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An understanding?

The soldiers encircling me suddenly stop fighting, falling at ease.

“So we did,” one of them says.

I stare around at them. Among the group, Des’s dad begins to straighten. Beyond us, the other sleeping soldiers are still locked in battle, unaware that the fighting in this pocket of the room has stopped.

That thought has no sooner crossed my mind than Galleghar disappears, materializing once again in front of me, sword aimed. Before he can land a blow, a hand grabs his wrist, and twists, forcing Des’s father to relinquish the blade.

I follow the hand back to its owner, shocked to see it belong to a soldier.

“What are you doing?” Galleghar cries.

An instant later, Des flickers into existence at his back, locking him in a chokehold. “Awww, did you think you were the only one who made deals with this monster?”

My blood goes cold.

Des, what have you done?

Galleghar’s face twists into a grimace, and then he disappears, Des vanishing a split second after him. The two flash across the room, popping in and out of existence like fireworks.

I can smell blood and dark magic filling the air as the battle wages on.

Temper’s hair is beginning to levitate with her power, and she wears a wild grin as she fights her opponents. Malaki and Janus battle both in the sky and on the ground, using their wings to gain some advantage. The casket children have their fangs bared, their mouths bloody, and many of the sleeping soldiers have bloodstained blades.

It’s not going to be a clean win for either side.

And then there’s me, surrounded by a swath of sleeping soldiers who are now docile.

I glance around at them, pointing my dagger. “Why won’t you fight?” I ask, blood dripping from my wrist as I speak.

“I told already,” one of them says, “your mate keeps many secrets.”

I spin around, looking at each aggressor. From behind their eyes, the Thief of Souls smirks at me.

You and I had an understanding, the Bargainer had said.

“What’s the understanding you and Desmond have?” I ask, leveling the dagger at one of the soldiers’ throats.

“Really now, are you going to stab me with that?” the Thief asks, smirking at the blade.

Maybe. I don’t know. The threat is so obviously useless on him.

“What is the understanding?” I repeat.

Around us, screams echo through the room, accompanied by the wet sound of metal cleaving flesh. The air mists with blood. I can taste the barest tang of it on my lips.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The Thief and his games. I decided a while ago that I’d had enough of them.

I begin to push past the soldiers. If they won’t fight me, I’ll go help one of my comrades who is facing overwhelming odds. But as soon as I try to push my way through the crowd of them, they close off my exit.

“Get out of my way,” I say, my skin brightening.

But they stand resolute.

I want to scream. Every moment that passes, my friends grow tired and more injured.