The Wicked Within

TWENTY-FOUR

THE HANDS HOLDING THE BASKET—Zeus’s hands—began to change as well. I shook the basket and they fell off, landing with a sickening slap on the tile.

Quiet filled the church. The only sounds were heaving breaths, the occasional falling of plaster and debris, and the chaos from outside.

Until Dora’s laughter flowed through the nave, carrying the sick tone of cruelty and delight. Athena crawled over, her eyes big with hope. She tugged the basket to her and looked inside. The child was still stone. Misery twisted her features. “No! It didn’t work!” She lifted her head, her green eyes darkening as she found me. She was laid bare, all of it there, the torment, the grief, the raw defeat. And then the rage came. “You idiot! It didn’t work!”

She came at me, hitting me hard and sending us tumbling down the two sanctuary steps and into the aisle. She straddled me, hands around my neck and squeezing. Sebastian lunged, but Apollo tackled him in a bear hug. I grabbed Athena’s wrists, lungs straining, pressure building in my face, and through all the pain and fear, I couldn’t miss her devastation, her thousand-year-old sorrow coming through her madness. My heart was hammering, and it burned with . . . sympathy . . . because I knew the outcome. I knew as my power uncoiled and snaked through my body, aware, this time not leaping up for a quick strike, but building, slithering down my arms and into my hands and fingertips.

Our eyes met. Her squeezing stilled. She knew too. And it didn’t feel good, to know I was going to kill her, to see the realization, the desolation and acceptance, the weariness in her eyes.

The blast that flowed out of me was hot and all-consuming. She let go and pushed off, stumbling to her feet and walking a few steps away as I sat up. Everyone had gone still. Stopping in the aisle, Athena glanced over at Artemis, who’d been released by Horus and was openly crying, and then at her brother, his arms still around Sebastian, his eyes glassy too.

She loved them. They loved her.

As messed up as Athena had become, they’d stood by her. Then she turned slightly and looked toward the basket sitting on the sanctuary steps as her body began to harden.

A tiny cry echoed in the church.

A baby’s cry.

Frantic horror filled Athena’s eyes and my heart. Oh God. If she’d just waited, just let my power work through a thousand years of stone! And now she was dying as her baby lived. Spurred by an intention I didn’t fully understand, I crawled on my hands and knees to the basket. A beautiful baby boy gazed up at me with round green eyes, his chubby arms moving up and down.

Carefully I lifted him from the basket and took him to his mother. Marble had eaten its way up her shoulders. The love in her eyes made my throat ache as she stared at her child. Her living child, with pudgy cheeks, perfect lips, bright-green eyes, and a fuzz of soft black hair on his head. “Turn me back,” she begged in a broken, choked voice, tears filling her eyes and spilling over. “Please, turn me back.”

I found myself reaching out to touch her, to save her. Yet my power didn’t leap to life. It was muted, depleted. It needed a little time. And time was against us. But still I tried.

I expected hate or anger when she realized it was over, but Athena simply returned her attention to her son, the child she loved above all else. He gazed up at her and made a cute baby sound, and then he smiled.

“Archer, my son . . . ,” she whispered, marble closing over her lips, her cheeks, freezing the tears on her face, then claiming the color of her eyes.

And she was gone. Athena was gone.

For a moment no one moved or spoke. Then Dora snorted. “Not exactly how I pictured it happening, but satisfying nonetheless. Nice touch, letting her see what she’d be missing. I believe I’ve grown a new respect for you, gorgon.”

I hiked the baby higher on my hip. “I didn’t do it to hurt her; I did it to . . . ” How could I explain? I hated Athena, what she’d done to my family and so many others, but in her moment of pure suffering and heartbreak, I could not bask in her pain. I’m not sure what that made me, but I couldn’t help but think of my mother. What she would have given to see me one last time. The baby cooed and gurgled, its chubby arms and legs jerking, delighting in moving. And I knew I’d done the right thing.

Dora still had the knife poised over my father’s chest. “You’d better step away from my father, witch,” I said, deadly calm, before turning to Mel. “Take my mother back.” Mel nodded in a daze, shocked Athena was gone. As she disappeared, I held on to the image of my mother’s beautiful, bright soul, committing it to memory.

Apollo released Sebastian and shot out his hand. His bow, which had dropped amid the damaged pews, flew into his hand. Artemis and Menai raised their bows, arrows pointed at Dora. Horus joined them, a blade appearing in his hand and lengthening into a wicked curve. His action garnered him a surprised look from Apollo and Menai, but not from Artemis. She just dipped her head in thanks.

