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Except …

Bryce looked behind her. More light glowed in that direction.

“Looking for the exit?” said a dry female voice. “It’s that way.”

Bryce turned, and Jesiba was there.

The golden light rippled and faded, and they stood upon a green hill in a lush, gentle land. The land she’d glimpsed that day after the attack in the spring—when she had believed Connor and the Pack of Devils had been safe and protected in the Bone Quarter.

It was real.

“Quinlan.”

She turned to Jesiba. “Are we dead?”

“Yes.”

“Did the others—”

“Alive, though the Asteri are not.” A wry nod. “Thanks to you.”

Bryce smiled, and felt it beam through her. “Good. Good.” She breathed in a lungful of the sweet, fresh air, noted the tang of salt, a hint of sea nearby—

“Quinlan,” Jesiba said again. “You have to go back.”

Bryce angled her head. “What do you mean?”

“To life,” Jesiba said, irritable as always. “Why else do you think I’m here? I traded my life for yours.”

Bryce blinked. “What? Why?”

“Holstrom can fill you in on the particulars of my existence. But let’s just say …” Jesiba walked up to her and took her hand. “That Archesian amulet isn’t merely for protection against my books or against demons. It’s a link to Midgard itself.”

Bryce glanced down at her chest, the slender gold chain and delicate knot of circles dangling from it. “I don’t understand.”

“The amulets first belonged to the librarian-priestesses of Parthos. Each was imbued with Midgard’s innate magic—the very oldest. The sort every world has, for those who know where to look.”

“So?”

“So I think Midgard knows what you did, in whatever way a planet can be sentient. How you freed Avallen, not because you wanted to claim the land for yourself, but because you believed it was right.”

At Bryce’s surprised expression, Jesiba said, “Come, Quinlan. I know how ridiculously soft-hearted you can be.” The words were dry, but her face was soft.

“What does that have to do with”—Bryce gestured around them—“all this?”

“As thanks for what you did for Midgard … we are being allowed this trade, as it were.”

Bryce blinked, still not getting it. “A trade?”

Jesiba plowed ahead, ignoring her question. “The Parthos books are yours now. Protect them, cherish them. Share them with the world.”

Bryce stammered, “How can you possibly, and why would you possibly—”

“A hundred thousand humans marched at Parthos to save the books—to save their centuries of knowledge from the Asteri. They all knew they wouldn’t walk away. I had to run, that day. To protect the books, I ran from my friends and my family, who fought to buy me time.” Her eyes gleamed. “You went into that portal today knowing you wouldn’t walk away, either. I can offer now what I couldn’t then, all those years ago. My family and friends are long gone, but I know they’d want to offer this to you, too. As our own thanks for freeing our world.”

Bryce reeled. Jesiba had been at Parthos when it fell?

“The books are yours,” Jesiba said again. “And so is the gallery’s collection. The paperwork’s done.”