In the Ravenous Dark

by A. M. Strickland

  Kadreus’s red eyes only have a split second to take it in, to widen, before I throw, aiming right for his heart. I’ve never thrown something so hard, so fast, so accurately. I could have hit the eye of a needle, threaded it.

  Kadreus dodges with a mere blurring flick of his shoulders, his eyebrow already raised in derision. It’s too dangerous a weapon against a revenant, too solid a throw, to risk anything else.

  Except I wasn’t aiming for him. I only lined his heart up perfectly with his father’s skull.

  He hears the sharp crack as soon as I do. His father’s outraged shout is even louder.

  The shadows stop moving, revealing Ivrilos, hair disheveled, panting, gashes up on his arms and one on his thigh that ooze darkness instead of blood. He looks grateful for the respite. Athanatos appears untouched, except for his face twisting in contempt.

  “Fool,” he snarls at Kadreus.

  It’s there and gone on Kadreus’s face—the same look I saw when I said his father didn’t love him. The briefest flash of a little boy’s pain in a man’s rage.

  When he turns to me, all I see is hatred.

  “Kill her,” Athanatos says. “I may be forced to leave this fight unfinished because of your mistake. Hurry if you don’t want to face them both alone … although perhaps that would serve you right.” He doesn’t wait for a response. He simply launches himself at Ivrilos with renewed speed, and the two of them meet and melt back into a blur of shadows.

  Kadreus wastes no time. He has a hand around my throat, metal claws digging into my skin, before I can blink. I jam one half-moon blade into his side, but he doesn’t even flinch. I raise the other, and he catches my wrist, his own sword abandoned, and squeezes until my bones crack and snap, and my blade clatters on the ground. I scream, but he lifts me off the floor by my neck, choking me off.

  I can’t use any death magic without breath. For sigils, the fingers of my broken arm are useless. I hesitate too long in letting go of the weapon jammed in his side—long enough for him to sketch sigils of his own that break all those fingers. Pain lances through me, enough that my mind stumbles when I try to use the only sigil I know well enough to follow without sketching. When I finally move him, it’s feeble. He only pivots, still dancing, and slams me up against a wall. My toes dangle a foot off the ground.

  “Any more tricks up your sleeves?” he hisses. “Ah, yes.” It doesn’t take him long to find the second stake, bound beneath the wrappings on my other arm. His retrieval of it, jostling my fractures, would have made me scream again if I could.

  He raises the stake eye level between us, twisting it back and forth to examine it.

  I gurgle at him. My straining eyes follow the stake in his grip. I can feel my wrist and fingers quietly knitting back together. When the inevitable blow comes, I hope they’re strong enough to catch it before it reaches my heart.

  “I’m not done with you just yet,” he says. “First, a toast.”

  He strikes like a snake, lips parting to reveal elongated eyeteeth. I don’t have much of a glimpse before they’re buried in my neck. I can’t even gasp in shock or pain.

  I hear Ivrilos shout, but he can’t stop this.

  It’s like the old days, when I was still alive and my guardian would steal from me. Everything feels like it’s draining out of me. My wrist and my fingers stop healing. The world wheels around me. Without my feet on the ground I soon lose track of what is up or down, and the lights begin to fade. I barely notice the hand at my throat or when Kadreus’s teeth pull away; I feel so empty. Adrift.

  “Just delicious.” Kadreus’s voice floats toward me from far away. All I see are his red lips swimming before me. There’s a current I can feel against me, trying to carry me off.

  Part of me just wants him to let go.

  “It’s not broken, you realize,” he says, and I have a hard time understanding, at first. “The link to my father’s domain. It’s like severing only one rope of a bridge. It might not work correctly, be too precarious for proper use, but it’s not gone. And it could always be repaired.” Maybe he’s trying to reassure himself, or perhaps his father. “Are you prepared to go to the underworld to finish the job, Rovan?”

  Kadreus smiles into my face as he watches the news sink in. “I’m certainly planning on sending you there, for all the good it will do you. You’ve lost. I told you, you can’t beat me alone.”

  Then there’s another voice, and a face behind him that sharpens my focus and drags me against the current, closer toward the surface.

