Julius stopped listening. He had no interest in talking or reason. The only thing the fire had left in his mind was the all-consuming need to burn, so that was what he did, blasting his enemy with a flame so hot and explosive, it blew them both away. Unlike the human, though, Julius had wings to check his fall, changing direction in midair to dive straight at his prey as she hit the ground.
Under any other circumstances, that attack never would have worked. He didn’t know what Emily Jackson was exactly, but she was clearly an old hand at fighting dragons. She wasn’t even singed by his fire, and she wouldn’t have gotten bitten either if Julius had been himself. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t just raging, either. His attack was neither wild nor crazed, but purposeful and calculated, the sort of precision strike he’d never been able to land in training because he’d never wanted to kill. But things were different now. He’d never wanted anything like he wanted Marci back, but that was never going to happen. Because of this human.
So he was going to kill her.
Young or old, big or small, a dragon with an all-consuming desire is the most dangerous enemy in the world. A whelp like Julius would have had no chance against the UN’s Phoenix on a normal day. Today, though, the day his Marci died, even Raven’s famous weapon was in over her head.
The moment she hit the dirt, Julius was on top of her, biting down with all his might. She still managed to turn in time to dodge his top fangs, but the bottom landed exactly where Julius had planned, stabbing into her ribcage from the back, which turned out to be a blow for him, too. Humans were supposed to be easier to bite than dragons, but biting through Emily was like biting into an enchanted support beam. The metal ground his teeth even as her spellwork burned his tongue, but the pain only made him more determined. He didn’t care if he broke every tooth in his mouth, he was going to finish this. He was clenching his jaw to do just that when a new, much larger set of fangs grabbed his body and ripped him away.
Julius went flying. He tumbled through the air, almost landing in the bloody pool beside Algonquin before he got his wings open. When he managed to flip back over, a huge, soaking wet, and very pissed-off dragoness with matte-black feathers was standing between him and his prey.
“Enough, Julius!” Chelsie snarled, baring her dripping fangs. “You don’t want to do this!”
But he did. He’d never wanted to kill anyone more in his life.
“Don’t interfere, Bethesda’s Shade,” Emily ordered, getting back to her feet, or trying to. She was having trouble standing thanks to the line of fang-shaped holes Julius had left in her legs and chest, none of which were bleeding. Even in his single-minded fury, that struck Julius as odd. He’d known the general was heavily augmented from the moment she took off her coat, but there should have been some flesh left. No human was all metal, and yet there was no taste of blood on his tongue. He couldn’t see any of the usual organs through her wounds, either, not even white plastic synthetic ones. Under the thin veneer of Emily’s human shape, there was only more metal, an intricate clockwork of interlocking parts covered in massive scrolls of super-complicated spellwork Marci would have bowled him over to get a closer look at.
Except she couldn’t. Because she was dead. She was dead, and Julius would never see her bouncing with joy over spellwork ever again.
That was enough to make him see red. He lurched forward, smoke curling from his fangs as he prepared to blast the wounded general with a fire that would melt even her metal insides. He was still fanning his fire up to temperature when Chelsie tackled him, launching straight up off the ground to knock him out of the sky before slamming them both back down in the muddy grass.
“Let me go!” he roared, biting his sister savagely.
“Stand down!” General Jackson ordered at the same time. “This is my fight. I don’t need your help.”
“I’m not doing it for you,” Chelsie snarled. “I’m doing it for him.” She glared down at her brother, blood dripping from the shorter feathers on her neck where he’d bitten her. “You are not a killer, Julius, and I won’t let you become one. Not over this.”
“She killed Marci!”
“She did,” his sister said sadly. “And I know that hurts. But if I let you kill her for it, it’ll hurt you even more.”
Julius didn’t see how anything could hurt more than this, but as his sister spoke, he knew that she was right. Killing the general wouldn’t bring Marci back. It wouldn’t do anything except add more death to a world that was already choked with it. And as that truth worked its way into his brain, the fire of his rage finally burned out, leaving him with nothing. He didn’t even feel sad anymore. Just empty. Empty and alone with the cold, hard truth that Marci was gone, and even if he lived to be as old as the Three Sisters combined, he’d never see her again.
