Scarlet didn’t expect to wake up, but she did.

Branches full of pink blossoms greeted her when she opened her eyes. The sweet scent she had caught from the other side of the river was more potent now, mixed with the smell of damp grass that caressed her head. A pale petal gently floated down and landed on her cheek. It tickled. She brushed it away and found that the movement caused a flare of pain.

Something was deeply wrong, and it wasn’t just her body. Her mind was clouded and slow. It took monumental effort to coax her aching muscles to sit up. She was surrounded by a grove of cherry blossom trees. So, she had made it to the other side of the stream after all.

A voice startled her. “You’re awake. Good.”

Of course, it was impossible to have finished the river crossing without help. Scarlet turned to her right, where Ange was leaning against one of the trees. “I suppose I have you to thank for rescuing me.”

“I suppose.”

“So we’re even now.” Scarlet cleared her throat. It was scratchy and raw. She must have swallowed a lot of water in her near-drowning experience. “You told me you could help me. So, I came.”

“Indeed.” Ange crossed her arms as she eyed Scarlet up. Scarlet wasn’t sure why Ange would be aloof now, after she had invited her to meet here. Suddenly, she added, “I knew your mother, you know.”

Scarlet prickled at Ange’s use of past tense. “I didn’t know.”

“You look like her.”

Scarlet ran her fingers through her hair. It was damp still, and knotted of course. She had inherited her dark curls from her mother, who perhaps was wiser, keeping her hair chopped short.

“She never wanted you to meet me,” Ange continued. “But we were friends, her and I. We worked together, developing weapons to use against Riordan.” Ange paused. She plucked a blossom from an overhanging branch. “Eva didn’t know that. Still doesn’t, at least not about your mother. She—Kiera… changed her mind about the whole thing. The whole plan.”

“If you were developing weapons to use against Riordan, why would you hide that from Death?” The fact that her mother hid Ange didn’t surprise her at all.

“The weapons are for more than fighting Riordan. A greater purpose, that Kiera backed out of.” Ange paused again, as if gathering her thoughts, twirling the cherry blossom in her fingers. “She had one of the weapons. There’s a chance she hid it somewhere else before Riordan got to her. Do you know anything about it? A broadsword, made of crystal.”

Scarlet was sure she would remember a weapon of such description. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“She may have disguised it with her magic. Did you transport anything of great importance?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Ah, well.” Ange shrugged, and flicked the blossom away. “Your lack of knowledge is unfortunate.”

It always is. “Do you know where my mother is now?”

“Dead. Or, failing that, Riordan has her somewhere.”

Scarlet’s heart dropped. “Death seems to think she’s alive.”

“She’ll say anything to make you help her.”

“And you?”

“And me, what?”

Scarlet clenched her fists. “Will you help me? Or are you just going to manipulate me, too?”

“I’ll help. There is one condition, but I’ll make it clear.” Ange came close, sitting down on the grass a couple feet from Scarlet. The intensity of Ange’s gaze perturbed her. “I see you’re set on finding Kiera. I will help you sever your emissary bond so you may disobey Death. I’ll even help you save Kiera if she’s alive, though she’s done me wrong. But I want that sword back. Whether your mother hid, or if it fell into other hands, you will find that sword for me. Got it?”

“I don’t want to do someone else’s bidding anymore,” Scarlet said. “That’s the whole point of breaking free from Death.”

“Tough. That’s the deal. One task, and then it’s over, forever.”

“Fine.” Scarlet would take one mission over a life of being trapped. “So what’s this greater purpose?”

“No, I can’t tell you that yet. I don’t want to let you in and have you run away, like your mother did. Though, I think you may approve of my schemes.” Ange flashed a grin. “For now, I will tell you this: I want Riordan dead. And I have a plan that will make that happen.”

Scarlet was a moment away from agreeing when she noticed something: a mark on Ange’s hand. But it wasn’t the overlapping circles that composed Death’s symbol, like she had seen on Ange’s right hand in the dungeon. On Ange’s left hand was yet another faded symbol, two “v” shapes with their tips interlocked.

“Wait,” Scarlet said. “Is that… Riordan’s symbol? You were an emissary of Riordan, too?”