  “She’s never alone,” Lydea says over his shoulder—just as she rips Kadreus’s heart out through his back. The sigils she uses are magnificent, more powerful and yet more delicate than I’ve ever seen her use. It’s a work of violent art.

  Oddly, I can almost hear Japha’s voice echoing her. But maybe that’s because I’m dying. Again.

  It doesn’t stop me from smiling as Lydea tosses his heart aside like so much trash. Not even when Kadreus hurls me aside, and my head cracks on the stone floor like an egg.

  34

  If only Kadreus getting his heart torn out would kill him. But he remains standing, just with a gaping, impossible hole in his back.

  I can still see him from my vantage on the floor, my body like a broken doll’s, even though it looks as if I’m staring down a long dark tunnel. A tunnel that’s underwater. I hear Ivrilos crying out again. His memory of his mother and sister dying rises in my mind, clearer than my own vision. He’s trying to feed more of his essence into me, and his foremost memory must be coming with it. But it’s not enough, not after I’ve lost so much blood. And he can’t spare much of himself, not while fighting his father.

  “Don’t,” I try to say, but it comes out as a rasp.

  Kadreus thinks I’m talking to him—they always think that—and he turns to give me a grin, right before he seizes Lydea by the throat.

  She wasn’t ready for him. She obviously thought ripping out his heart would slow him down. But no. Only a stake of wood or bone piercing the heart can kill a revenant. The only stake like that left within reach is clenched in Kadreus’s hand.

  I can’t sketch sigils to snatch it away from him, not with my unhealed fingers. As my brain sluggishly tries to think of something to do from within the empty ruin of my body, I can only watch his hand tighten around Lydea’s throat as his sigils bind her limbs like invisible rope, even down to her fingertips.

  “Where is your sense of honor, dear Lydea?” He tsks at her. “You came at my back? Your king, no less?”

  “You can’t speak of honor. And you are no king, not anymore,” Lydea hisses. “I am your queen.”

  “We definitely can’t have that,” he says. I can’t see his face directly, but his rage is barely concealed under the calm mask of his tone. “I guess my line ends with you. So be it.”

  Lydea, absurdly, grins. She looks fierce, bright, even as Kadreus is trying to snuff her fire. “You forgot Delphia. She’s the one Alldan truly wants anyway. She’s the continuance of your line, and an alliance with Skyllea your end. They’re coming for you.”

  “I’d best make ready, then,” he says. And then he snaps her neck.

  It’s the sound of my own heart breaking.

  He tosses her body on the ground, shattered, like mine. The only difference is hers is unseeing. Her peplos is like spilled wine around her, and those dark, beautiful eyes stare sightlessly across the floor at me. Her limp hand, freed of its binds, almost looks like it’s reaching for me. But the stretch of black marble between us may as well be an ocean.

  Or the divide between worlds.

  Kadreus turns to me, flipping the stake in his hand, but I don’t even bother looking up. All I can see is her. If this is my end, I want her to be the last thing I see in the living realm.

  … And yet, I can’t help noticing the lumpy, wet shape on the floor right over her shoulder.

  Kadreus’s heart.

  I don’t have a stake, but I have something like it. Two thi
ngs.

  Move, move, move. The simple sigil I know better than any other. The one I can sketch without lifting a finger.

  Kadreus is too focused on me and my imminent second death to see what comes flying toward me. My ruined hands meet his heart and slam it numbly to my lips, crushing it to my open mouth. My teeth sharpen, stretch … and stab as deep as they can into the slippery muscle.

  Teeth. Bone. Close enough to stakes.

  Blood squirts into my mouth as I bite and suck. I squeeze his heart like a sponge in newly healed hands, tearing into it with renewed vigor. It feels so good, more intoxicating and potent than any blood I’ve had before. I barely hear Kadreus gasp. Then he screams as he falls to his knees.

  He keeps screaming. My teeth aren’t long enough, I suppose, to pierce all the way to the other side. But I’m working my way through it like a juicy slab of meat.