With that, Julius collapsed under his sister, curling his feathered body into a tiny ball in the mud. He was preparing to stay that way forever when a watery sigh cut through the now-quiet air, reminding him that they still had an audience.
“What a supremely disappointing display,” Algonquin said, looking down on them from her perch on the Leviathan’s tentacle with a rippling face that was no longer even attempting to appear human. “I never knew you were such a killjoy, Bethesda’s Shade. I was looking forward to watching the UN’s dragon killer and your loss-maddened brother tear each other apart.”
She paused there, waiting for the inevitable comeback, but Chelsie didn’t bother. She just crouched lower over Julius and lashed out with her tail, wrapping the delicate, feathered tip around the hilt of his dropped sword. She scraped the ground with her claws at the same time, digging the tips—which Julius only now noticed were covered with the curving, bone-white blades of her own Fang of the Heartstriker—through the grass, tearing a hole in the world. The moment the crack was open, she yanked him through, dragging Julius and his Fang out from the bloody field and back to Heartstriker Mountain.
***
Emily stared at the closing hole the Heartstriker had ripped in the world, cursing herself for not following them down it. That little dragon was more than she’d bargained for when he was in a rage, and Bethesda’s Shade was a fight she’d worked hard never to get cornered into, but she would rather take on the whole of Heartstriker Mountain alone with her chest full of holes than remain stuck here alone, deep in enemy territory.
Not alone, Raven whispered. I’m always here.
“Really?” she said, pressing a hand to her sundered chest. “Then where were you when the dragon was taking a bite out of me?”
You deserved that, the spirit said grimly. You shot our best chance at a Merlin.
“It was that or leave her with the enemy,” Emily said, narrowing her eyes at Algonquin, who was hovering over the bloody grass, poking the ground where the dragons had disappeared with watery tendrils. “I did what I had to do.”
Now you just have to live with it.
Emily knew that better than anyone. She’d been a soldier for a long, long time now. She’d done terrible things, and had worse done to her, and yet she was still alive. She’d live through this, too. The Phoenix always rose again. That had been the one fundamental truth of her life since Raven had first appeared to her in the floodwater so long ago, and Emily Jackson clung to it now, keeping her stance wary as Algonquin turned to her at last.
“Well, well,” the spirit said, looking down at them with a face that was no longer a face at all, but a flat mask of shimmering water where Emily’s own distorted reflection—the normal kind, not Algonquin’s creepy mimicry—stared back at her from the ripples. “What a mess. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You humans ruin everything you touch. Always have. Sometimes, I think I hate you more than the dragons.”
“Don’t pin this on me,” Emily said defiantly. “You were the one who forced my hand. But it’s over, Algonquin. The Merlin is dead, and her spirit’s gone with her.” She grinned a wide, mirthless grin. “You’ve lost.”
“Impossible,
” the spirit said, her watery voice sharp. “When you have forever, you can’t lose. You can only be set back, and that’s all your efforts have bought.” She turned to look at the bloody pool. “I might have lost my early edge, but even with this, my Mortal Spirit should still be up long before any of the others, which means all of your sacrifices were for nothing. And I didn’t even get to see you kill a dragon.” She shook her head. “Waste of a day for everyone.”
“I’m sure you think that,” the general said. “But for the record, I wasn’t trying to kill him. Julius Heartstriker is a good dragon, which makes him one in a million. He attacked only because he was heartbroken, as he had every right to be, but even in his rage, he was no match for me.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Algonquin said, pointing at the holes in Emily’s chest. “But it doesn’t matter now. The prize is dead and the dragons have scurried home. The only thing left to do now is use your life to threaten Raven back to his senses.”
