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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

GABE

Those who are strongest will rule over the weak. This is how the world is structured; this is what pleases Me.

T hey fought about whether to go get the Fount piece. Mari tried to be the voice of reason, reassuring them that even if Eoin had taken their ship, they had a deal, and as long as they stuck to it, surely he would give them the shard and help rescue Alie and Lore.

“Deals have much more weight with poison runners than politicians,” Malcolm said, and Mari stayed quiet after that.

She was right in that Eoin taking the ship didn’t automatically mean he was going back on their agreement.

But the whole thing put a sour taste in Gabe’s mouth, and his intuition—and the god in his head—told him to run.

He’d learned it was best to listen to the one, even if he didn’t really trust the other.

Gabe wanted to find the piece and leave right away, but Malcolm was more measured in his approach. Even if they managed to take the piece and get out of the Rotunda without tripping some alarm, now that Val’s ship was gone, there was no way to leave Caldien without stealing another.

“There’s a way,” Gabe growled, thinking of threads of fire and earth.

“No,” Malcolm said, almost before he finished speaking. “No.”

Bereft of other options, the plan now was to steal a ship.

After the meeting of the Brotherhood tonight, Gabe and Malcolm would return to the boardinghouse, in case they were still being followed.

Then they’d sneak out the back, return to the Rotunda, and steal the stone while Val, Mari, and Michal found something suitably small and unguarded in the harbor.

Eoin would undoubtedly know who’d taken it, but hopefully they’d be halfway to the Mount before he discovered the Fount shard was gone.

So for now, they all pretended at business as usual.

Gossip between Auverraine and Caldien moved slowly, but not that slowly.

The news of Alienor Bellegarde and Jax Aronicus’s wedding being moved up was already making the rounds.

Yet more gossip came in the form of Finn, tapping nervously at the table with his fingernails as he sat in front of a rapidly cooling cup of tea in the boardinghouse kitchen, an open letter before him.

Mrs. Cavendish had long since gone out to market, but she’d left a plate of biscuits on the counter. Gabe grabbed one and ate it without tasting, trying to decide if he was going to ask Finn what was wrong or not.

He narrowed his eye at the letter, reading it from a safe distance.

Then he dropped his biscuit.

“What does that say?” He knew what it said—he’d just read it. But he wanted to hear it confirmed.

Finn, for his part, didn’t seem upset to find him peering over his shoulder. He shook himself, frowned at his tea. “Hells, this needs whiskey.” Still, he drained the cup before answering. “Apparently, the Queen has escaped from the Second Isle. The Sainted King is sending all hands to capture her.”

Alarm bells rang in Gabe’s head, the smell of burning.

He’ll take her , Hestraon murmured. He’ll take her again. They’ll leave you alone.

“How do you know it’s true?” Gabe asked. “It’s impossible to escape the Isles.”

“Apparently your Hemlock Queen is quite resourceful.” Finn cocked a brow. “I got the news from my contact in the Citadel. And they’re the acting Priest Exalted, so they would know.”

Alexis, then. They would certainly know.

“Fuck,” Gabe seethed, marching into the hallway. “ Fuck. ”

He felt his edges wavering. Felt the outer reaches of himself going to light and heat.

Can You promise to let me go, after? Gabe asked. Will You give me back to myself?

The god waited a moment before answering. I can make no promises.

“Then leave me alone,” Gabe snarled.

He rushed up the stairs to Malcolm’s room, hammered on the door. It opened to reveal a sleepy-eyed Michal, a blanket drawn around his naked torso. “Gabe?”

Gabe pushed past him, into the room. Malcolm was already awake, similarly bare-chested at the small desk pushed against the wall. When Gabe stormed in, he turned around, brows furrowed. “You seem upset.”

Astonishing deduction, but Gabe didn’t snap at him. “Lore has escaped from the Isles. There’s an order out for her capture. If Apollius gets to her before we do, it’s over.”

Malcolm blew out a slow breath. “We’re leaving tonight. Once we get to the Mount—”

“We’re leaving now.”

“Gabriel. I understand your worry, but Lore can take care of herself—”

“She shouldn’t have to.” The words hissed between Gabe’s teeth. “I have to do something to save her. If He hurts her, if He uses Bastian to do it—”

“Bastian barely exists anymore, Gabe,” Michal said gently, still standing by the wall. His expression was drawn and tired, someone who had given up hope and was pained to see another hold it. “Even if we put the whole Fount back together, we don’t know what will remain of him.”

