The chairs and tables Rorrik splintered have been replaced. With a wave of Albion's hand, he sends a group of them flying to the side of the room, along with the thick rug beneath them.
Dread burrows deep into my gut as the rug lifts, revealing the sigil painstakingly drawn on the stone floor.
"Albion." I keep my voice low. "You know it's over. I can't let you kill anyone else."
"They're not gone forever. They're coming back!" The words are desperate, his eyes wild. His sigil begins to glow, and I freeze. Albion is a half-crowned silver. If this comes down to his power versus mine, I'm dead.
"What do you mean?" I have to keep him talking. Neris will have spread the word. The others will be coming. I just have to distract him for a little longer.
He opens his hand, his expression turning pleading. "When Mortuus breaks free of his cage, all our loved ones will return with him."
"That's not how it works, Albion!"
I shouldn't have snapped. Should have kept him talking. But his words are like salt rubbed into an open wound.
"It is!" Spittle flies from his mouth as he suddenly turns, advancing on me. "Mortuus will take them back from Viderux. He has the key! It's why the other gods betrayed him!"
I duck around a table, careful to avoid the sigil on the ground. "The other gods caged him because he was going to lay waste to this world."
"Lies!" Albion's eyes are so wide I can see the whites, his cheeks so red they're almost purple. Muscles strain in his neck as he waves his arms. "That's what we've been told, but it's not true!"
My stomach churns. Someone took advantage of his grief, twisting it for their own purposes.
I'm betting that someone was Tiberius Cotta.
"There are others like me," Albion continues, his expression softening, voice turning cajoling.
"More of us than you can imagine. And when Mortuus is free, we will be reunited with those we have lost. Don't you want that, Arvelle?
Don't you want to see your friend again? To give her another chance at life?"
Bitterness coats my tongue. "More than anything. But Kassia wouldn't want this." Of that much I'm certain.
"You'll make that decision for her?" Albion's tone turns scathing. "Leon told me about his daughter. He told me she was loyal. Courageous. With a soft heart. She would have done this for you."
I can see where he's going with this. But he shouldn't have mentioned Leon. Because all I can see is his body slumped in that bed, with Albion looming over him, a dagger in his hand.
"Kassia would have killed you for what you did to her father."
"He was going to come back!"
"No one is coming back, Albion. They're still in there, you know. The people you killed? They were trapped in their rotting corpses. I witnessed it myself." I don't mention that I was somehow able to free them.
Horror slides through his eyes, but it's immediately followed by denial. "You're lying."
I shake my head. Albion wouldn't even believe it if he'd heard those desperate souls himself. He's too far gone.
He advances on me, knife in his hand. The point of the blade is a black ruin, as if something has eaten away at the steel.
Poison.
Both of my swords are locked in my room with my parma. I slide my hand down to the dagger Kassia gave me. I have this dagger and three throwing knives. And none of them have been dipped in gorgon poison.
I move back, luring Albion farther from the sigil and closer to the silver door behind me.
I need to buy time.
Holding my hands up placatingly, I do my best to seem small, weak. Albion slows his steps, some of the desperation melting from his eyes.
A body sails through the air and hits Albion with a thud. My heart leaps as the knife clatters from Albion's hand, bouncing on the stone floor.
I lunge for it.
"Arvelle!"
Realization sucks the air from my lungs. Jorah. It's Jorah.
He must have been alerted when I used the tunnels.
Albion throws up a hand, and the stone floor suddenly becomes slick with ice. I trip, knees cracking against stone, and Albion plucks the knife from the ground. Jorah slides along the floor.
I was doing my best to keep Albion from using his power. Now that he's used it once, he'll likely turn to it again.
"Two sacrifices," he murmurs, eyes darting between Jorah and me. "Mortuus will be pleased."
His expression has turned crazed. How did everyone miss this? How did I miss this?
Jorah attempts to get to his feet, his eyes widening as he glances between me and Albion. "You're the one who has been killing the gladians."
"Sacrificing!" Albion roars, advancing on Jorah.
I need to distract him. "I know you were working with Tiberius Cotta. It was probably his idea, right? He told you you'd see your son again, and you believed him. You killed those people—"
Jorah stares at me, horrified, and I feel a pang in my chest. I wish I could have told him the truth about Tiberius in a gentler way.
"I'm not a murderer!" Albion snaps, his eyes wide.