“I’m starting to believe no one likes me,” Dora said flatly.

“No one ever did,” Artemis shot back.

“Except my maker. And you all just hated that, didn’t you? That I was Athena’s favorite? I loved her above all others! Me! And what does she do but betray my trust, betray me by offering my child in place of hers.”

“You’re mad,” Apollo said coldly. “You could not have stood against Athena, nor can you stand against us.”

Dora rolled her eyes. “Think I would come here, set all this in motion if I wasn’t protected, if I didn’t think I could win? You seem to forget the Aegis your dear sister dropped into the waves when she set her hurricanes upon this city.”

“You have Zeus’s Aegis, his shield,” Artemis said, disbelieving.

Horus cursed.

“What?” Dora glanced down at her armor. “Did you think this was just a pretty piece to wear into a battle? It is more than that. I found it. I made it better. I gave it life. I am a witch of great power, trained by Hecate and Athena alike. I took Zeus’s Aegis and stripped its Titan god skin; it is the skin that gives the shield its power, and I nurtured it, grew a tiny egg into something new in the womb of the Titan skin and the bayou. A living shield.” She laughed. “My very own shield maiden. A living, breathing Titan.”

The hell?

“Violet. Show yourself, my dear.”

The breath whooshed out of me.

I watched, horrified, as the strange breastplate withdrew from Dora like a shroud, pooling in front of the altar, growing higher and more substantial until it became Violet. Our Violet.

Dear God. Violet was a Titan?

“Now,” Dora said, “I want that child. I want it dead like mine.”

My gaze went to Violet. She’d been raised in the bayou by Dora. I couldn’t wrap my head around it, but I knew one thing: I would never let Dora lay a hand on the child in my arms. “Bring me the child,” Dora demanded, her wicked eyes locked with mine.

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her to suck it. My anger was rising. I swallowed, holding the baby a little tighter, my hand going to the back of its soft head as it looked over my shoulder at whatever was behind me. “You’ve had your revenge, Dora,” I said, my attention flicking between her and Violet, who waited so quietly beside the altar. “It’s over. Athena’s separated from her child forever, just as you are from yours.”

Dora’s expression went shrewd. “Unless you change her back. And we can’t have that now, can we?” Her hand shot out, power surging straight for me. I covered the baby and spun as Dora’s power hit the statue of Athena square in the chest. It toppled to the sounds of her siblings’ shouts. It happened so fast. Athena crashed to the floor and shattered even as Apollo slid down to catch her. He was too late.

In disbelief, I swung around to Dora. The patient man that my father was, he’d waited for the perfect opportunity to strike. Dora was without her shield. In a flash, he grabbed Dora’s hand that held her knife, spun off the table, and was around her back, holding the knife to her throat before I could blink.

But Dora was just a fraction quicker, tracing to the front of the altar as my father went to slide the blade across her throat.

“Violet, to me,” Dora commanded.

With a solemn look my way, Violet dispersed and her darkness latched onto Dora, clutching her, this time covering her from ankle to neck and coming over her head to protect her skull and face, leaving only her eyes, nostrils, and mouth visible.

Damn it.

We couldn’t hurt Dora without hurting Violet.

High-pitched laugher filtered through the cathedral again, zipping and zinging and gathering behind Dora. More spites and vices. Great. My father shoved Kieran behind him.

“Get me that child and the gorgon,” Dora barked.

The horrors flew at me, and it was then that the full force of my predicament hit me. I had a baby in my arms. A tiny being to protect. Cradling him against my chest, I bolted down the aisle, leaping over debris, heading for the door, panic spurring me on. Almost there.

The next thing I knew Henri and Dub were there, running through the vestibule toward me, both angry and itching for a fight. “That stupid witch locked us—”

“Fight the horrors!” I yelled. “Violet is on Dora, don’t hurt her!”

They gave me incredulous, confused looks, but there wasn’t time to explain. A horror landed in front of the exit, blocking my path. I veered right. And I learned very quickly that one way to destroy Dora’s horrors was by fire. Dub came in very handy. He and Henri ran to my father and Kieran, my father using her sword against one of the spites.

Dora appeared in front of me. I slid to a stop.

“Violet,” I said, backing away, trying to get through to her as Athena’s baby sensed my panic and started to cry. “Don’t let her do this.” But Dora had raised Violet. Dora was the only mother she’d ever known. But still, I tried. “Don’t let her take this baby. Please, Violet.”

