The binding ritual was performed in the throne room.

Dante wasn’t sure what to expect. He sat cross-legged in the middle of the room as Death placed lit incense in censers placed in a circle around him. In front of him, Death had placed a bowl containing a dark liquid, a small velvet bag, a knife, and a mortar and pestle similar to what he had used back in his days as an herbalist’s apprentice.

As the incense burned and began to release their aroma, Dante inhaled the smoke. The scent was unique, yet blossomed deeply nostalgic feelings in his chest. If magic had a smell, this would be it.

A strange calm overtook Dante, now that he decided his path. His course was set, he would become an emissary, save Bronwen, go find Jayden, and Scarlet—well, she’d keep being Scarlet. His heart twisted.

He didn’t want to think about all that right now. “So, how does this work?” he asked.

Death lit one last stick of incense and sat down across from him. “Five censers surrounding us, representing the other gods,” she said, placing the last censer in between them, “and one in the middle, representing me. Breathe deeply.”

Dante took in a smoky breath. His feelings of nostalgia intensified. His memories ran through him. For a moment, he thought he was sitting at the kitchen table, back in Briarglen—then he remembered Briarglen was gone. Burned to the ground. He exhaled, releasing the thought of home.

“We will make an ink,” she said, loosening the drawstrings on the velvet pouch, “that I will embed into your hand, becoming your emissary mark. It is the connection that will bind us.” Death poured the contents of the bag, some crystalline shards, into the mortar.

“What’s that?”

“Magus stone. The only substance that magic flows through.” Shimmering magic poured from Death’s hand into the mortar, and the shards began to glow softly as the energy moved back and forth through them. “Veins of it run underground on your continent in the World, a network that the gods’ energies flow through, allowing you gifted mortals to access magic.” She held the mortar out for Dante. “Your turn.”

He added his own magic to the stones, entranced by energy running through them. Death took the pestle and began grinding the shards.

He remembered the first time he realized he had magic. One morning, when he was twelve, he had awoken feeling… full. Tingly. Something was bursting in his chest, wanting to leap out. He wasn’t sure what it was until it overflowed, radiant ribbons of magic leaking from his palms. He’d tightened his hand, almost into a fist, and the magic condensed into a bolt much like the ones he had now practiced with for months. It had been equal parts exhilarating and terrifying to realize he was a mage. It had been amazing, at the time, despite the fact that he would be killed if anyone found out.

Death continued grinding until the shards had become a fine, shimmering dust. Then she took up the knife. Dante cringed as she pulled it across her palm. Blood dripped from her closed fist into the mortar. She handed the knife to him, once again holding the mortar out.

Dante took the knife, reluctant, and braced himself. He exhaled sharply as he drew the sharp blade across his skin. He squeezed his hand and allowed the blood to join with Death’s. She mixed the concoction before adding it to the other bowl, which Dante realized was full of black ink, and then stirred that as well.

Death held out her bleeding palm to him. “Ready?”

Dante’s calmness had been washed over with anxiety. “Yes.” He gave her his hand.

She placed his hand bloody side down on the cold stone floor, firmly pinning it with her own. With her other hand, she dipped a finger into the ink. “This might hurt.”

Dante took his last breaths before becoming an emissary. He hoped it wasn’t his last breaths of freedom.

“You choose to bind yourself to me as an emissary, disciple of my tenants, agent of my cause,” Death intoned. “Do you accept me as your patron god?”

“Yes.”

Death touched her inked finger to the back of Dante’s hand. He thought the liquid would be cool, but it burned on his skin, through his skin, soaking into his body. He gritted his teeth as Death drew the symbols that would bind them. The pain grew as she continued the process. Darkness creeped in on his peripheral vision as the sensation grew to be too much.

This was it, decision made, no turning back: he would become an emissary, save Bronwen, find Jayden, and, Scarlet—

#

When Dante woke up, he was in his bed. His hand hurt and his whole body felt raw. He felt like he’d been struck by lightning. He rolled over and was startled to see Death sitting in a chair next to his bed. There were dark circles under her eyes.

“Bronwen,” was all she needed to say.

Dante hauled himself out of bed. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been knocked out for after the binding ritual, but any amount of time was too long, with him badly his mentor had been doing. Together, he and Death strode to Bronwen’s quarters.

