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Naia’s body went rigid.

Cassian’s head cocked like an intrigued predator. He pulled a hand from his pocket and swiped a finger over his bottom lip. “You have my attention.”

“I will also give back all the souls I have harbored from you in my ghouls.”

No.

Cassian would torture Finnian. Blatantly make him suffer for all the necromancy he’d performed over the centuries. She couldn’t allow him to do this.

“I refuse.” Naia positioned herself between the two gods, shooting Finnian a hard look. “This is my decision. Leave at once, Finny.”

“You are wrong.” Bold and emotionless, this was Finnian from the night of the charity event—meticulously calculated, intervening with purpose. All his soft, endearing qualities preserved and tucked away. This version of him perturbed her. “Lord Cassian will decide how the debt of your curse is paid now.”

Naia whirled around to Cassian, her stomach curdling at the sight of keen, malicious intent.

His teeth shined in a heinous smile. “Very well. I accept your offer, Finnian.”

“No. No!” Naia’s fists came up in the air, demanding to be heard. “Lord Cassian, you cannot. It’s my curse. It’s up to me to make the sacrifice.”

Cassian’s golden-jeweled gaze flickered down onto her. “You still are, Little Goddess. Your cherished brother. Such a delightful loophole and it favors me. I eliminate a pesky termite, and you reunite with your loved ones.”

Naia’s jaw trembled, conflicted. Wanting nothing more than to return, but not at the expense of Finnian’s anguish.

She turned to her brother. “Take it back.”

He crossed the space between them and pushed her stringy, wet strands over her shoulder. “Do not fret, Sister. I will survive.”

She frowned. “You will suffer.”

He smiled. “Torment does not frighten me.”

It never had. Memories from his boyhood played behind Naia’s eyes. All the stubborn, strong-willed looks he gave Mira after she’d inflicted morbid acts of pain on him. A bone-deep defiance he expressed when he was told to do something he did not agree with. His passionate retaliation that transformed Mira’s great hall into a mangled graveyard after Arran’s death.

Finnian’s eyes burrowed into hers with a million unsaid words.

She knew her brother well enough to know when he was being methodical. Finnian would never give up his precious undead creatures, and his livelihood and status in Hollow City without a plan.

It dawned on her then—when she’d sent him to find a way to break the curse, he’d found it. He must’ve learned it required sacrifice, which is why he did not tell her. It was the last thing he wanted her to do. And because conniving was a sport for Finnian, he plotted ahead in case she had figured it out—pop in and steal Ash’s blood, and trade places with her.

Finnian must’ve had his own agenda, and this exchange was him asking her to let him go.

In return, he granted her freedom—true, unrestricted freedom.

And she knew better than anyone else, when Finnian made a decision, nobody could change his mind.

Her happiness and grief intertwined as she accepted the reality that to remain at Ronin’s side with their son, she would have to let go of her little brother. For good, this time.

She gritted her teeth, debating whether to punch him or hug him. “You bastard.” Her eyes overflowed with tears as she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. He smelled of licorice and herbs, the deep spice of magic, of home.

With a hearty laugh, Finnian squeezed her waist tightly.

“Go,” he whispered, “and enjoy your life, Naia.”

37

PUT TO REST

Naia was dropped a mile from the Kahale residence, off the coast she first washed up on.