Ange stiffened. “Yes. His was the first bond I had to break, many years ago. Back when I was a child, like how I first appeared to you.”

“But… Riordan only takes a single emissary, the person who will serve as his next incarnate. So then, before Calder, that was meant to be you?”

“Not exactly. But I don’t wish to speak in depth about my past. Suffice to say I hold only animosity toward both Riordan and Calder. My path for revenge led me to work for Death—and then, ultimately, to break that bond as well.” Ange pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “So with all that, you need to decide. Are you in or are you out?”

“Alright,” Scarlet said. “I’m in.”

“And your friend, Dante,” Ange said. “He isn’t joining us?”

“No.” A thousand icicles stabbed into her guts. “He isn’t.”

#

Scarlet had hoped that breaking the emissary bond would be simple, but of course, it wasn’t. She began a whole new training regime under Ange, adjusting once again to a rigorous schedule. The tasks Ange gave her were mentally exhausting, and relentless. Death had forced her into the practice of meditation, but those exercises were nothing compared to the hours on end that Ange had her clear her mind for.

The only thing that gave Scarlet relief were Ange’s other lessons. These ones were short, but more to Scarlet’s liking. After Scarlet had recovered from her accidental underwater adventure—at least somewhat, her head was still foggy—Ange brought out two swords. They were simple, though their thin blades were curved in a way Scarlet had never seen before.

“These swords are from the Galapia Islands,” Ange told her. “I popped through to the World to pick them up, since I thought you might be joining me.”

Ange held out a sword to Scarlet. She accepted it, and turned it over in her hands, examining it. It was heavier than she thought it would be, but still probably lighter than the bulkier swords she’d seen before.

“What’re they for?” Scarlet asked.

“For you. For training.” Ange shrugged. “For killing.”

“I understand what a sword does,” Scarlet said, her annoyance leaking into her voice. “But I’m a mage, not a soldier.”

“You’re whatever you need to be. And if you want to kill Riordan, you’re going to be a swordfighter. Magic itself isn’t going to kill him. I mean, it could, but his divine self will live on and simply choose a new incarnate. Have you had the pleasure of meeting Calder? That isn’t what any of us want, is it? We need a more permanent solution, and that’s to cut him with one of the magus swords and trap his soul.”

The magus swords. It was what Ange called the weapons she had forged—artificed—with magic. A real way to fight a god. Excitement tingled, and Scarlet gripped the sword by its hilt, assessing how it felt in her hand, its balance and weight. Still too heavy for her, though she was stronger than she’d ever been. Her training had been rigorous, but not focused on physical strength.

And so, a couple hours each day, she spent learning stances and how to parry, and having occasional spars with Ange. It was a relief from the mind numbing meditation that filled the rest of her time.

Dimly, it brought back her memories of her mother teaching her to fight with a dagger, though with her head clouded as it was, it was harder for her to reach back far into the recesses of her mind. She’d enjoyed that training, too.

She was grateful she had more useful methods of defending herself now, but she was glad her dagger hadn’t come loose on her misadventures crossing the stream. Useful or not, it was still the last memento she had of her mother.

While Scarlet meditated, Ange foraged for fruit and other morsels for them to eat, but sometimes she would join Scarlet in her meditation.

“How is this helping?” Scarlet snapped more than once, when she hit a bored exhaustion.

“You need complete mastery over your mind in order to break your bonds. When you have control of yourself, no one else can control you,” Ange would explain. “Now, shut up. No talking. No thinking. Emptiness.”

The days spent meditating must have added up to at least a week, maybe two. Ange encouraged her not to keep track of the time—too much thinking. Left alone with her mind, she couldn’t stop the thoughts in her head at first. As much as she pushed them away, they battered at her, demanding to be thought, examined, heard.

It was different from her days of isolation in Deianira. She had never felt so trapped in her own head. Her meditation sessions as a part of Death’s training were short in comparison, her magic training was more engaging, and her downtime she could spend reading or with Dante. Now her days were solely filled with meditation and swordplay.

