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First Galleghar sees his son lying on the stone altar, then he notices the Thief standing too close to me.

His eyes narrow on his partner. “How could you have left me to this human?” he accuses the fairy at my side.

The Thief of Souls steps away from me, appraising Galleghar. There’s nothing behind the Thief’s eyes, no camaraderie, no softness—nothing at all to indicate that these two have any sort of closeness.

“What, precisely, was I supposed to do?” the Thief asks. “The Night Queen has tamed my soldiers.”

“She isnota queen,” Galleghar says vehemently.

“She is,” the Thief insists.

Galleghar gives me a look that plainly says he still disagrees.

“You were supposed tokillher,” Des’s father says. “What the fuck happened to that plan?”

I can still remember the attack in Barbos; the Thief wouldn’t let me die there. Apparently I’m not the only one surprised by that.

Something in the air shifts, and the Thief’s magic churns. It feels violent.

“I did kill her. Back in Mara’s forest,” the Thief responds smoothly.

“And yet here she stands,” Galleghar says. “You had a perfectly good opportunity on Barbos, but you wouldn’t commit. Worse, you wouldn’t let me finish what youcouldn’t.”

The two stare at each other for several seconds, and I’m oddly calm about the whole thing, considering they’re discussing killing me.

“You made a mistake coming here,” the Thief says.

“No,” Galleghar’s voice rises, “youmade a godsdamned mistake, mooning over this mortal. You let your dick make decisions when we had a plan.”

The room practically crackles with power. I swear something is poised to happen.

“Kill her,” Galleghar says, striding towards us. “Or let me do it.”

The Thief gives him an indolent look.

“Kill her,” Des’s father repeats, insistent.

Magic floods the air. And still, the Thief makes no move.

It’s answer enough.

Galleghar’s upper lip curls. “You swore anoath. Uphold your end and kill—

“No.”

CRACK!

Magic splits the air, and Galleghar is blown back. His body slams into a wall of shelves, books and bones and jars all raining down from behind him. He crumples to the ground, moaning.

The Thief’s form ripples, like it’s a mirage, the magic so intense it bends the light. A darkness is gathering around the Thief, dimming the room.

I don’t know if this is the Thief’s borrowed power from Galleghar, or his own, but it’s uncannily like Des’s.

Des’s father looks shocked as he lays there. “Oathbreaker,” he whispers.

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised,” the Thief says, “I mean, you said it yourself—I didn’t kill her on Barbos when I could’ve.”

Galleghar’s voice begins to rise. “We had a deal!”