Quick as called fire, Gabe was across the room, his hand vised around Michal’s neck. Distantly, he heard Malcolm shout, but he wasn’t listening. His mind was all jumping flame and ember-spark.

“He’s in there,” Gabe said. “And we will save him. We will save Lore.”

Michal nodded, as much as he could against the hand on his neck.

Gabe let him go, slowly. When he turned around, Malcolm’s fist met his nose.

It wasn’t undeserved. Gabe knew that, now that the fire in his head was fizzling. He bent double, catching blood in his hand.

“Get a hold of yourself,” Malcolm snarled, hands still in fists. “Do you understand me, Gabriel?”

A nod, blood streaming down to his lip. It tasted metallic, sickeningly warm.

You are soft , Hestraon said. And you are a coward.

Gabe didn’t argue.

“We steal the piece tonight,” Malcolm continued, his voice a strained kind of even.

“We leave on whatever ship Val and Mari and Michal can nick from the harbor. We head to the Mount. The chances of Lore being caught between then and now are negligible.” He sighed, fists loosening.

“Just hold on for one more day, all right? We’re doing all we can. ”

Not all.

But Gabe nodded. He left the room, went to his own. He sat on his bed and stared at the wall, thinking of Lore and Bastian and Alie, all these people he loved and couldn’t save.

He stayed in his room until night began to fall, coating the window in veils of darkness. Through the wall, Gabe could faintly hear Malcolm and Michal whispering. He couldn’t make out most of it, just a word here and there.

Unstable. Stronger. Worried.

Gabe should be worried. He knew that. He should be worried that he was hearing Hestraon, seeing the god’s memories. He should be worried at how easily he’d taken to this power. How tempted he was by the idea of losing himself.

But his most prevalent feeling, when he thought of his magic, was a deep, awful satisfaction.

For so long, he had toed every line, played by every rule.

He still thought of that night in Lore’s room, when they were just a monk and a poison runner.

How he’d denied himself, denied her, for a mandate that no one else cared about.

He’d never thought himself worthy of love without caveats. In that, he and Hestraon were alike. But caging himself into being worthy had done nothing but keep him trapped.

Malcolm met him by the door, both of them already covered in their black cloaks. They didn’t speak as they started toward the Rotunda.

It took him until the round building loomed into the sky to say something. “I’m sorry,” Gabe breathed.

A nod. “Michal is the one who deserves an apology.”

“Fair. He’ll get one.”

Malcolm sighed. “I understand. Truly, I do.” He glanced sideways, expression soft. “But we can’t be reckless with this. The stakes are too high. The whole damn world is in the balance here.”

Gabe cared less and less about the world. Not if it would cost him Lore. Not if it would cost him Bastian.

Down in the belly of the Rotunda, the Brotherhood waited silently. Eoin’s expression was eager, his hood the only one left down. Behind him, the copper door gleamed on the wall, fired shut and unassailable.

There was no preamble. Eoin already had the cup in his hand; he dipped it into the false Fount. Instead of passing it around the room, he drank the whole goblet dry.

Malcolm and Gabe shared a concerned look. Eoin was a fool, and these meetings were nothing but theater; still, the change in routine felt ominous.

Eoin dropped the goblet. It fell to the floor, rolled toward the Fount, clinked lightly against the side.

Water streamed down his chin; he wiped it away, eyes strangely bright.

“Something different tonight, friends,” he said, turning to Gabe.

Malcolm. “Instead of just showing us your power, I want you to walk us through it. Tell us exactly how it works, as if you were explaining the steps for use.”

Gabe narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Precisely what I said.” Eoin wiped his mouth again. “Channel fire. Talk me through it, in detail, as if you were going to pass on the power to someone who needed to know the mechanics.”

That was rather unsettling, especially with Eoin’s eyes so bright, so eager. Especially with the door welded shut behind him, hiding the Fount piece.

But if Eoin had designs on Hestraon’s power, he was destined to be disappointed. The only way it could pass through death was for a god to do the killing.

He didn’t really need to close his eyes to call fire, but Gabe did, evening out his breathing, letting his body fall into channeling-space. He remembered doing this to channel Mortem, what felt like ages ago.

Calling fire felt different than calling death ever had. Death had never belonged to him.

“Block out all other distractions.” This was bullshit, and Gabe had never been very good at bullshitting. Trying to explain how to channel to someone who couldn’t was like trying to tell a rock how to make rain. “Concentrate on the atmosphere until it begins to break down into parts.”