Her inner mind was distracted enough, back then. Now, trying so hard to not think at all, she couldn’t help but scrutinize every thought and feeling that popped up. She imagined shooting each idea in her mind with a magic bolt, shattering it to pieces. That worked for a bit, but then the thoughts got more intrusive. Fighting them only made them more powerful. Her sluggish memories kept her thoughts narrowed to only the recent past, her time in the Crossworld. And, the less she wanted to think of something, the more often it haunted her supposed-to-be-empty mind.

Dante.

His name would float into her consciousness and she would immediately shoot it down. Three or four days into her forced meditation, she had eliminated all other thoughts, but his name still haunted her.

Dante. Dante. Dante. Dante. Dante. Dante.

It wore her down. She had to face it. Him. Herself.

Had she really told him that she didn’t feel anything towards him? She had to tell him that. Because it was true. No, it wasn’t. Yes, it had to be true, because she couldn’t possibly love him, how could she love her first friend, she didn’t even know what she was talking about, what she was feeling—she was being juvenile.

Even if she did like him, then what? They’d be in love, and stuck in the Crossworlds forever? No. Dante had a life to live, even if she didn’t. He was able to leave the Crossworld, if not Death’s influence, so it was good she had turned him down.

If he loved her, he should have cared enough to stay.

If he loved her, then he was right to go, because that was the right thing to do.

But, what if this worked and she could leave the Crossworld too? They could go to the World together. Maybe save her mother, end this whole awfulness with Riordan, or run away from it all. Okay, not run away from her mother, she couldn’t do that, but still. Maybe they could get away from Death. Dante was an emissary now, and that was bad, but he could break his bond too—then, they could be together, if she really did care for him.

That would never work either. Dante couldn’t really love her. She was a mess. She was nothing. She barely felt like a real person. She was flat, one-dimensional in her goals, unable to focus on anything else. Her past was a blur, and hardly remembered in her current state. She was exhausted, functioning only to do what she needed to. Become a better mage. Save her mother. She couldn’t let herself want anything else.

Accomplishing that one thing was so far out of reach. Why even try? Why even keep trying, keep pushing forward, she couldn’t fight a god, could she? Not with magic, not with an artifact. It was ridiculous to think she could. She had lashed out at Death once, and sure it was back when she was weak, but even now… her, versus a god, she would be useless. Even with her talent, and all her training, she couldn’t stand up to Riordan.

There was no point. Not really.

Even if she could disobey Death, even if Dante did love her, even if she knew where her mother was, even if she had one of those magus weapons, even if she could drag herself out of this impossible hole she was in… she couldn’t do it.

She was only mortal. Death hadn’t been able to defeat Riordan when she had a whole group of emissaries working for her, and now most of them were dead. Maybe Death keeping her in the Crossworld was a protection, not against Riordan, but against realizing her hopes were worthless.

Scarlet cried. It had been a long time since she had let herself cry, or feel anything, really. Under the protective canopy of the cherry blossoms, she wept until no more tears would come. If Ange saw her cry, she left her alone to it.

When her face finally dried, Scarlet was empty. Her mind was, too. She stopped asking Ange how much longer she had to do this for, and what use it was. She let it not matter. She let herself be hollow. Ange stopped interrupting her for sword training, and Scarlet barely noticed.

An indeterminate number of hours or days after that, Ange told her she was ready for the next step.

“And what, exactly, is that?” Scarlet asked.

“Go deep within yourself. Find your connection to Eva.”

“I can already do that.” At a whim, Scarlet could feel the magical link stretching between her emissary mark and Death.

“No. You can feel the superficial bond, the obvious parts of it. But not the core of it. It entwines through your whole body, your spirit, all of you. You have to find that, and then disentangle yourself from it.”

Scarlet drew breath deep into her gut. She was so tired of all of this, but she had to keep pushing forward.

She closed her eyes and went back to the quiet place she had carved in her mind. Deep within her consciousness, she could see this place: white, a field blanketed with snow, no footprints to be seen, the sky obscured with clumps of soft flakes falling. It smelled sterile, like the solutions Bronwen used to clean her wounds. And it was quiet, so quiet she could almost hear the snow as it fell. The silence was isolating. It could almost be peaceful; instead she just felt alone.

She willed the wind to come into her mindscape, to blow away all the snow, to reveal what lay hidden beneath. With each breath, gusts tore through the quiet place and whisked the snow off to somewhere far away.

