I fell through it face-first but landed on my back. There was no light, only pinpricks of white high above me like distant stars. The dirt rippled beneath me, like water around footsteps, and Julian’s shrieks grew distant as he ran. A pair of hands grabbed my ankles and dragged me away. The dark shrunk, and the stars drew nearer and sharper. I was yanked back through the Door with a groan.
Not the night but a mouth. Not stars but teeth.
Alistair pulled me into his lap, each breath a softer and softer gurgle, and turned my head toward the cavern’s entrance.
Julian stood waist-deep in the dirt. Blood welled wherever the earth touched him, and he tried to turn to me. Alistair’s arms slackened and fell away. His last breath rattled in his throat. I kept his hand in mine.
“Lorena?” called Julian.
He sunk to his chest with a jerk and screamed.
“I’m sorry, Jules,” I said and sobbed because I could remember loving him enough to use the pet name but not why I had loved him once. My hands were red with the death of a boy I could only remember in pieces and the death of one I had pieced together too late. “I’m sorry.”
“Lore?” he whispered. “You remember when we met? The blackberries?”
“I only remember the thorns.”
His last breath left him with a gasp. I slumped.
What were we if not the pieces of loved ones we had lost? A habit here, a keepsake there, and a last sentence lingering in our ears. Every part loved and returned to the earth in us. I was death.
“Don’t be melodramatic,” said a familiar voice. “I’ve met Death, and you’re nothing like them.”
I raised my head. Creek sat cross-legged before me, flowers blooming and worms writhing beneath him. Vines grew from the dirt and into him, twining between feathery tendons and muddy veins, and the gills of a mushroom rippled on the sides of his neck. He cracked his knuckles, and the joints snapped like tinder.
His eyes were Vile red.
“Little Lorena Adler played such a long game,” he said, and his laugh was the sound of rustling leaves.
I swallowed. “I opened the Door.”
“Yes,” he said, picking at his nails, “and it took you utter ages.”
“Were you the Door the whole time?” I asked.
“The thing you call the Door is the weakest of the Vile. That’s why we made it the Door.” He snorted and shook out his hair. “I am one of the Vile Crowns and have dominion over the chaotic aspects of life. You could not devour me so easily and are very lucky I like you.”
“Why—” My voice broke. Pain seared my throat, my chest. An ache pounded behind my eyes.
Dead. Dead. Dead.
So many dead by me.
“I’m a sacrifice,” I said and choked. “I’m supposed to die. I’m ready to die.”
“Not all sacrifices make us bleed. Your sacrifice, the one that binds us Vile to your deal, is living.” He stood, so much taller than Creek had been, and patted my shoulder with a hand too light to be flesh and blood. “Not all the Vile will obey it, of course, but you’re only mortal. Getting most of us was the best you could do. You’re going to live with yourself for a long, long time and help Cynlira recover. Or doom it. We’re not particular.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“We had fun, didn’t we?” He walked from the cavern, life blooming in his wake. “We owe debts, Lorena, and now our payments begin. Once you’re home, I’ll bring you a gift.”
I screamed till I couldn’t.
The sacrifice wasn’t my death. It was me living with these deaths and facing the folks whose loved ones I’d gotten killed.
Maybe they’d kill me.
I crawled toward the mouth of the cave. Moss and mushrooms speckled Julian’s body, but Alistair was untouched. I collapsed atop his chest, and set his glasses over his eyes. His shattered red gaze followed me from the cave.
He had understood. He had probably even guessed I’d have to live with this.
Shadows and sounds followed me, a whispering like wind or waves or rustling leaves. Bruises bloomed on my knees and elbows, and by the time I reached the top of the stairs, screams echoed down the halls. The peers, the ones I’d sacrificed, were still dying, and my wrights were still gone, enacting my will. I struggled toward the sounds of steel and stone clashing. An immortal howl shook the halls. I peeked around the corner.
Hana, face and chest splattered with blood, swept her sword in an arc through a smear of fog hovering in the hall. It split and fell, splashing against the ground. Blood oozed from the stormy flesh.
