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The Veil will fall.

The tide will turn when her blade is drawn.

A dawn of fire and blood.

The prophecy had haunted the midrealms for decades, but now… now they were watching it come to pass before their very eyes. Having carried a Naarvian steel blade for years before Wilder had caught her, Thea had always doubted its validity and the way it had shaped their history, but what had once been a distant string of words was now their present, and there was no denying the power of fate.

‘How long?’ she heard herself say. ‘How long do we have until the reapers finish rallying together and move against the midrealms?’

‘A matter of days.’ Then, a sob broke from Artos, and he began to cry, taking great gulps of air, the sound pitiful.

Thea nudged Wren. ‘Does he need more of your potion? He’s sounding like that madman again.’

But Wren shook her head. ‘He’s not in a thrall or anything like that. Those tears are his own.’

It was pathetic. The man before them had ended kingdoms, had created monsters in the shadows and inflicted them upon the realm, and yet here he was… a snivelling mess. With a noise of disgust, Thea turned her back on him and addressed their company.

‘The way I see it, while we wait for our own scouts to return and report, we haven’t got much choice but to take him at his word. If someone wants to keep him talking, then by all means do so. But whatever we do, I suggest we take our conversation elsewhere now.’

There was a murmur of agreement, and most of them started for the stairs, shoulders sagging in exhaustion and defeat. Though she wasn’t ready to admit it, Thea felt much the same.

‘I’ll stay with His Majesty,’ Anya said, twirling her blade. ‘I’m sure there’s a detail or two missing from his sorry story.’

Thea’s heart sank. She grabbed Anya’s arm. ‘If you want to dabble in revenge rather than save what’s left of this world, then be my fucking guest. But maybe you should think about how you wish to leave the world… Better, for having had you in it? Or a mirror of the pain you experienced? If that is what you want your legacy to be, then so be it. Just know that it doesn’t make you different. It makes you the same as all the rest.’

Anya jerked out of her grip as though burnt. ‘So fucking be it, then.’

Her sister’s words landed like a closed fist to her gut, and Thea stood there, blinking, as Anya turned away from her and brandished her scythe at Artos.

‘Where were we?’

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Thea started up the stairs. She could never know the true depths of Anya’s suffering, what she’d gone through because of the man in chains before her now. She had just hoped that she and Wren would be enough to pull Anya out of her own shadows, before it was too late. Thea wasn’t so sure of that now.

Just as she shut the trapdoor behind her, she heard the first harrowing scream.

CHAPTER FORTY

THEA

Leaving Anya to her torture, Thea was the last to emerge from the cellar, and did so with shock as she surveyed the tavern. What seemed like only moments before, it had been teeming with life, and now… the Singing Hare stood frozen in time, an eerie scene of abandoned chaos. Upturned chairs littered the floor; half-eaten meals, now cold and unappetising, were left scattered across the tables, while the drinks, once frothy and inviting, had congealed, the condensation on the tankards long gone. The stale scent of panic permeated the air and the tavern itself, once a haven of revelry, was now desolate.

The others were waiting, uncertainty etched on their faces.

Wilder’s eyes flicked to the trapdoor in a silent question, but Thea gave him a subtle shake of her head. It was to Everard that she looked next, nervous energy flitting through her. The tavern owner was behind the bar, cleaning glasses with a rag, his cheeks drained of colour.

‘Gotta keep my hands busy to keep them steady,’ he told her when he met her gaze, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his terror.

‘What happened here, Everard?’ she asked, approaching the counter, careful not to tread on the broken glass across the floor.

‘Darkness swept through the tavern, like a mist at everyone’s feet. I don’t know what it was – a warning of sorts, perhaps. People panicked. They fled…’ He gestured to the mess. ‘The end of days is here at last. Help yourself to whatever you’d like. We’re not long for this world now, however valiantly you all fought.’

Thea opened her mouth to speak, but found herself suddenly lost for words. The end of days is here at last. She had always known that her time in the midrealms would be fleeting, but she had never assumed the same for the people she loved. Wilder, Wren… Cal and Kipp, Anya… All of them deserved their futures. They all —

‘No liquor for anyone.’ Kipp’s voice cut through her thoughts, his command surprising. ‘Water and tea only. We need clear heads. Where can we work, Everard?’

‘Wherever the fuck you’d like, lad. The Singing Hare is all yours.’

‘Wrong,’ Kipp said sharply. ‘It’s yours. The Laughing Fox is mine, or will be one day. And I don’t mean to see it overrun by shadow any time soon. I will not go quietly into the fucking darkness… Will you?’