The winter scene was replaced by a feeling, rather than another visual representation. Scarlet felt tendrils running through her body, holding her tight. It was suddenly hard to breathe. She was weighted down, restricted. Bonds, grasping her, limiting her, spiked like barbed wire, all attached to Death. No, there were others, too. Her oathbond.

That binding was wholly contained within herself, not connecting her to anyone else. Could I even break the oathbond? Even if she could, she didn’t think she would try to. She had come to despise Death and being trapped in that castle. She could keep drawing strength from her promise to destroy Deianira one day.

And then, finally, the strangest thing, a third kind of connection, seemingly connecting her to…

She couldn’t handle diving into the insidiousness of the bonds any longer. The compulsions were like spiritual thorns, binding her against her will. Her eyes flew open and she gasped her air. Ange took to her side as she breathed unsteadily.

“You feel them?” Ange asked. “The emissary bond, and the compulsions?”

Though the visceral intensity faded as her concentration broke, Scarlet doubted she could ignore the bonds, now that she found them. “Yes. How do I break them?”

“Unravel yourself from them. Disentangle yourself from your compulsions, and then from Eva, if you can. Free yourself, Scarlet.”

Scarlet reached for the bonds once more. She could see parts of herself were intertwined with the magic that formed the bonds, as well as Death’s own energy. Examining how it twisted and turned, she realized Ange was right: it was like untying a knotted string, unraveling herself from Death’s bindings.

With each knot untangled, she was lighter. Finally breath came easily. Her compulsions were broken, Death could no longer dictate her actions. Only two bonds, not including her oathond, were left—the emissary bond itself, and the bond that ran between herself, Death, and a third person. She followed the line that strange bond drew, and to her surprise, it was not, in fact, a person on the other end. It was a place. Somehow, she was also tethered to the center of the Crossworld, where Deianira stood.

Perhaps it was a last ditch effort from Death to keep her here, despite her failing power. Best to disentangle this bond next, then she would tackle the emissary bond itself. She tried to grasp at it to begin the process, but it was solid, a rope woven too tight to pull apart.

Death had told her she had raw power. What use was a talent left untapped? If Ange could break her emissary bond, then Scarlet could break hers, along with the one tying her to the Crossworld.

She sat in her empty place, the quiet place, now her place of power to work from, and began ripping the bond apart. It was compressed, tight like sinew, painful to claw at. Slowly, it loosened. It couldn’t be untangled, this one needed to be ripped, cut clean.

Scarlet slashed at the bond, strands of it snapping as she did so. Suddenly, her emissary bond flared, and Death’s words sounded loudly in her head.

Scarlet. You must stop.

Scarlet snorted. Why would I do that? I am freeing myself from this place, and you.

Please, no. You do not understand what you are doing—

Scarlet swiped at the bond again, and Death’s voice wavered with it. Everything wavered. Her mind seemed like it was falling out of place. Dizziness almost overtook her.

A distant voice said, “Scarlet?” Not Death, Ange.

This life, these past few months, she couldn’t do it anymore. Something had to break, and it was these bonds. She imagined cutting through the bond, sawing at it with her dagger, as she mentally thrust at it again. Another wave of dizziness as she struck it and severed it further.

YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND.

The forcefulness of the words was overwhelming. In her vertigo and inner focus, Scarlet had all but lost sense of her physical self, but she felt her body crumple to the ground.

“Scarlet, what are you doing?” Ange, concerned, far away.

If you do this, you will die.

Scarlet laughed, perhaps out loud, but her body was distant right now. The fogginess was closing in on her, but she couldn’t care. Liar.

It is true. I swear this to you. You must stop.

Waves of nausea swept over Scarlet. Maybe Death was telling the truth, for once.

You must stop breaking the bond, and stay in the Crossworld.

No, she just wanted to keep her trapped here. Scarlet wasn’t going to fall for that. She kept slicing.

Scarlet, I will explain everything to you, but stop. Please.

Never. Slice.

I only did this to save you. I saved you for Kiera, I promised her—

Slice.

I promised her to keep you safe. Just stop—

Slice.

Stop!

Slice.

And then, a snap.

And silence.