“Impossible,” Raven cawed, appearing from nowhere to land on Emily’s shoulder. “I’m already there. Any spirit with sense can see that there’s no end to your need for control, Algonquin. But we’ve been down that road before, you and I. We both know how it ends.”
“But this time is different,” Algonquin said, raising her transparent, watery hand. “This time, I have him.”
One of the Leviathan’s tentacles dipped down to curl around her fingers, and Raven looked away with a shudder. “All the more reason to stay away,” he muttered, his voice dark and deep, as it sometimes got. “But I told you before. I told you sixty years ago when we first woke: no good can come from a weapon that hurts us as much as it does our enemies. Stupid as it was back then, though, it’s even worse now, because you’re no longer the only one with a trump on the board.”
For the first time since she’d appeared, Algonquin hesitated. “What are you talking about?”
“Your weapon,” Raven said, looking up at the Leviathan. “It’s no longer the only one. Brohomir of the Heartstrikers has his own Nameless End. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
She scoffed. “You think I care what company that baby seer keeps?”
“I hope you do,” Raven snapped back. “Because if you don’t, you’ve gone mad. Brohomir is young, but he’s the best seer the dragons have produced since they came to this plane. There’s only one reason a genius like him would be stupid enough to bring another Nameless End into the picture, and that’s to counter yours. Are you familiar with the term ‘mutually assured destruction?’ Because if you don’t step back—”
“Why should I step back?” Algonquin said, her water roiling. “It is I who have been wronged! I was forced into sleep, unable to defend myself, and when I woke, I found my waters polluted and ravaged and crawling with dragons and humans! Filthy worms all over my body!”
“So you drowned them,” Emily growled, trying and failing to keep back the old, deadly anger. “Hundreds of thousands of innocent—”
“I was innocent!” Algonquin cried, growing larger as the bloody water from the ground started to collect at her feet. “I was the one who was violated, and I will drown this entire world before I let any of you do it again!”
“That might very well be what happens,” Raven said, hopping off Emily’s shoulder to land on the grass in front of Algonquin. “You were wronged, no one can argue that, but being a victim doesn’t free you from taking responsibility for what you’ve done since. You started this escalation. You invited in what you should never have touched. Now the dragons have done the same, and it doesn’t take a seer to see how that’s going to end. There’s only one possible outcome when two unstoppable forces collide.”
“Perhaps,” Algonquin said. “But what does that matter to us? We are the land. Even if everything else dies, we live forever.”
“Alone?” Raven asked.
“At least it would be quieter than listening to you,” she said bitterly. “A world without ravens would be quite peaceful, I think. For now, though, I’ll settle for killing your pets.”
Beside her, Myron gasped, but Emily just clenched her fists. “Why bother?” she asked. “Killing us won’t net you anything. Wouldn’t you rather get a ransom?”
“What would I do with that?” the spirit asked. “I have everything I need right here.” She gestured at the DFZ, its glittering superscrapers shining like ripples in water as the first dawn light finally broke over the horizon. “But even though I can never truly lose, someone still needs to pay for all my wasted work, and since you killed the one who was actually responsible, Emily Jackson, that burden falls on your metal shoulders.” Her falling water split into a horrifying mockery of a smile. “Looks like the Phoenix’s number is finally up.”
“Now, now,” Raven said, fluttering back to his human. “Let’s not be too hasty. I spent a lot of time building her, you know.”
“Then you should have no problem building another,” Algonquin said as bloody water rose up to circle around her like a spinning blade. “We are spirits. Time is all we have.”
Raven made a frustrated sound. Emily, however, said nothing. She just stood there, perfectly still, watching her reflection in Algonquin’s blank face as the blade of water spun faster and closer. Then, just as she was readying the self-destruct blast that would hopefully shatter Algonquin so hard, she wouldn’t reform for a month, an unexpected voice spoke up.
“It doesn’t have to be wasted.”
The spinning water rippled, and Algonquin turned to stare down at Myron, who was still lying prone on his stomach in the mud under the Leviathan’s tentacle. “What did you say?”