  My visions clears, my senses sharpen. Over the delicious meal pressed to my face and Kadreus’s shrieks, I realize I don’t see blurring shadows or hear any more fighting. And then I see Ivrilos stalk up behind his brother. He’s limping, but that doesn’t stop him from looking like the deadliest creature I’ve ever seen. He leans over Kadreus’s shoulder, and his dark eyes meet mine.

  He asks, “Mind if I share?”

  I nod without stopping my own feast, blood running down my arms and soaking into my skin.

  Ivrilos kisses his brother on the cheek. The screams stop. Kadreus’s red eyes roll back into his head until I can only see white. Ivrilos must be catching his essence as it tries to escape to the underworld.

  Once I reach the center of the heart, I know it’s a useless, drained thing. I elongate my nails and tear the rest of the way into it, and then I burn it to ash.

  By the time Ivrilos and I both straighten, Kadreus’s corpse is turning to ash just like his heart. I’m entirely healed and fully satiated on such rich blood. Ivrilos is as dark as an inkblot, no more cuts on his arms or legs or exhaustion in his face.

  We’ve done it.

  My eyes find Lydea’s sprawled body. But at what cost?

  First Japha. Now Lydea. I can’t fathom it.

  And where is Athanatos?

  “He left,” Ivrilos says, as if hearing my question aloud. “He returned to his dark city. And yet it’s unstable. I can feel it. Everything wants to fall apart, drift away after being leashed together for so long. But it’s still holding. The bridge is still holding.”

  “I know,” I say. “Kadreus told me. The only way to fully sever the connection between worlds is down there. The second anchor point.”

  Ivrilos nods. “And that’s where my father is.” He glances down at Lydea. “Rovan, I’m so sorry.” His voice very nearly breaks. “Words are inadequate.”

  I only nod. Because, yes.

  I don’t cry or scream. I feel the urge to do those things like a distant pain. Even if I’m healed, my heart is still broken and dead. Or maybe I’m just numb, and this won’t last. Maybe I’m going to truly fall apart.

  Which means we need to move fast.

  It’s just then that the tall outer doors to the king’s apartments slam open, and a whole crowd floods into the entry room: Alldan, Tumarq, Penelope, Crisea, and even Bethea. They’re flanked by too many soldiers to count, quite a few of them spattered in blood.

  Though not even close to as much blood as I’m covered in. It’s dripping down my chin, my arms, and the front of my tunic.

  To them, I look like the only one left standing. Ivrilos is invisible. Every weapon in their group bristles, especially once they see Lydea sprawled on the marble floor.

  Crisea gasps, covers her mouth with a hand. “But I thought … no.” She just shakes her head, and Bethea seizes her other hand in her own.

  Alldan’s violet eyes are locked on the body of his betrothed. “I can’t imagine you did this.”

  “I can’t imagine you would suggest such a thing and expect to live for much longer,” I say calmly.

  Weapons bristle even more, if that’s possible.

  Crisea says, choked with tears, “She didn’t do this, you idiots.”

  “Hold.” Tumarq raises a hand, and the weapons lower.

  Before anyone can ask, I say, “The king killed her. And I killed the king.”

  “Then Delphia will be queen,” Alldan says, and it takes everything I have in me not to kill him right then. He’s so quick to move on to the princess he truly loves, apparently with no care for this one—my princess. Queen of my heart. Now gone.

  “Is it done?” Alldan asks, after receiving only silence. He doesn’t realize how close he came to dying. “Did you destroy the anchor point?”

  “Yes, but there’s still one on the other side. Down there.”

  “So you need to cross over to destroy it, too.”

  “Do I?” I say.

  Ivrilos seizes my hand, startling my onlookers and causing a few weapons to jump back into the air. “No, she doesn’t.”

  “But those aren’t the terms of her agreement with Skyllea,” Alldan insists. “She destroys the link to the underworld, and we allow her cursed existence to continue.”

  Tumarq and Penelope look uncertain, but then Crisea snarls, “Fuck Skyllea. That’s something for Thanopolis to decide, and I doubt Delphia would approve.”

  I’m surprised and heartened that she came to my defense—as surprised and heartened as I can be, with everything that’s happened and what has to happen.

