“If we get out of this alive,” he said, looking once more like the Chiseled Cheater she’d known, “then remind me to tell you. But for now, Domna, we keep moving.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

Merik knew this storm. He’d survived it in Lejna, flying against the same charged winds in search of an eye. In search of the source.

Today, when Merik found the storm’s heart, the same man flew. Today, though, Kullen was not collapsed and dying but rather hovered, stiff as if he stood upon mountain peak.

Once, in boyhood, a fire had swept through a house on the Nihar lands. The people who’d lived within had escaped; their dog had not. The shiny, charred shape of its corpse amid the wreckage had been forever etched into Merik’s mind after that.

Now here he was, facing it again. Remains. A corpse. Horrifying, yet unmistakable, even as his mind whispered, Stop seeing what you want to see.

Kullen spotted Merik. Lightning flashed, illuminating a toothy smile. His lips stretched in a way that was simultaneously familiar and thoroughly inhuman. Black winds spiraled endlessly behind him, carrying debris, autumn leaves, and sage.

“No words of welcome, Threadbrother?”

“You aren’t my Threadbrother.” Merik was shocked by how evenly his voice came out. “I saw my Threadbrother die.”

“You saw me cleave.” Kullen spread his arms, almost languidly, and lightning laced from his fingertips. “Cleaving need not be the end, though.”

“What are you?”

“You know the answer to that. I am vengeance. I am justice. I am the Fury.”

At those words, ice, anger—they sank claws deep into Merik’s chest. Yet distantly, Merik knew they were not his own.

“I asked you to kill me,” Kullen continued. He swept in closer. Closer still until there was no missing how shadows lived inside his flesh. Inside his eyes, glowing with each crack of lightning below. “Remember that, Merik? In Lejna, I asked for the wind-clap. Thank Noden, you refused, for otherwise, neither of us would be here today. You would be dead, I would be dead, and we’d both we waltzing with the Hagfishes.”

Merik tried to answer. Tried to utter some response, but no words would come. Nothing beyond, You would be dead, I would be dead.

Kullen laughed. “Yet only in death, could they understand life. And only in life, will they change the world.” He tapped his head, that unnatural grin spreading all the wider. A smile that didn’t reach his dead, dead eyes. “The Fury’s memories were always here, Merik. I just had to die to unlock them.

“Now I will make you a king!” Cold radiated off Kullen. Power begging to be used. “Together, we can claim this city! Claim this whole nation!”

“No.” Merik’s head shook. Tears flew from his cheeks. Vanished into the storm. “I don’t want that, Kull! I don’t want to be king—”

“Oh, but you do.” Before Merik could blink or resist, Kullen had clutched him by the neck. He drew the air directly from Merik’s lungs. “If you do not join me, Threadbrother, then I will deem you enemy. And remember, I am sharp as any edge.”

“Please, Kull.” Merik hammered at Kullen’s arms. “This isn’t you!”

“This is me, Merik. My true self finally set free.” Kullen’s fingers gripped tighter, searing into Merik’s skin.

“Stop this storm,” he rasped. “Leave, Kullen, leave.”

“No.” Kullen chuckled, a throaty sound that set thunder to rumbling. They were high, so high. “I made this city, and so I will destroy it too.”

“I won’t let you,” Merik wheezed. His lungs were aflame. He blazed from the inside out.

Kullen’s grip dug in. Black ice to pierce Merik’s skin. Snow fell around them. “Do you think you can stop me, Mer? I am bound to the Loom, and you are bound to me. If you send my soul past the final shelf, then yours will follow. Threadbrothers to the end.”

With that statement, he released Merik. Breath roared in while winds kicked under Merik. Keeping him aloft. Kullen’s winds, he knew, yet he felt his own power writhing in there too. As if they both controlled the magic, as if this witchery—this rage—was a river stretched between them. A well they both pulled from.

And in that moment, Merik understood.

He was a dead man. Just like Garren. Just like Linday. And, worst of all, just like Kullen soaring before him. The saint of all things broken, more grotesque than even the Hagfishes. Kullen was the Fury, through and through.

“I see you understand,” Kullen said, and though the words were lost to the tempest, Merik felt them rattling in his soul. “The explosion on the Jana killed you, but we are bound as Threadbrothers. The same weaving magic that keeps me alive has stretched into you. If one of us dies, though, the other one goes too. And so, what choice do you have but to join me?”

Light flared behind Kullen. So bright it sent Merik’s eyes snapping shut. His hands rising. Then came a boom to shatter the earth. By the time Merik had his eyes open again, it was to find Kullen staring below.

Through the clouds and chaos, Merik saw it too: the ship with seafire had exploded.

Kullen’s attention whipped back to Merik, his eyes pure black. No lightning now. Only ice and wind and rage. “Your sister might think she has won, but I will simply break the dam on my own. This city will be returned to its rightful ruler one way or another.”

Merik wasn’t listening anymore. Through watery eyes and storm, he saw figures plunging into the valley, specks of color amid a world of smoke and dark flame.