I was powerless, unable to risk turning Violet to stone along with Dora.

“Goddamn it, Vi!” Dub yelled. “Get the hell off that witch!”

Henri shouted Violet’s name too. So did Sebastian.

Dora snatched my arm in her cold grip. I knew the horrors were keeping the others busy. I was on my own. No sooner did I have that thought than Sebastian wrapped an arm around my waist. He pulled against Dora’s hold. She pulled back.

“Don’t,” he said to her in that powerful voice, the kind that could stop armies. She hesitated, his power working to slow her, but with Violet’s protection, it had very little effect otherwise.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the lioness slinking down the far side of the nave, her steady gaze on Dora. Hunting. Dora laughed at Sebastian’s attempt to reach for the baby. I pulled free. Sebastian shoved us behind him. There was a reason the Aegis had made Zeus and Athena invincible. It seemed to not only protect, but to diminish another’s power.

Dora sent Sebastian flying. He slammed into one of the columns, shearing it in half. One side of the balcony groaned and dropped a few feet, threatening to collapse.

“Ari, duck!” I shielded the baby and ducked at Menai’s warning.

Two of her arrows zipped mere inches from my head. Dora spun just in time, and they glanced off the back of her head. She hauled me up.

Damn if I was handing over the child. With every cry it made, my protective instincts increased. I wasn’t letting him go. Her hand snaked around my throat, the other grabbing on to the child.

“Violet,” I pleaded.

“She can’t betray me.”

The lioness leaped onto Dora’s back, her massive paws clutching Dora’s shoulder and her giant mouth latching onto her skull. The force sent us sprawling. My hold over the baby loosened as I stumbled over a pew, grappling to maintain my grip on the child.

Damn it. No!

As I fell, I flailed for the baby. Falcon wings swooped blazing fast over us, claws latched on to the baby as I hit the ground, the breath knocked out of me and pain shooting through my side, the place where Athena had stabbed me only two weeks earlier. I glanced down. A large wooden splinter had pierced my side.

The lioness’s brutal snarls grabbed my attention as Horus transformed from falcon to god, the baby in his arms. Relieved, I focused on Dora. She was on her back but reached for her staff and shoved it against the lioness, sending the beast sailing across the room.

Quickly I searched the ground, knowing I had to move now, before she got up. There. One of the arrows Menai had shot. I swiped it and bolted, tackling Dora to the floor just as she started to rise. Before she could react, I shoved the arrow into her eye and drove it deep into her brain.

Her body shook, her legs flailing. But I held the arrow still, her words whispering out of a bloody mouth with a chuckle, “I die . . . and she dies with me.”

Horror slashed through me.

Denial built in my throat. Oh God. Hot tears rose, blurring my vision as I shook Dora’s armor-clad shoulders. “Violet!” Sebastian knelt beside me. “Somebody help her!” I cried.

The cathedral had gone silent as Artemis and Apollo dispatched the last of the horrors.

Everyone stared at us like it was a done deal. Dora was dying and Violet with her.

Horus handed the baby to Artemis and slid down beside me, bloodied and breathing hard, to take stock of the situation. A small tool appeared in his hand, and he shoved it up Dora’s nose. My stomach rolled. I grabbed his forearm. “Stop. What are you doing?”

“Making sure she stays dead.”

“No!”

Before I could stop him, he pulled chunks of brain matter out of her nostril and tossed them in the aisle as bile rose to my throat and my gut rolled. To Dub he commanded, “Burn it.”

Pale and obviously shaken, Dub set fire to Anesidora’s brains. “Try coming back from that,” he muttered.

The baby was safe in Artemis’s arms. Everyone was okay. Except Violet. I’d killed Violet. Dear God, I killed Violet. I bent over Dora’s body, my forehead falling on her shoulder, and cried. “Please come back. Violet, just come back.”

“Come on, Vi, you’re a Titan,” Sebastian joined in. “You’re stronger than Dora. Come back to us.”

“And what about Pascal?” Dub dropped down beside me, placing his hand on the armor covering Dora’s skull. “Who’s going to take care of him?”

“We’ll need help picking out a new house. A bigger, grander mansion with gold fittings and safes filled with jewels,” Henri added, standing over us, his eyes bright with tears. Menai put her hand on his shoulder.

Nothing happened. No matter what we said, nothing happened.

