go without collateral damage. I’ll help you through the worst of it.”

“Alexios and Severin are going to feel it,” she points out.

I shrug. “Then I’ll combust a mountain. Throw a destructive tantrum and let them think it was one of my moods.”

“And if Alexios skins you alive for it?”

“Nothing I haven’t endured before.”

She runs a hand through her hair, visibly composing herself. Her expression flattens, the walls bricking up. “Thank you,” she whispers.

“Yeah, well. Don’t mention it. Seriously, not a fucking word to anyone. I’ve got a reputation as a heartless bastard to maintain.”

Amara snorts, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. Her gaze drifts across the garden to where the Devaliant launches another blade. “She’s getting good. Fast reflexes, natural talent. Who would have thought?”

Pride flutters through me. “Me. Why do you think I let her live?”

“Because you’re dying to fuck her?”

“Such a filthy mouth. Why do I keep you around, again?”

Amara gives me a look. “Because I’m one of a handful of gods who can stand you, and you need as many friends as you can get. You want to tell me why you keep looking at her with those eyes?”

Fuck’s sake.

“What eyes?” I ask, playing stupid.

“You know what eyes, dumbass. Something’s shifting between you two.”

A memory flickers of the Devaliant in my arms as I flew with her over the Osbu. Her laughter when I caught her and pulled her close.

Just for today. For this moment, I trust you.

My chest squeezes. I shake off the image, burying the sense-memory down deep. “Nothing’s changing. We’re playing a game. She entertains me until she doesn’t.”

“Right.” Amara gives a short laugh. “Just entertainment.”

I count to ten and try to remember that when Amara isn’t being an irritating little shit, I actually enjoy her company. Strangling her would solve nothing. And it would be messy.

“Why do you care? You’re the one who dumped her in my garden and said, ‘She’s your problem now, asshole. Have fun killing her.’”

“Things change,” she says. “People, too—usually when we’re too busy looking the other way to notice. Suddenly, they don’t fit into the neat little boxes we’ve shoved them into.”

“Then I break their bones until they fit.”

Forgetting is not an option. Neither is forgiveness.

“Just remember,” she tells me. “Some games have no winners. Only casualties.”

A cold, hard knot keeps tightening in my gut. Time to shut this down before we both say shit we can’t take back.

“Stop,” I say flatly. “I’d hate for this to get unpleasant.”

Amara lifts a brow. “Unpleasant for whom? You? Me? Her?”

I don’t trust myself to answer. Jerking my chin toward the sky, I say, “Go on. I’ll finish out the lesson. And don’t forget to reapply the powder to your wings if you want to hide that color.”

Amara’s mouth thins, but she’s already stepping back and angling her body to prepare for flight. The wind picks up, stirring her dark wings.

“I’m going. But Evander? If you have to destroy her, don’t break her heart to do it.”

Then she launches skyward with a powerful downstroke that shakes the branches around me. I watch until she disappears behind the swaying trees, her words echoing like an accusation.