  “She’s too dangerous to exist,” Alldan says, and Tumarq and Penelope look half convinced.

  I raise a hand. It’s red. “It’s okay. Thank you, Crisea. No thanks to you, Alldan. But I’m going down there anyway.”

  Ivrilos blinks at me. “No. Let me go alone.”

  I shake my head. “You need my help. Besides, you’re all I have left.” I take his other hand so we’re facing each other. Suddenly, it’s as if only the two of us are in the room. I don’t care about anyone else, I realize. My family is gone. “I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t come back. If you die for good, I will, too, anyway.”

  “The only way to come with me is a stake to your heart,” Ivrilos hisses, “and the only way to get back, even if we succeed, is if they remove it.” He tosses his head at the crowd in the entry. “That is, if they don’t decide to just burn your body immediately.”

  I shrug. “If these will be our last moments before our final death, I’m going to spend them with you.”

  “This is exactly where they want you, Rovan!”

  No one really argues. Lydea and Japha would have fought for me—fought me, and then fought others if they had to, to get me back. But they’re both gone now, and I’m not sure there’s anyone else who would do the same.

  I smile. “Dead if I do, dead if I don’t.” The stake rests on the ground next to Kadreus’s pile of dust. I summon it to my hand with my favorite sigil.

  I hold it out to Crisea. If there’s anyone I would trust to want to ram a stake into my heart, it’s her. Or maybe Bethea. “I imagine you’d like to do the honors?”

  Crisea raises her chin and folds her arms in defiance as she stares me down, tears in her eyes. “You think I’d want to?” she asks. “You asshole.”

  I don’t have time to apologize.

  Bethea looks at me sadly. She seems like she’s about to say something, but only shakes her head.

  “I guess the pleasure’s all mine,” I say.

  I lean forward and give Ivrilos a lingering kiss.

  And then I jam the stake into my own heart.

  35

  The underworld appears the same as I remember it from Ivrilos’s memories. Like before, the ground rises slowly, drifting like a reverse snowfall until it funnels up into the gloomy sky in twisting clouds. But I’m not thinking about the stark unearthliness of the landscape as I scan the dark dunes before me.

  I’m looking for her.

  “Rovan, you—” Ivrilos starts.

  “Do you see her?” I interrupt. “Can you tell if y
ou’ve caught someone’s death current?”

  “Rovan…”

  “You said if you cross soon after someone dies, you’ll end up—”

  He takes my shoulders. “She’s not here. And if she was, she won’t be now. Look where we are.” He turns me toward him, away from the dunes, and I see we’re standing before the immense dark gates of the black city.

  My throat seizes. I’d really hoped I could find her, at least make sure she was safe down here for as long as I could. See her one last time. It’s finally starting to hit me that she’s gone, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to withstand the blow.

  Ivrilos takes both of my hands and presses his forehead against mine. “No words,” he says again. Despite where we are, the danger we’re in, he closes his eyes and just leans into me for a moment, the dark world dissolving around us. “I’m so sorry she’s dead … and I’m sorry you are, too. I’ve never wanted to see you here.” And then he blinks. “You still have your bloodline. You should look at yourself.”

  I pull away enough to glance down at my arms. I’m wearing the same black tunic I wore just moments ago in the living world, but without any tears or burns or bloodstains. My bloodline stands out on my skin, brighter than ever, like fresh blood. It nearly shimmers, crackles, red lightning over my skin.

  And it definitely has an effect on what’s around me. Whereas Ivrilos looks the tiniest bit … fuzzy … as if the smallest pieces of him are trying to fly away, I churn up everything around me simply by standing still, like I’m the eye of a storm. It seems as though everything nearby wants to flee from me.

  Ivrilos shakes his head. “You’re like no shade I’ve ever seen before. It must be your bloodline. You’re supposed to lose it when you die. But your connection to the living world isn’t severed—you can still go back to your body if the stake is removed—so you’ve brought your bloodline with you. It’s something from the living realm in a land of death.”

  “I guess this is why you’re supposed to burn the body, or at least the heart,” I say. “No coming back to life, and no bloodline down here.”