My heart shrank to a hard, painful knot. God, it hurt. My fists clenched, a scream building, pushing against my chest. I sobbed, unable to hold it in. Goddamn it, Violet was gone. Gone!

Dub was crying. Tears filled Sebastian’s eyes, and I heard Henri sniffling behind me. My father’s hands fell on my shoulders. He spoke to me, but I didn’t hear him—inside was so loud and chaotic, filled with crushing guilt and raging grief.

“You’re gods,” I accused. “Why can’t you do something?”

Horus pointed at me. “Do not turn those eyes on us, gorgon,” he warned.

I flinched, my hands going to my face. My eyes burned. They were hot and angry from crying, and maybe from something else. “Then help her,” I begged.

Artemis hiked the baby on her hip. “We cannot remove her. She’s a Titan. A shield. A living one, with a mind of her own, and a will of her own. We have no power over her.”

The black shield covering Dora was warm to the touch. I kept my hands on Dora’s shoulders, wishing with everything I had that Violet would hear us. We stayed, gathered around her, not knowing what else to do.

I had no idea how much time had passed when my father’s voice finally reached me. “Come, Ari.” Spent and numb, I let him help me to my feet. My friends rose with me, looking as lost and sad as I felt.

“We have matters to discuss,” Horus started. “My bargain with you,” he told Sebastian. “The child. Your city.” Then he looked at Artemis, challenging her to oppose him. “Us.”

She kept quiet, but her look said she definitely had something to say about that. Artemis ignored Horus and smiled gently at me. “You wish your curse removed.”

I nodded woodenly, unable to speak, unable to care.

Tears shone through Artemis’s smile. “She was my sister. I know what she knew. I know the words spoken and I can untangle them.”

“Why would you?” Henri asked. “You’ve been in league with Athena all this time.”

The question was hard for the gods to answer. “We loved her,” Apollo finally said with a shrug.

“She was good once, kind,” Artemis tried to explain. “My sister had moments of her old self. But she was wounded inside. Broken. We stood by her because we loved her. Because she needed us. Her son is named in our honor. We are both”—she held up her bow and gestured to Apollo’s—“archers. We couldn’t bring ourselves to be among the many who’d turned their backs and betrayed her.”

In some ways, I guess I understood their decision. In others, not so much. But they were gods. Their viewpoints, decisions, and ideas on humanity, family, love, were bound to not be fully understandable by the rest of us mere mortals. I let out a heavy sigh, my gaze falling on the baby, sorry for his losses. His parents were gone, his grandfather tried to murder him, and the future held portents of blood and war. Poor thing was starting out life with a lot of baggage.

“I want that big Victorian,” a small voice said behind me, “the one with all the towers, the one on the corner of Coliseum and Fourth.”

A zing of hope rocketed through my veins. God, please don’t let me be imagining . . . I turned slowly, holding my breath, heart leaping, to see Violet standing next to Dora’s body. The lioness came over and stood next to Violet, their shoulders even in height. It sniffed her cheek, its nostrils puffing in and out. Violet smiled, dipping her head like it tickled.

My legs went weak. She was okay. We went to her en masse, Henri saying, “It’s yours, chère. We’ll fill it with gowns and masks and all things shiny.”

Dub hugged Violet. “And we’ll get a new pool for Pascal.” Sebastian and I exchanged teary smiles over Dub’s head.

Violet stared at us all, a small smile on her face, before her look became thoughtful. “What’s a Titan?”

Before we could react, quick footsteps near the main doors had us all shooting to our feet. Michel, Bran, and Rowen entered with a small contingent of bloodied fighters behind them. They took stock of the situation, confusion and surprise lighting their war-weary eyes at the sight of the church and the gathering of gods. Kieran hurried around us to Bran. Relief filled his weary eyes, and he enveloped her in a huge hug, lifting her off her feet.

“I must call off Athena’s army,” Apollo said, marching down the debris-littered aisle.

“Ari,” Artemis prompted. “Are you ready?”

I turned to her. “Yes. I’m ready.”

“And you, Mistborn?” Horus asked. Sebastian nodded and walked away from the group with the Egyptian god.

Artemis handed the baby to Menai, and then faced me. “Thank you. For the kindness you showed my sister.”

Untangling my curse was a quiet affair, full of words and power that hung and built and danced in the air, swirling through the church and around me, finally through me—pulling and tugging at my core, my veins, my cells, at everything I was. It was uncomfortable. Not painful, though it might have been. Yet the untangling was significant enough to send me to my knees. I didn’t know if Artemis was making it less painful or not, but if she did, I was grateful.