“I said, your work doesn’t have to be wasted,” the mage repeated, his voice straining under the tentacle’s weight. Obviously curious, Algonquin sent the black appendage away with a flick of her fingers, moving like water pouring down a hill to crouch beside the mage with focused attention.
“Explain.”
“It’s true your spirit’s taken a hit,” Myron said, brushing the grass, dirt, and tentacle mucus from his coat as he got to his knees. “But I’ve been studying it this whole time, and I think I can help you repair the damage.”
“You?” Algonquin said, her voice dripping—in some places literally—with disdain. “How could you help me?”
Myron looked at her with the haughty confidence mages seemed to be born with. “Because it’s a Mortal Spirit, and I’m the only mortal left alive who’s worked with one before. Marci Novalli was too naive to shroud her cat in illusions, which meant I was free to study it every second she wasn’t watching. In that time, I got a good look at his magical structure and the nature of the bond between them. I could use that knowledge to help you fix the damage they did to your spirit, and bind him properly when he rises.”
“Making you the new Merlin,” Algonquin finished, her water bright and excited at the possibility. Emily, on the other hand, was struggling to keep her rage in check.
“You dirty traitor,” she snarled. “Don’t help her!”
“Who should I help?” Myron asked, wiping the mud off his cheek with a hateful look. “You? You were ready to put all our futures in the hands of a death spirit just because it rose first. Whatever Algonquin’s breeding here can’t possibly be worse than a spirit who summons armies of human ghosts. She’s going to do it anyway. If I help her, at least I’ll have some control over the final product this time. Not to mention I’ll stay alive.”
“Which is what’s most important,” Emily growled, glaring at him in disgust. “I don’t think you even care what kind of spirit she’s making. You just want a shot at being Merlin.”
“There’s no need to make it sound so dreadful,” Myron said, lifting his chin. “We both know Marci Novalli was a freak accident. I was the one who rediscovered the concept of Merlins. The one who did the research, who trained himself to be ready. The only reason she got a Mortal Spirit and I didn’t was because she was in the right place at the right time. But while you mig
ht be happy dying for nothing in a field, I’m not going to choose death over the position I’ve trained for my entire life. The spirit might be Algonquin’s, but I’m the Merlin the world deserves, and unlike Novalli, I’ll actually know what to do with all that power.”
“You mean use it for her,” Emily said, jerking her head at Algonquin.
“You were ready to work with the Heartstrikers,” Myron reminded her. “Frankly, I don’t see the difference. Spirit or dragon, they all consider us as disposable, and after seeing the mess that is Heartstriker Mountain, I think I’d rather take my chances with the lake.”
“Well said,” Algonquin purred, reaching down with a watery hand to help Myron to his feet. “How nice to finally meet a human with some sense. Your aid would be much appreciated, Master of Labyrinths, and if you can get my Mortal Spirit back on schedule, I’ll even give you first shot at the binding. Is that not fair?”
“Quite,” Myron said, accepting her help to his feet.
Emily was already there, lurching at him. The Leviathan’s black tentacles caught her before she could actually lay hands on the mage, but that didn’t keep Emily from railing at her former partner. “You’re a jealous idiot!” she roared. “The whole point of finding the Merlin in the first place was so that we could finally stand toe to toe with things like her, not join them. She’s only using you to get what she wants!”
“So is everyone,” Myron said flippantly. “That’s what intelligent creatures do. We use our environments to get what we want, all except for you. You were given near immortality, and you’ve wasted it playing the martyr for humanity. I used to think that was noble, but now I see it’s all just a waste of time.” He shook his head. “I’m done, Emily. I’m sick of playing peacekeeper with you and your bird while I watch my dreams get crushed by a bumbling child and her arrogant cat. This time, I’m taking what I want.” He turned back to Algonquin. “Give me unfettered access to your magic, and I’ll fix the damage the girl and her abomination did to your spirit within the month. I don’t care if I have to hold it together with my own two hands, I will be the first Merlin.”