I push harder. "You are a murderer, Albion. All that pain you felt when your son died? You've caused that pain countless times for other parents. But let's at least be honest with each other. This isn't just about your son."
Albion goes still.
I give him a toothless smile. "You hate the vampires for what happened to your wife. And you know that if Mortuus gets free, he'll go after them.
But most of all, you hate the emperor—because your son died in his arena.
That's why you left that body in the hall the night we met our sponsors. You couldn't resist humiliating him."
Move, Jorah.
He's not moving. Instead, he's reaching for the knife on his hip. The knife I left him. His hands are shaking, his face so, so pale.
Albion's gaze flicks toward Jorah and I move a few steps to the left.
Focus on me.
"What would your son think, Albion? What would he say if he could see what you were doing to the people you've killed?"
I sidestep, moving even farther from Jorah. "I bet he would be ashamed."
"I did this for him!" Albion turns on me, swiping out with the knife.
Slash, slash, slash.
I lure him away from Jorah, moving toward the center of the room. I'm faster, but Albion knows every inch of this library. The backs of my knees meet a low table and his blade flashes toward my face as I bend my spine, rolling over the wood.
"You're ruining everything!" Tears gleam in Albion's eyes and my skin prickles. He's unrecognizable as the guardant who trained with Maeva. Who treated all of us with kindness and respect.
Behind Albion, Jorah stands frozen, his eyes wide, his mouth open.
Get. Out.
"This won't bring your wife back to you. And your son would hate you for what you're doing," I say, desperately hoping Jorah will take the opportunity to run. I let the truth sink into my words.
Albion goes still. His eyes widen. He lets out a sound somewhere between a scream and a roar. This time, he doesn't advance on me. Instead, he whirls, giving me his back as he takes in Jorah, who is still pressed up against a bookshelf, watching us with wide eyes.
Why hasn't he fled?
I take a long, shaky breath, refusing to allow fear to blind me.
"Albion."
He ignores me. It's too late. I've lost him.
Albion bursts into motion, but I'm already moving—vaulting over the sofa, launching off a table, and hurling myself toward Jorah.
I dodge around Albion and dive between them.
Albion slams into me, knocking my knife from my hand.
I scream, lashing out with a fist.
But it's not my fist that pushes him back. It's my shield, shimmering blue silver between us. My sigil warms.
"I know that power." Albion's eyes widen. "Griffon power."
I still have no idea how to control the shield, which means it's unlikely to last long. Gripping Jorah's hand, I pull him behind me, ignoring his weak struggles.
"I can help, Arvelle!"
I keep one eye on Albion and the strange shield between us as I shove Jorah toward the silver door. "I need you to get help, Jorah. Go."
Jorah turns and bolts out the door. Relief makes my knees weak.
"You can't hold that shield forever," Albion says. His face is expressionless now, his eyes colder than I've ever seen them.
That's not good for me. When he was out of control and raving, I had a chance. If his logic takes over …
A wave of exhaustion sweeps through my body, and my shield disappears. Albion gives me a gentle smile, but his eyes are still frigid.
"It won't hurt for long, Arvelle. You've had a difficult life. So much pressure to keep your brothers safe. To put food on the table. And you've lost so much. Everyone you've ever loved has died or left you. It's made you hard and cold and a little mean."
Fucking Leon. Clearly he was even closer to Albion than I'd thought.
"I'll make it quick," Albion says. "And when you return, it will be hand in hand with your best friend."
Oh, he's good.
"And my brothers?" I rasp out, widening my eyes as if I'm considering his offer. Slowly, I move to the right. Toward my dagger lying on the ground just ten feet away.
Victory flashes in Albion's eyes. "They'll be looked after," he promises gently. "When you return, you'll be reunited once more. You could bring your mother back with Kassia. She could have another chance to be the mother you deserve."
My chest aches. Is there anything Leon didn't tell Albion?
"Viderux likes to play with those who take their own lives." Albion's voice lowers, turning cajoling. "He doesn't believe in mercy for those who waste the gift of life. You would be sparing your mother an eternity of torture."
"You're telling me Viderux would give up one of his playthings?"
Eight feet.
Albion takes a step closer, his eyes wild. I freeze.
"He won't have a choice. You don't understand the magnitude of Mortuus's power. That's the true reason he was locked away."
I shove a hand in my hair, sidling to the left. "You're saying they locked him away because they were envious." Seven feet.
