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I have to fight the urge to give him what he wants. And allIwant is to curl up against him and hear him say everything will be fine.

But he would be lying.

Because nothing will be fine.

In a few days, I might need tokillhim.

I shove at his chest. “What exactly do you think will happen once you become a god, Calysian?”

“Iama god.”

“You know what I mean. Say you don’t destroy my world. What will happen once you have your precious grimoires?”

Calysian’s gaze turns flat, and I shove again. He merely moves his hand from my hair, neatly capturing my wrists.

“You’ll go on living,” I snap. “Forever. And I won’t pine for you. I refuse. I’ll find someone, and I’ll live a normal, mortal life.” It will be a longer life than most—my hybrid blood is a gift that I can finally appreciate now that I’m free from that tower. But my life won’t be endless.

I wouldn’t want it to be.

There are only two possible outcomes if we continue this way: Calysian gets his grimoires and manages to temper his wrath, keeping our world safe even as he finds his vengeance. Or Calysian gets his grimoires and becomes a monster, and I’m forced to kill him.

Neither of these outcomes comes with a long, happy life for us.

I push against him with my hips and shoulder, until he releases my wrists and rolls off me, shoving one hand through his hair.

“What do you want from me, Madinia?”

I shake my head, wrapping a blanket around myself. “It doesn’t matter. It’s clear you’ll never be able to give it to me.”

His expression darkens as he gets to his feet. I leave him in the clearing, my chest tight, hands trembling as I dress.

When I return, the others are gathered around the fire. Asinia’s eyes search my face and I shake my head.

Demos is speaking quietly with Calysian. “When do you think your stallion will be able to travel?”

“Tomorrow, perhaps.”

Despite the bitterness flooding me, I can’t help but smile. I know Calysian wants to be traveling, wants to make his way towards the second grimoire.

But he won’t risk Fox.

That, more than anything gives me hope. Maybe, if he does manage to get the last two grimoires, he’ll be able to remain just mortal enough to retain some compassion. Some kindness.

Demos throws another log into the fire before getting to his feet to pace. “What do you know about Vicana?”

The words are simple, but his tone is filled with carefully banked fury. This is a man who spent years in Regner’s dungeon. A man who watched his friends and family die beneath the tyrannical rule of a power-hungry despot.

He won’t allow such a thing to happen again.

“She has been looking for the grimoires for years. She learned that the first grimoire would be brought to this continent—and that I had it—and she’s done everything she can to get her hands on it. Vicana has been stealing territory from Telanthris, and I have no doubt if she was to find a grimoire, she would create just as much pain and death and suffering as Regner—perhaps more.”

“So we have to prevent that from happening,” Rythos says.

“Yes,” Demos nods. “And we need to make such an example of her that any who think to follow in her footsteps will think again.”

My mind provides me with memories of that last battle—the screams, the stench, thesuffering.

Calysian moves to my side, wrapping his arm around me. It’s a possessive, proprietary move, and he ignores the dark look I send his way.