The Shadows

Strange where you ended up. Now, he welcomed the coming pain—because it might just be his ticket back to Selena. Gossip held that you didn’t get into the Fade if you committed suicide, but if you were killed?

Not your fault.

There was, of course, an existential issue to be reconciled: namely how the pair of them, coming from different traditions, could in fact find each other on the other side of life. If there was another side.

But if faith had any power, he was going to believe they would.

He might as well go out on that note.

Gradually, he became aware of two other presences in the room with him and AnsLai. And one of them sparkled from head to foot in a rainbow of colors.

The Queen.

She began speaking to AnsLai after the high priest bowed down to her. And then AnsLai was straightening, talking, looking alarmed . . . then panicked.

The Queen approached Trez—and after a lifetime of hating the female, he thought idly of reaching up and trying to strangle her.

He didn’t have the strength, however. Especially not as the pain intensified even further.

He hadn’t intended to move, but he began to writhe, his body trying to escape the poison.

And then suddenly his entire suit of flesh was on fire on the inside.

The last thing he remembered was more people racing into the room, and they did not drop to the floor. They stared at the Queen in confusion.

And then the Chief Astrologer in his red robes addressed them all.

A moment later, they did hit the floor before the female.

Oh, what did it matter, Trez thought.

What did any of this, even the monumental pain, matter . . .

EIGHTY-THREE

That fallen angel got them to the Territory.

And as iAm re-formed, he realized it was a good thing that Lassiter had taken control of the flight. With his brother in the clutches of the Queen, he doubted he would have been able to concentrate enough to dematerialize.

“I’ll take it from here,” iAm said.

“Got your back.”

With a nod of gratitude, iAm strode over to the front entrance of the s’Hisbe. Among the things the Brotherhood had given him as parting gifts were a couple of pounds of C4 plastic explosive. All he had to do was set a serving or two of it up at the huge gates and—

As if the entrance to the s’Hisbe wanted to avoid bodily harm, the giant halves split and opened before the pair of them.

But it wasn’t a fortuitous departure of someone on the far side.

s’Ex stood tall and proud, the perfect guard to the Queen’s lands.

Except . . . something was all wrong. The male was wearing the kind of farshi servant dress he’d given to iAm before, and it was dripping with blood.

There was also a red-stained, serrated dagger in his hand that was as long as a male’s forearm.

“We don’t have a lot of time, come on,” the male said urgently.

Ordinarily, iAm would have thought twice about going anywhere with a Grim Reaper like that. But he’d already trusted the male once—and it was clear there was a coup in play.

Falling into a jog, he and Lassiter followed the executioner to the palace complex and entered the compound through a hidden door. Once inside, s’Ex led them through corridors that were utterly empty.

No servants. No courtiers.

And s’Ex had no apparent concern that they would be detained, questioned . . . threatened.

The male had either lost his mind or . . .

“What the hell is going on here?” iAm demanded.

“You’re the Anointed One, not your brother.”

iAm stopped so fast that Lassiter had jump to the side or mow him down. “What.”

“No time. Your brother’s being cleansed—he’s on death’s door. If you want to say good-bye to him, you’d better hurry up.”

As iAm just stood there, like someone had unplugged him, Lassiter and s’Ex grabbed him under the arms, jacked his feet off the ground, and carried him off.

A second later, he came to and forced his way out of their holds, taking control of his own feet. “It’s not possible,” he shouted over the pounding of their footfalls.

“The Queen forged the charts. You were the one all along—but you weren’t supposed to live for long after the birth. Trez was the better bet—for the Queen and for your parents.”

All at once, they burst into the main audience hall, and iAm found his feet faltering again.

Up on the dais . . . his maichen—the Princess—Christ, whoever the hell she was—was having the crown of the Territory placed upon her dark hair.

As about two thousand Shadows fell to their knees on woven silk mats, their heads bowing in supplication.

“She figured it out,” s’Ex said. “She figured it all out—even though it nearly cost her her life.”

“Where is the former Queen?”

“At the feet of the daughter.”

That was when he saw the severed head off to the side, black eyes staring out at the crowd, but seeing nothing.

“I believe in fate,” the executioner said. “I believe in the stars. This is the way it was meant to be.”

iAm shook himself. This was all really too much, and nothing that really concerned him. Trez, on the other hand. “My brother . . .”

“This way.”

* * *