Do the dead ever really die?

Jesus.

This is why the Thief can wear the bodies of the dead, and this is how he can send soldiers into a sleep from which they cannot wake. All of the Thief’s strange, mysterious powers that the Otherworld has never seen, they are powers that belonged to the Kingdom of Death.

The throne the Thief sat on, the staggering reach of his magic … He’s not just any fae from the land of the dead—he must be their king.

This, of course, is all assuming I’m right.

I am right. I feel it in my bones.

I shake the King of Night’s shoulder.

Des wakes with a smile, already reaching for me. “Insatiable wife. Want another go?”

If only.

“Des,” I whisper, “I think I know who the Thief is.”

Chapter 31

It’s much, much later by the time I fall asleep. And when I do, the Thief is waiting for me in my dreams, just as I knew he would be.

“So you finally figured it out.” He reclines on his golden throne, and for the first time I see a king in him. Not the kind of king that Des is, dark and honorable and dastardly all at once.

This is the kind of king that you wither back from, the kind of king you hope never notices you.

I lay on the stone floor beneath him, sprawled out like I threw myself at his feet.

“Death is the one kingdom all these self-satisfied fae have forgotten,” he continues.

I don’t bother asking how he knows.

I remember Des’s reaction when I told him my realization. His astounded expression. The disbelief that followed, then the reluctant consideration and, lastly, his horrified acceptance.

Even now I can feel the way the Night King’s hands gripped my upper arms, squeezing them as I explained my reasoning.

He was thunderstruck, but in the end, I felt the hot rush of his pride. You figured it out, cherub. So many lives will be saved because you figured it out.

Trouble is, I’m not sure where we go from here. Knowing who the Thief is doesn’t make him easier to defeat. If anything, the fact that he rules over the dead is a new conundrum.

I mean, can you really kill a thing that lives among the dead? Is that even possible? Des hadn’t known when I’d asked, just as he hadn’t known how to get to the land of the dead without first dying.

The Thief rises from his throne and heads over to me as I begin to sit up. He crouches next to me on the floor. His hand goes to my neck, his flesh cold, so cold. Why had I never noticed that before?

“I will tell you a story,” he says, pushing me back down to the floor.

I don’t try to fight him, though the siren in me wants to. “I don’t really want to hear it,” I say, pinned beneath his hold.

“But I think you do, enchantress.” The Thief of Souls flexes his fingers, pressing lightly against my windpipe. I can tell he wants to do more, that the thought excites him. But like me, he reins in his wilder impulses.

“Many years ago a fairy hungered for power, and he did many terrible things to keep it,” he begins.

The cool floor bites into my skin, and the smell of old bones is back. I swear I can smell spoiled blood rotting away somewhere nearby.

“One day, this fairy discovered that his time would indeed end—unless he took measures to ensure it didn’t.” Another press of his fingers. “I was one of those measures.

“I slumbered for many years before Galleghar sought me out. But then his darkness touched mine, and I awoke.”

My brows knit. I don’t know what to make of his words. The Thief is the King of Death. I assumed that like other fae kings, he was born, he grew into a man, and at some point he inherited the throne. Not this business of him slumbering and waking. I don’t know what to do with that information.

“He gave me life so that one day I might return the favor.” The Thief’s eyes have grown distant. “And so I did, and here we are.”

I stare up at him. I can feel his need to squeeze the life out of me.

“Do it,” I taunt him. “Kill me. I know you want to.”

This is my base nature talking. My siren wants the pain and violence. She welcomes the chaos.

The Thief’s eyes thin, even as he smiles. “You are perhaps the only creature alive who dares my violence.” The Thief’s fingers dig in, and he begins choking me. He leans in close. “And I’m acquiring a taste for your foolish courage.”

Can’t breathe.

He leans in close, his mouth only inches from mine. A lock of his dark hair brushes my cheek.

Black dots are beginning to speckle my vision.

“You and I both know I can’t kill you here,” the Thief says, still squeezing my neck.

Need to breathe.

It’s starting to feel like he’s legitimately killing me.

“… But I can hurt you.” To emphasize his point, his grip tightens.

I haven’t moved, haven’t struggled. I want to, I want to claw him off of me, but a deeper, more insidious part of me is shaking off her own deep slumber, and she won’t give this monster anything.

I begin to smile at him, even as darkness creeps in from my vision. “If you want to hurt me—” I’m mouthing the words more than saying them. My surroundings are disappearing as the darkness closes in on my vision. “—you’re going to have to try harder …”

I gasp awake, taking in a lungful of air, then another and another. Overhead, I see silvery wings spread wide.

A moment later, Des’s face fills my vision. “You’re awake.” Relief thickens his voice.

I remember for the millionth time that when the Thief decides to commandeer my dreams, not even the King of the Night can wake me.

I can still feel the press of the Thief’s hand against my neck, and I swear I can taste death at the back of my throat.

Really should stop taunting the Thief.

“Why are your wings out?” I ask, shaking away the last vestiges of the dream.

“Do you know how often I fight this reaction with you?” Des says, sitting back on his haunches. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair. “A better question would be: why aren’t my wings out all the damn time? I either want to fuck you or fuck up someone for messing with you.”

I give the Bargainer a small smile, and then my eyes return to his wings. I trail my fingers over them again. “Which are you leaning towards at the moment?” I ask.

The Bargainer’s lips twist into a wry smile. “Both.” The expression quickly fades. He traces a knuckle along the side of my face. “You know this is almost over, right?”

I know he’s talking about the Thief of Souls, but for some horrifying reason, I assume he means us. The sheer fear at the thought—it paralyzes me.

Three abrupt raps on the door interrupt us.

“You Majesty,” Malaki calls through the door, “Galleghar has been spotted.”

It has to be another trap.

That’s what I think when I sit in the throne room next to Des, a strange fae creature standing before us.

“I ssssaw him. The oooold king.” The fae can barely speak coherent words out of its misshapen mouth. Its skin is the color of a bruise, its eyes are reptilian, and its body is thin and hunched.

I have no clue what creature this is, only that I’ve seen it before in one of Des’s sketches.

Des leans his chin on a hand, his pointer finger tapping against his cheek. “Where?”

“Barrrrbooosssss.”

My skin brightens.