The curse came out of me slowly and grudgingly, words separating themselves from my being, swirling, old and ancient, and finally untangling themselves and dispersing, leaving me empty for a blink before a great energy rushed in, filling every corner of me with heat. My chest expanded; it felt like my heart would explode. Electricity zipped beneath my skin, traveling to the tips of my fingers and toes.

I bent forward, my hands hitting the floor. Dear God. What is she doing to me? The sensations finally faded, leaving me weak, sweaty, and panting.

When I was finally able to lift my head, I was met with Artemis’s gentle smile. “A kindness repaid with a kindness.”

I frowned in confusion. “What did you do to me?”

“Removed your gorgon curse, but left you with its power.”

Stunned, I sat back on my heels, shaking. “Why would you do that?” Why would she leave a god-killer in existence?

“Because even the gods need checks and balances. And we might have need of you when the Blood Wars come.”

I blew out a heavy breath, the reality setting in. Truly, unbelievably setting in. I was free. It was over. And I still had power to protect myself and those I loved. I glanced at Sebastian and he joined me with a deep, happy smile, one that made me laugh as he reached down and helped me up, enveloping me in his arms. I held on tight, still reeling. “It’s gone,” I said against his neck. “The monster is gone.”

Over his shoulder, my father smiled broadly, some of the deep sadness that always lurked in his eyes gone. I hugged him, too. He squeezed me hard. “Your mother would be so proud of you. I am proud of you.”

“Great. The girl’s going to be more insufferable than ever,” Menai commented, amusement in her eyes. I shot her the middle finger. She laughed and shot one right back.

Apollo returned as Bran, Michel, and my father began discussing the state of things beyond the cathedral walls. Artemis handed Apollo the child. He looked panicked for a moment, but then his face transformed, going soft, a smile tugging his lips apart as he walked off, cooing. Seeing a big, powerful Greek god taken with a tiny baby made me smile.

Horus and Artemis moved to the back wall to talk in private.

“So what’s that all about?” I asked Menai.

She observed her mother and Horus. It struck me then that Menai was a full-blown goddess. She had two heavyweights for parents. “He’s livid with her for staying with Athena. For rejecting him and choosing her over him.”

“Why did she?” Henri asked.

Menai shrugged. “When my mother became pregnant with me, she knew Athena would go mad with the hurt of seeing me around every day. Even though I was born seven hundred years after her child, my mother was afraid for me. She wanted to withdraw from the temple, to go with my father, but Athena begged her to stay, to let them raise me together, to help heal the loss of her own child through me. I think it got pretty intense, like dangerous, for my mother and me. So she promised Athena she’d stay. Athena wanted proof of her promise, so my mother confided in Athena the secret name my father gave me when I was born—it’s an Egyptian thing. But it holds a lot of power over that person.”

“So the hold over Artemis was you.”

Menai nodded. “It didn’t help that Athena hated my father—he was one of a few gods she hadn’t been able to overthrow during the War of the Pantheons. And my father was so pissed he couldn’t stand it. Apparently, he wanted to punish my mother for even considering staying with Athena, so he removed himself not only from our life, but from the world. A rash decision I’m sure he regrets. He’ll want her now. There’s nothing in their way anymore.”

“Will she go?”

“I don’t know. She loves him. She’s loved him all this time.”

Menai watched her parents, lost in her thoughts. Sebastian had gone over to talk with his father. Michel glanced at the baby Bran was now holding, disbelief passing through his eyes. Now he knew. The child was half Arnaud. Part of Sebastian’s family. Fated to start the Blood Wars.

Artemis shouted, “Fine!” drawing my attention.

Horus’s hands were on his hips, and he appeared as angry and frustrated as Artemis was. “Fine!” he shot back.

They marched back to Menai. “We’re going to be a family,” she said, angry. “Half the year on Olympus, half in Egypt.”

“What about me?” Menai asked, and from her tone, I realized that she thought they were leaving her.

Horus frowned. “What about you? You’re coming with us whether you like it or not. We have a couple hundred years to make up for.” He rubbed his shoulder where she’d shot him. “And we’ll need to talk about some ground rules.”

Menai swallowed, but I saw the flash of surprise in her eyes. But she was her mother’s daughter, and her eyebrow cocked in challenge. “I want him to come visit me without you giving him a hard time,” she said, gesturing to a very astonished Henri.