Bronwen was still unconscious. His face jaundiced, looking half-dead already. Dante tried to center himself in preparation for what was sure to be a difficult healing session.

He turned to Death. “So. How do I do this—drawing power from you?”

“Close your eyes.”

He did so.

“Do you feel the bond? The connection between us?”

Dante searched within himself. It took a few breaths for him to sort through his energy stream, but he found it—it was like a thread running between them. “Yeah. I feel it.”

“If I let you, you can pull some of my energy through it,” she said. “I do not have a lot right now. So try to be efficient. But use what you need to save him. If it drains me dry, then so be it.”

Dante began to pour healing energy into Bronwen, doing his best to guide his body’s recovery process. As he did, he pulled gently at the bond, drawing energy from Death’s pool. Even though she said she had little left, the power flowing through him was beyond what he had access to on his own.

He could sense the infection running deep in Bronwen’s veins. Internal damage and bleeding, as well as his more obvious external wounds. Dante did his best to focus his energy on the infected cells and mending the worst of the damage.

When he felt both Death’s and his own strength flag, Dante stopped. There was only so much Bronwen could take at once. To push his recovery too fast could be a danger in and of itself.

As Dante pulled away, Bronwen’s eyes fluttered open. “Dante?” he mumbled weakly.

“Save your strength,” Dante told him. “I’m healing you. You’re going to be okay.”

“You became… an emissary?”

“Yes.”

“I hope it wasn’t just for… little old me.”

“Not ‘just’, but… you’ve helped me so much, Bronwen.”

Bronwen, moving lethargically, reached out and squeezed Dante’s hand. “Thank you.”

He smiled at Dante before closing his eyes, immediately drifting back into sleep. That was good. Rest was what his body needed the most now.

Death and Dante looked at each other. Her blood-red hair was flat, the spark in her eyes had dulled. He wondered if she had any power left at all. He was sure that he looked as exhausted as she did.

Tired as Dante was, he wasn’t about to forget their deal. “You owe me some answers.”

“Back to the throne room, then.”

When they arrived, Dante noticed the throne room was back to its pristine, if austere, state—all evidence of the ritual had been wiped away. He wondered how many emissary bonds had been created in this room. I’m an emissary. The words were still surreal.

Death didn’t take her place on the throne. Instead, she stood in front of the dais, and looked at him, almost sadly. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

Death sighed. “Pick something.”

“Ange. Why did you imprison her?”

“I was afraid she was working against me.”

“Why?”

“She kept running off on her own. She wouldn’t answer my questions. And I wouldn’t be the first god she’s turned her back on. She used to be an emissary of Riordan.”

Dante was dumbstruck. Ange had been on Riordan’s side? “Does he have more emissaries?”

“Just Calder, I would think. Riordan purposely withholds his magic from the magus stone grid and strangles the other gods’ magic from flowing through as much as possible. That’s why fewer mages are born in Saridian than in the other realms. And, only very rarely is a mage attuned to Riordan. But the ones who are, he tracks down to recruit or eliminate. He chooses his future incarnate from his small number of emissaries, and gets rid of the rest. He failed to kill Ange after Calder was chosen.”

“So Ange is attuned to Riordan? I thought she was attuned to Io, like me. She reached me in my dreams.”

“Ange is… an exceptional case. She is attuned to all of the gods’ powers. I’ve never seen anyone like her.”

This was growing stranger by the moment. “I supposed that explains her shapeshifting powers, too?”

“Illusion,” Death corrected. “A facet of Cascara’s power. Ange is a master of manipulation. She’s dangerous, Dante. She’s also an artificer. Do you know what that is?”

“Yes.” Dante had read enough of Scarlet’s recommended books about the Magus War to know about artifacts. He also knew they were banned. The creation of new artifacts, especially so, as it depleted the magus stone grid.

The use of magus stone as a part of the binding ritual confirmed a couple of Dante’s theories. The crystals they used looked the same as the crystal that hung around Death’s neck. It was also the same as the crystal orb that was amplifying his visions. He was glad he hadn’t asked Bronwen or Death about it after all. They might not have taken kindly to him having fixed it.