"Yes. They wanted his power for themselves. They refused to listen to his pleading. Just like you refuse to listen, Arvelle. Do you think I haven't noticed you going for your knife?"
I leap.
His hand clutches at the back of my tunic, and I howl as his blade slices into my back. I hit the ground, my hand inches from my knife.
But my eyes are turning blurry, my muscles strangely lethargic.
"Poison," I mumble.
Albion buries his hand in my hair as my fingers brush my knife. I clumsily wrap my hand around the wooden hilt, but it's too late.
Albion drags me by my hair, toward the sigil. Tears flood my eyes from the pain, but all I can manage is a gasp. From my spot on the ground, I can see his face, lips thin, eyes hard as he ignores my weak struggles.
The room dims around the edges.
My head slams into the ground and I force my eyes open. We're almost at the sigil. I lost time.
Albion steps away, beginning a low chant. I don't recognize the language, but I don't need to, because I recognize the dark hum of power filling the room, sweeping into every corner.
It's thick and suffocating, sliding down my throat and choking the breath from my lungs. It's the same power I encountered when I found Albion's victims.
I can't die like this.
I know what truly happens to the sacrifices. I know they're stuck in their rotting bodies, with some level of awareness of what has happened to them.
They don't move on. They stay here. Trapped.
My heart thunders, my body breaking out in a sick, greasy sweat.
Albion's voice becomes louder—a deranged plea to a god that will kill us all without thought.
My hands are still numb, but I manage to turn my head. My dagger is still in my hand. Now, if only I could tighten that hand. Could lift the knife and …
I blink my eyes open.
Albion is still chanting, but I know I lost time. Again.
My heart rattles my ribs, nausea sliding through my gut.
Albion's voice rises further as he beseeches Mortuus. My little nap has had one benefit. I can tighten my hand around the hilt of my knife.
Albion turns to me, his eyes burning like blue flames as he leans close, pulling my limp body into the sigil.
My vision spirals, my lungs so tight I'm fighting for each breath. I bare my teeth, urging my hand to lift my knife. My skin turns clammy. Terror flashes through me—terror like I've never known before. The kind of terror that comes with the knowledge that even death would hold no solace for me.
A shadow darts close to Albion.
Albion screams as Jorah buries his knife in his shoulder. He lashes out with his fist, and Jorah cups his face, collapsing to the ground.
But he's bought me the single moment I need.
Albion leans over me once more, face turning a dark red as he continues his chanting.
I catch the flash of his blade out of the corner of my eye. But I'm already moving. One shot. I have one chance at this, and if I miss, it's over.
He leans closer. Just close enough.
I slash out with my blade. Blood sprays, dousing my face. A yawning gash opens in Albion's throat. His hands slap at the torn flesh, as if he's attempting to hold the open edges of the wound together.
He can't. I cut too deep.
His body slumps back, and he makes a low, guttural, strangled sound that makes me wince.
He's choking on his lifeblood, the sounds wet and horrifying.
Albion was just a man who lost his son. A man who was twisted into believing this was the way to bring that son back.
Jorah leans over and vomits, adding to the overall ambiance of the moment. The room spins, and I close my eyes.
"Mmmm, delicious."
The voice is low, ancient, and amused. It shudders up my spine, echoing through my head. It's the same voice I heard when I freed Gradon and the others.
I slam my eyes open, searching for the owner of that voice. But Jorah is still losing his stomach, and no one else is here.
Rolling to my side, I drop the knife, my hand smearing the painted sigil beneath us.
Fuck.
We're still positioned on that sigil. And I've just sacrificed Albion to the god of ruin. The god who may have just spoken in my head.
Again.
"Arvelle. Arvelle!"
I force my eyes open. Tiernon's leaning over me, his face white as he pulls me into his arms. His hands push frantically at my undershirt, his eyes wild.
"Not my blood."
He shudders, pressing his forehead to mine. "I thought you were dead."
"I told you she wasn't," Jorah protests, his voice trembling. He looks better, no longer sheet white. I must have lost time again.
"You're a hero, Jorah," I mumble.
"Me? A hero?"
"Tell him, Tiernon."
"Shhh. Rest."
"Tell him."
Tiernon sighs. "Was that knife wound in Albion's shoulder from you?"
"Yes."
"Then you're a hero. You saved Arvelle's life. You probably saved countless lives."
Jorah's shoulders straighten, and a wide smile stretches across his face.