Artemis suppressed a grin as Horus’s face paled and went a little confounded—he was in territory he probably hadn’t been in for a very long time. His gaze narrowed on Henri. “We’ll take a flight sometime, you and I, to lay some ground rules of our own, eh?”

Henri swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“That leaves us with the child,” Apollo said. “As much as I like the little thing, I’m not babysitting for six months while you’re in Egypt.”

“You won’t have to,” Artemis said. “We’ll take Archer with us.”

“Or you can leave him here while you’re gone,” Sebastian suggested. “He’s my family too, unless I’m wrong.”

“No,” Artemis admitted. “You’re not wrong.” She exchanged a glance with Apollo. Obviously the thought that Archer’s other family might want to be a part of his life had never had occurred to them. But Sebastian had a claim.

“He should be raised by both families,” Sebastian said. “You and Apollo for six months in Olympus, and us for six months here.”

“Is that good for a kid, though?” I asked. “To go from one family to another like that?”

“If that’s how he’s raised,” Michel said. “If that’s all he ever knows. If both families give him a good home, work together—visiting, communicating—we can, quite possibly, change his fate. Change the outcome of the Blood Wars. Or stop them from even starting.”

“The Blood Wars are coming regardless,” Apollo said. “I have seen it. But . . . I think you’re right. We raise him, give him a true and loyal family. And when the wars come, that loyalty will be returned. Archer will fight with us, alongside the gods.”

“When are the wars coming?” Dub asked, fear in his tone.

“There’s time enough for us to raise the child. But in that time, we must begin the search for those gods Athena imprisoned and free them. Our numbers have dwindled, thanks to the war she waged. We’ll need every god we can find to fight the threat I’ve seen coming.”

The gods began talking about all the changes that would have to be made in their pantheon. They spoke of opening the way for us to travel freely into their realm in order to be part of Archer’s life. When all was said and done, they’d worked out a schedule. Archer would go to Olympus with Apollo, Artemis, Horus, and Menai for six months. Sebastian, Michel, and the rest of us would be able to visit as we pleased, to form a relationship so that when the baby was in our world the following six months, he would be content with his caretakers.

Sebastian was sincere in his desire to be part of the baby’s life, and it made me see him in a new way. He’d only had his father and Josephine, but now the baby provided a direct Arnaud link to his mother’s side of the family. It was a link I was certain he wanted to strengthen. Sebastian wanted roots just like I did. I glanced at my father and the kids. It seemed like we were both getting our wish.

After the gods departed with little Archer, we left the cathedral.

I steeled myself for what I knew would greet me. But still the sight brought a deep well of sadness. The once beautiful square was littered with the dead and dying. Buildings were destroyed, some still burning. We stayed on the steps outside, just taking in the devastation. Violet slipped her hand in mine. I smiled down at her and squeezed, so grateful she was okay. Sebastian’s arm brushed against mine.

“What now?” Dub asked.

“First we need to fix our little tourist problem,” Bran answered. “Can’t have them going past The Rim with tales of gods and monsters.”

“Most of them have been gathered at the hospital and other safe locations,” Rowen said. “The witches will take care of it. By the time they’re done, the tourists won’t remember anything but a crazy Mardi Gras party and a bad hangover.”

“Thank God for New 2 and Mardi Gras,” Henri commented, “where most anything can be explained.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

“We’ll rebuild,” Sebastian said. “We’ll add schools and health care and shelters for those outside the Quarter. It’s time we started caring about more than just the rich Novem families and take care of everyone in New 2.”

Michel lifted a brow, pride shining in his gray eyes. “It’ll take some work, son, but we can make it happen.”

“The Novem, as it was, is too fractured to repair,” Bran added. “We’ll have to start over, a new council, a new approach. . . . ”

Bran, Rowen, and Michel exchanged looks, then fixed their attention on Sebastian. “You in?” Bran asked him.

Sebastian blinked in surprise. He’d fought against his birthright, against being an heir, against being a part of the Novem organization. But now . . . now things were different, and would be different. And I could see he knew it too. Everything he had been through . . . it all had given him a unique viewpoint. He wasn’t stuck in his entitlement, his wealth, his family connections, and his power as some of the Novem heirs had been. Being a part of a new council with a new way to run the city in which everyone was taken care of . . . I thought he’d be perfect for the task.

I gave him an encouraging grin. He answered them while keeping his gaze on me, his smile going lopsided. “Yeah. I’m in.”