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Now I run.

He’s so still. Too still.

Hecan’tbe dead. Not here, in the landofthe dead. This is where fae get to spend their afterlife.

I stop when I get to that stone slab. My connection pulses once, as if to confirm that this isn’t some illusion.

I reach out, my hand trembling. I’m almost afraid to touch him. Something thick lodges in my throat.

I thought I’d be elated, finding Des. Instead, I feel like I’m losing him all over again.

His long eyelashes kiss the top of his cheeks, and his white hair is fanned around him. He looks like all those bespelled people in the fairy tales, sleeping some eternal sleep. He’s beautiful and heartbreaking to look at.

“Des,” I repeat, my voice pleading. With a shaky hand I touch his cheek; his skin is clammy and cold. “Wake up.”

He doesn’t move.

My fingers trail down his face, over his chin and past his neck, stopping at his heart. I press my palm to it. Beneath my touch, his heart beats sluggishly.

He’salive—whatever that means at this point.

I feel weak with relief for several seconds, until I remember that the sleeping soldiers were technically alive too, suspended in a state much like this.

A bit of me dies at the thought. My Night King reduced to this.

Behind me, a man clucks his tongue.

“Youdon’t belong here.”

My skin pricks at the familiar voice.

I turn, and it’s only now that I notice the flickering torch lights and candelabras beating back an unnatural darkness.

The Thief of Souls stands amongst it all, and he’s exactly as he’s appeared in my dreams. Inky hair and upturned, empty eyes. Pale skin and a mouth that’s far too soft for the rest of his face.

Finally the two of us meet in the flesh.

He begins to clap. “Well done, well done, enchantress. You figured out how to find me. And here I thought you were utterly useless at solving problems. I should’ve known you’d simply need the right”—his eyes slide to Des—“incentive.”

My skin is still glowing, but now I unleash the full force of my glamour.

“Wake my mate up,” I demand.

The Thief’s eyes shine with interest. He walks over to Des, staring down at the Night King for a moment. Lifting a hand, the Thief holds it over the Bargainer’s face. I sense dark magic gathering in his palm, but then he closes his hand and withdraws it.

“I don’t think I want to do that,” the Thief says.

How could he defy us?

“Don’t look so surprised,” he says. “You didn’t really think that was going to work on me now, did you?” The Thief’s eyes still spark, but he doesn’t have the look of a glamoured fairy.

He saunters over to me, and I watch him with angry eyes.

The Thief stops right in front of me. “Tell me, howdoyou plan on slaying me and reclaiming your mate?” With a finger, he lifts one of my holsters. “Surely not withtheseweapons? Were you hoping to use them against me?” The Thief’s mouth curves up. He pulls the blade out and tosses it aside. “I’m sorry to tell you that you can’t kill me with any of the little toys you brought.”

And … there goes what plans I did have.

Slowly, the Thief circles me, reaching out as he does so to remove various weapons. All the while he looks bored and unimpressed.