Four more Vile watched from the rafters and opened doors. A rattling thing with an empty chest dripping stomach acid to the floor drew in last breaths despite its missing lungs, but it didn’t lunge and try to devour Hana or the people she was protecting. A small beast whose ribs were a cage rocked back and forth, and the severed foot and dying rat trapped in its chest squished together. That Vile hadn’t lied; my contract had mostly worked. Hana beckoned the people behind her down the hall.
I tried to call out, but my voice was gone, dead as I had meant to be. I rapped on the floor. Hana spun, sword raised.
“Lorena!” She raced to me and held me up with one strong arm around my middle. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Are you dying? Where’s His Excellency?”
I shook my head and touched my throat. My arms hurt with even that little movement. We wove our way through the halls of the palace to the large church at the center of the grounds, and the nearer we got, the thicker grew the crowd of spawn not attacking but simply watching. We couldn’t and wouldn’t need to live exclusively in the church, but for now, I needed to help with what I could.
Mack and Basil, worse for wear, were at the gate leading into the church grounds. Mack scooped me up in both arms and carried me the rest of the way. Basil fluttered about him.
“Julian?” Mack asked.
I shook my head.
Basil touched Mack’s arm. “I’ll get Safia.”
“No,” I said. “I’ll live. Did it work?”
“Most folks are safe,” said Hana, rubbing her face. “A lot of Vile are just watching us, but the peers who were still in the palace…”
I tapped Mack’s shoulder till he set me down.
He sat in the dirt next to me, hand tight around my wrist. “What did you do?”
“I made a deal,” I whispered, “but apparently my sacrifice to seal it is living with what I’ve done.”
I sobbed, and he wiped my face.
The peerage and council were dead. Cynlira had no ruling bodies. Vile walked this world again. We’d have to rebuild completely, but we needed a new system not beholden to birthrights or costs.
“Lorena!” Safia, cheeks streaked with ash, came to a stop on the stone path I’d sat on, and she reached for Hana. A fresh cut on her arm had the bloodless look of a sacrifice. “Something’s coming. No heartbeat.”
“I feel it,” said Basil. “My noblewright’s cowering. It’s never cowered before.”
We made our way to the church gate. Safia stayed on the stone path some steps back. Hana reloaded a six-shooter, and I pointed to the Vile who watched us without attacking. A path of white asters spiraled up from the grass. The Vile backed away from it.
From around the bend came a line of children, each in the same plain dress of a Wallows orphanage, and none strayed from the path. The one in the lead carried a handful of green mums.
They sped up as they saw us. Basil and I darted forward, opening the gate. The first girl stumbled to a stop on wobbly legs, and Mack picked her up. She couldn’t have been older than four.
“We got lost,” she said, sniffing, “but Fran came back for us.”
Basil groaned. “Carlow was reinforcing some bridges over the Tongue so people could make it to Formet.”
“You must be very brave and smart to have gotten all the way here,” said Mack. He gestured to some cuts on her feet, and Basil healed them while the girl was distracted. “What happened?”
Hana and I herded the rest of the kids in the gate, and Safia started fussing over them.
“We were alone,” she said. “Then we weren’t.”
The Door opening.
“Fran made us close our eyes,” said another kid, his brown skin stained with blood that wasn’t his.
“This plan was shit,” called Carlow from the edge of the grounds, and the older kid next to her covered a nearby child’s ears. “We nearly scared the whole city to death with a bunch of Vile showing up and just watching.”
“Well,” said Hana, looking at Safia, “Carlow definitely has blood, I hope, so what did you feel?”
“Last I checked,” said Carlow, nudging the last of the kids ahead, “I had blood.”
She turned to shut the gate and froze. A vine of blue roses knotted around the metal, and ambling down the path, a child on his hip, came the Vile Crown wearing Creek’s skin.
“You missed one,” he said and stopped at the boundary to the church. “Hello again, Franziska.”
Carlow stumbled back. “You’re dead.”
“I can’t die,” said the Vile Crown. “Delmond Creek, though, has been dead for about two years.”
He set the kid on the ground, patted their head, and pushed them toward the gate. Carlow opened the gate, hiding them behind her. Basil grabbed them, and I tried to pull Carlow back. She shook me off.
“This will be easier if you invite me inside.” The Vile Crown’s red eyes swept over the consecrated grounds. “Please?”
None of us spoke, and he scoffed.
