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“You can’t do that,” Hel snapped. “You don’t have the weapons to do so.” His voice echoed in the vast chambers.

“We cannot kill your immortal souls, but we can kill your body if your immortal strength is drawn out and held. The council has decided you are henceforth stripped of your immortality, where it will be bound, and you will be mortal. Where you will live and die again and again until we decide enough is enough. May the All Mother and the Maker have mercy on you.”

Sweat slid down the back of War’s neck. With the combined power of the eleven council members, they could do this spell. He’d seen it done once before. Their immortality would be kept within a magical object. “No,” War said, rising to his feet. “Punish me. I am at fault. I’m the one who fell in love with Valeen and turned her against Hel and convinced her to come with me. I’m the one who started the wars. I took Soulender from the vault and killed Synick alone. These crimes are all mine. Let them go.”

The crowd behind them gasped at his admission.

Pricilla’s sharp eyes narrowed. The members of the council looked amongst each other. “If you produce Soulender and the Sword of Truth, we will show leniency.”

That was what this was truly about. Power. Whoever held those weapons had the ability to kill a god. He had no idea where either weapon was and even if he did, he wouldn’t give it to them. If they had the opportunity, they’d use them. This spell to bind their immortality was their second-best punishment; it allowed them to be reborn and perhaps one day come back.

Hel looked over at him, jaw muscles flickering. Hatred burned in that gaze, but he also silently pleaded with him not to tell. He assumed wrongly that War knew. Valeen never told him where Soulender was.

“No,” War said. And the people in the crowd murmured.

Pricilla’s sleek dark brows arched. “You’d rather be mortal, cursed to die and be born again and again than give us the weapons? The weapons belong to the council for protection and balance. Soulender has been grossly misused.” Her icy blue eyes cut to Valeen.

“It won’t matter how many times I live and die; you will never get Soulender back,” Valeen said resolutely.

“You would use the weapons against us,” War added.

“Stand down, War,” his father said firmly, stepping out of line. His gentle face pleaded with him to be quiet. “If you prove yourself worthy, you may come back someday.” He meant if they gave them either weapon, they could come back. If he convinced Valeen to hand Soulender over. No one knew what happened to the Sword of Truth but Synick and he was dead.

War dropped back down to his knees beside Valeen. He should have never taken her to his home that night… She turned to him, bottom lip trembling. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

His throat burned with emotion. “This is not your fault.”

“I’m scared,” she whispered. And he wished he could take her into his arms and carry her away from all this. “What if we never find each other?”

“I promise I will find you. I’ll always find you.” He turned to Hel. He pretended not to watch them, but he would be able to hear every word they said. His chin was held high and jaw tight. “Hel, will you forgive me?”

“Forgive you?” Hel set cold, unfeeling, unflinching eyes on him. “No, but I too will promise to always findyou,War, to torment you for the rest of time. You are no longer my brother.”

“Hel, please,” Valeen pleaded. “Don’t blame him. He’s your best friend, your blood. We should have stopped this a long time ago. I never wanted any of this to happen.”

“Oh, don’t worry, love. I’ll be sure to find you, too. See you on the other side.” He stood and said loudly, looking at each member of the council. “You’re making a mistake, for I am the god of mischief and magic. One day I will come back here, and I’ll end all of you. There will be no more gods of Runevale, save for me and whom I choose. That’s not merely a threat; it’s a vow.” He smiled, deadly, lethal. “Your actions today will give the goddess of night, the god of war and myself a common enemy. I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of the three gods most likely to end you all.” The chambers burst into chatter and murmurs. Some people even hurried for the exits. “That’s right, run cockroaches, I’ll be back.”

Thane was pulledfrom the memory when Fennan said, “You should go rest, Thane. You’ve been under too much stress lately.”

He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly at the bright light. Had he dozed off? “You’re right.” Thane pushed up from his chair and stepped out of his office into the hallway, closing the door gently behind him. Then he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, clenching his hands at his sides. The pain of losing her, of watching the hurt on Hel’s face flared up inside his chest.

He knew what happened after; a spell drew out Valeen’s immorality, a shimmering white essence pulled into a vial around the council leader’s neck, the core that made her body strong and impenetrable to weapons, disease, poisons, and time, the magic that made her unable to truly die. Then an ax came down on the back of her neck. It was the only time he’d ever seen Hel shed a tear, and the only moment War had ever given up on a fight…

How many times over the last two thousand years were they reborn and killed? Did the council recently find out who they were reborn as, and that’s why they only now sent an assassin? They’d never sent anyone before today… in this life. Hel was right. They didn’t want them together. They feared what the three of them might do.

Holy Maker, what if every time they rejoined, they were assassinated? He’d thought the gods abandoned this realm but—the ravens that followed him, the silver owl he’d seen out the window—his Runevale father’s messengers watched him all his life.

His heart lurched into his throat, and he shoved off the wall and moved toward her bedroom across the hall. Where was Layala—Valeen, gods he didn’t know what to call her. He threw open her door and found her room empty. The cleaners went through and stripped the bed, replaced the frame with a new white one, cleared the dirty clothes, swept the splinters of wood and broken glass, scrubbed the blood off the floor. It looked as if the assassin never came but she did. And Hel—he promised them torment. He whipped around—Piper was not an adequate guardian for what was coming.How could I be so foolish?

Chapter20

LAYALA

Layala stepped out of the dress shop into the afternoon sun. The bakery down the street brought with it the smell of sugary cakes and cinnamon twists, and her mouth watered at the delicious scents. Baskets of colorful flowers hung from the cream and gray buildings in this section of the city. Many of the shops on this street painted the ornate trim of their storefront a bright color of blue or green; the bakery was trimmed in light pink. Vendors didn’t shout in the cobblestone streets to get patrons as in other cities. It had a formality everyone seemed to inherently understand. Soft harps and flutes played, bringing a feeling of peace and harmony.

Groups of elves in fine clothes walked conservatively and serenely along the side paths of the main street. Offering waves and smiles to each other as they passed.

Two human street cleaners with a hand-pushed wagon, creaky wheels knocking over the cobblestone, stopped to clean up the horse droppings. The younger boy was first to pull his shovel and started whistling on his way over.