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He hadn’t looked at me once during this conversation. His cooperation was thinner than a split hair. “It’s complicated.” There should be more to the story, but he never shared it. “Thebiggest difference between the two places is that the land of the living has a diversity of both good and evil. And down below…there’s only one type. Some are smarter and more calculating than others, but overall, they’re all vile.”

I stared at the side of his face. “You don’t seem vile.”

“Which is why I keep to myself mostly.”

“How do you do that as King of the Dead?”

“It sounds like a position of power, but it’s a position of servitude.”

“Who do you serve?—”

“Your company gives me joy.” He turned to look at me, his eyes not angry, but solemn in quiet sadness. “I don’t want to squander these moments thinking or talking about my eternal servitude.”

I’d never pitied someone so much. There was a grip of emotion on my heart, a pain that clutched my chest so tightly it was hard to breathe. But showing that sadness would only make it worse, so I let it lie. “Your company gives me joy too.”

9

LILY

My father was in his full armor with his cape, the symbol of the dragon in the center of his chest. He spun the sword around his wrist the way he always did before a battle commenced.

Zehemoth lay in the grass to watch our interaction, his eyes glued to us for entertainment. My father had brought us to the meadow so we could practice on the soft earth rather than the hard cobblestones of the courtyard.

He circled me and tried to pretend to decide where to strike when he already knew before he drew his sword. He stopped and stared me down, an act of intimidation that hadn’t worked in years. “I’m not going to go easy on you anymore,Zunieth.”

“Good.”

A subtle flash of pride moved across his eyes.

I wondered if Wrath was there. There were times when I thought I felt his presence. Felt the white-hot intensity that only he could produce. But I would never know because he only revealed himself to me in the absence of others.

My father launched himself at me, and he made good on his word and gave me a version of himself he’d never shown before. He was quicker, faster, and more ruthless than he’d ever been before.

I barely had the chance to block his sword when he came at me again, slicing his blade from my neck. There wasn’t time to react, so I used my vambraces to block his sword and drive him back.

But he was on top of me again, smothering me with his attack, using his free arm to slam into my body to topple me back.

I kept up, but barely, spending all my time on defense.

“Move faster—or he will defeat you.”

I dodged my father’s two-handed strike then scurried away to put distance between us.

He appeared feet away, standing in his full uniform and armor, a man who had more muscle than my own father.

I couldn’t respond, not without making it obvious I spoke to someone that only I could see.

My father didn’t let up, coming at me just the way those Barbarians had.

“You focus so much on your arms that you forget your feet.” Wrath circled us as we continued to fight, watching my movements and critiquing them in real time. “You will never defeat him in strength, only speed. Move with purpose, and your sword will follow.”

I was out of breath and already tired.

My father gave me no mercy.

“Come on,Xivin.”

“Argh.” I sidestepped my father’s sword then moved with a burst of energy, blocking the next hit then coming at him with a flurry of blows, ducking when his sword came at my neck, but still driving him back, retaking the advantage until I was the one on top of him.