The Vile Crown stepped over the boundary of the church grounds. The flesh of his foot bubbled, skin peeling away like petals in a breeze. His blood streamed upward in scarlet rivers, and antlers covered in mossy green velvet burst from his scalp, his blond hair falling away in clumps. Dark brown strands ruffling like willow branches replaced it. Swallowwort bloomed in the wounds left by the consecrated earth.
Mack fired one shot. The wooden bolt sprouted wings and fluttered away.
“Not your gift, Lorena Adler, but one that is long overdue,” said the Vile Crown. “My little thorn, Franziska Carlow. The curse wasn’t meant for you.”
Carlow grabbed a knife from a pocket and pressed it to her arm. Vines curled around her feet, upending her. Basil and Safia moved to help, and I grabbed them. The vines dropped Carlow into the Vile Crown’s outstretched arms.
“Wait,” I whispered. “He said it’s a gift.”
“Franziska,” he said slowly, letting her struggle and stab him, “there’s only one way to remove your curse. Do you understand?”
She stilled. “There’s always only one way out.”
He plunged his hand into her chest, sternum cracking so loud it rang. Safia sobbed. Hana threw her short sword, and the blade sunk hilt-deep into the Vile Crown’s chest. He didn’t even wince.
“Very rude of you,” the Vile Crown muttered. “We were friends for so long, and that’s how you greet me?”
He laid Carlow, the wound in her chest a yawning dark too deep to be natural, on the consecrated dirt. Roses bloomed around her.
“The most boring flower.” I shuddered. “You were possessing Delmond Creek the whole time.”
“When he fulfilled his curse and died, he had no more need for this body. Possessing it was the only way to enter this world until the Door opened.” He chuckled. “I had been watching, of course. This curse should have died out decades ago. It was meant to punish the original recipient, not torture loved ones far removed from her actions.”
“What?” Basil covered their mouth with a hand. “Oh no, no, how—”
“You may call me Creek if you wish, but I am the Vile Crown of Strangling Vines and much prefer Vines,” he said.
A poppy blossomed on the left side of his chest, and he plucked it free. Hands far gentler than I’d expected tucked it into Carlow’s empty chest. She breathed again.
“Franziska?” he murmured.
She sobbed and scrambled away from him, tumbling into our open arms. Vines winced. Basil cupped her face in their hands while Safia checked her over.
“It’s fine,” Basil said. “You’re fine.”
And Carlow blinked at them, irises a bright fawn brown against bloodshot whites. Basil swallowed.
“Carlow?” I said gently and knelt next to her. “How do you feel?”
“Terrible.” She glanced from me to Vines. “You were in Creek. You were Creek?”
“I was.” Vines drew back, his hands clasped behind his back. “I removed your curse. I’m sorry it didn’t involve killing me, but you may try if you like.”
“The heart is a garden,” she whispered and touched the corners of her eyes as if she could feel the difference. “I wouldn’t like to try. I’d like to succeed.”
“Of course you would, you insufferable overachiever,” said Vines. “I will give you whatever future you desire, my corpse included. Now go. Plan your decade and know you have my help.”
We made our way into the church. He lingered at the edge of the grounds, a sentry among the Vile watching us with open, waiting mouths.
One by one, we came to watch the end of the world beyond these grounds. A fog had crept about the spawn keeping watch, their hungry eyes like flickering candles in the dark. My wrights were still quiet, their lack of presence an ache in my bones. I’d been awake for far too long. Exhaustion and grief had taken everything from me. Too tired to stop. Too tired to sleep.
Every now and then, new faces would appear beyond the gate. The survivors from the palace—the children of the peers—found us with tear-streaked faces and bloody hands. I stayed awake for them and greeted each one. This was the cost of what I’d done.
Me facing what I’d done. I could never hide from who I was again.
“What do we do now?” Basil asked, plucking strands of fog from the swarm around us. It writhed between their fingers. Another Vile. Another thing that wanted us dead. “What are you supposed to do when the world ends?”
I tilted my head back to the empty sky. The ever-full moon, the Door holding back the Noble, was bright above us. The Vile avoided its light. Chaos couldn’t be wrought within its sight.
“We begin anew.”
The moon blinked.