“She created artifact weapons to slay gods. Five of them. Perhaps six, actually. One for each god.”

“Wait, Ange wants to kill all of the gods?”

“Perhaps. Or she wants six chances at killing Riordan. But the numbering is suspect.”

Dante was suddenly very glad he hadn’t chosen to go with Ange. Facing Riordan’s forces was terrifying enough, he definitely didn’t need to get caught up in a campaign to kill every god.

“So that’s Ange,” Death said. “What else do you want to know?”

“Why is Riordan doing all this? What does he want?”

“That is a long story.”

“When we spoke with Calder, it sounded like…”

“Like Riordan was obsessed with me?”

“Pretty much.”

Dante stared her down, expectant, waiting for more. Death fidgeted with her crystal necklace.

“He got bored after the Magus War ended. He fell in love with me, and I rejected him. He wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. In his jealousy, he killed my lover, and has been tormenting me ever since. He uses his powers to drain me of my own and to keep me locked in the Crossworld. Incarnates don’t age here. I’ve been trapped for… years. Decades. I can barely rally forces to fight him from here, and slowly he gains ground on me, and continues his iron rule over Saridian.”

“He’s awful.”

Death sat on the dais, and let her head fall into her hands. “All I want to do is go to the Nextworld and search out my love. I miss her, Dante. I am exhausted.”

She’d never looked so human to him. He didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

Death cleared her throat and raised herself back up. “Next. Next question.”

“When Bronwen is healed, what then? You’ll let me go to my sister?”

“Yes. In fact, I will insist on it. She has joined a rebel faction in Saridian called the Vanguard. One of my last remaining emissaries is nearby, leading a group called the Ravens. They aren’t currently working together, although I hope that will be resolved soon. The Vanguard has hold of the weapons Ange made. This is our final chance to defeat Riordan.”

He would see Jayden again. Soon, even if it meant participating in a deadly battle between gods—he was going to have to accept that this was his life now. Regardless, relief flooded through him at the thought of being reunited with his sister, before another wave of dread hit. “And Scarlet?”

“She must stay in the Crossworld, as I told you.”

“Why?”

“Are you sure you want to know?” Death asked. “It might change things. And even though I am weakened, I will use some of my remaining energy to bind you against telling her.”

“But—”

“I said I would tell you whatever you wanted. It doesn’t mean you can tell Scarlet.”

Dante’s throat tightened. I haven’t been an emissary for a full day and she’s already playing games with me. “Why is it so serious that you keep this from her?”

“I made a promise to her mother that I would keep this from her. Kiera… has always tried to protect Scarlet from the things that will hurt. I doubt it is always the wisest course of action. Regardless, I’ve made the promise and I will honor it.”

With his curiosity now sparked, Dante needed to know the answer, even if he had to keep it to himself. “Tell me.”

“Riordan attacked Kiera and Scarlet. And then…” Death trailed off.

Dante had heard this story. “And then you saved her.”

“No.” Death played with the end of her braid, looking at her hair instead of Dante. “And then she died.”

Dante’s heart froze. “But she’s… she’s here.”

“Her energy had already merged into the stream of souls when Kiera brought her to me. Normally, when I save someone, I interrupt their energy before they join the stream. It’s much easier that way.

“So I wasn’t able to save her. Not really. The emissary bond helped. I bought her more time, in hopes that I could figure out how to save her in truth. I tethered her soul back to her body, and all of her to the Crossworld. It’s precarious at best. It’s also part of the reason her powers are out of control. She isn’t fully connected to her body.”

Dante’s heart dropped. “And if she goes to the World…”

“The connection she has to the Crossworld will snap and Scarlet will die in short order. Even if she stays here, her soul will keep slowly leaking into the Nextworld. I’ve been feeding her energy through our emissary bond, enough that she hasn’t noticed the transition yet. But I can’t keep it up for much longer. She’s slipping more quickly now, not just losing energy but parts of herself as well.”

“There’s nothing you can do to fix her?”

“If I had my full power, I may be able to find the pieces of her in the stream of souls but... in my current state, there is nothing I can do.”

Dante was frozen in place.

“I’m sorry, Dante. I can see the way you look at her. You care for her. But unless we defeat Riordan, it’s only a matter of time until she dies.”