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“What are you doing?”

He pauses his chants, but his hand still twists and flicks. “Removing a ward.”

Removing a ward? What ward?

“There are worlds where magic has no effect on me,” he says conversationally. “And worlds where it does. This is the latter.”

So he’s affected by magic? And the ward in question—is this something he placed on himself? Something he’s now lifting?

If so,thatchanges things.

“Why are you telling me this?” My voice wavers mid-sentence as an arm winds around my torso and yanks me back.

“I want to hear you sing,” he says as he finishes.

I feel the subtlest stir in the air as the ward dissolves away. It was so expertly crafted that I didn’t detect its presence, and now I barely notice its departure.

“No holds barred,” Euribios continues. “I want to feel what all those men felt when they died at your kind’s feet.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“You’re not immune to my glamour?” I ask, my skin glowing. It’s slow to process, partly because I have a horde of dead fae trying to drag me under—butholy shit.

He smiles a little, his eyes narrowing. “Enchant me, if you can.”

The siren surges.

We canenthrallhim.

My wings protrude, my claws sharpen and my scales shift and resettle along my forearms. My glamour thrums against my skin and coats my throat.

At the display, the dead around me grow frenzied, grabbing me and dragging me down with greater urgency.

I fight against them, but it’s a losing battle.

And just when things were becoming halfway interesting.

Of course, that’s the entire reason why the Thief removed the ward. He wants to hear my glamour when I pose no threat.

If he can fall prey to us, then we’ll always be a threat.

My neck slides under the water, my chin skimming the surface. I part my lips. There are only two things I want from him: one, for the Thief to release his hold on Des; and two, for him to die.

He looks undaunted. “Any attempts you make on my life will be thwarted. I have my own tricks too, enchantress.”

Then saving Des it is. I’m trying to piece together the correct order when the spirits of the pool jerk hard on me. My mouth slips beneath the surface, and I have to tilt my head back to speak.

Time’s up.

“Come join me in the water,” I breathe, and then I’m dragged under.

The blood rushesthrough my veins, my siren singing as I call a god to me. Tous.

This has been a decade in coming. This is what I was born to do.

Only now am I finally listening to the siren’s call.

Some of the spirits release me, swarming over to this new creature. Even with my glamour, I can tell the dead find him infinitely more interesting. He’s a god, which makes him more than just alive. He’s eternal.