Euribios lifts his foot from my body and extends a hand to me.

I stare at it warily.

When I don’t take his hand, he smiles down at me. “Fine.”

With one hand he reaches for my head; with the other, my mouth. Taking a thick clump of my hair, he begins to drag me towards the pool.

I scream, my cries muffled by his hand, and I claw at his wrist—anything to relieve the horrible pressure on my scalp.

“Tradition dictates that every Death King’s bride must be baptized in the Well of Resurrection.”

The closer we get to that pool, the more the humming becomes a soft dirge. That glowing, flickering water calls to my siren.

Right as we’re on the very edge of it, Euribios lifts me to my feet, so that I can see, first hand, the pool he means to baptize me in.

The surface of the water stirs, and then something from its depths moves.

I’m not going in there, I try to say, but my mouth is still muffled.

Another something moves, a bit of cloth catching my eye. The longer I stare, the more I see—first a delicate arm, then a face—then another face, and another. All fairies, all silently screaming in apparent agony.

Jesus.

They crowd towards the surface, their hands pressed against the water as though there were some true barrier preventing them from escaping. I suck in a breath when I see a familiar face among them. The fae woman who so recently passed through Euribios’s halls is now trapped down there with who knows how many other souls.

The Thief pulls me close. “You wanted to know what happens to the dead. Look no further.”

They reach for me.

My wings threaten to expose themselves, and the Thief must notice.

“Enchantress, are you frightened?” he asks, his lips brushing against my ear. “Because you should be. Once I throw you in, you will have to fight your way out.”

Going to carve him up from ear to ear and wear a necklace of his entrails, the siren hisses.

With a fierce push, Euribios shoves me into the pool.

I hit the water with a hard slap, but I don’t go all the way under, not right away. My head and shoulders are still above water.

Immediately, I feel them. The ghosts that live in this pool. Their phantom skin slides against me, and I feel their spindly fingers as they grab at my leathers, pulling me deeper into the pool.

“Let me go,” I command.

The hands that hold me don’t budge.

So much for that.

I begin dragging myself back to the edge of the water, towards the Thief who watched me with a treacherous smile. More and more hands grab for my legs, my ankles, and my torso.

The dead are clinging to me!

I’m utterly spooked by the sensation.

They haven’t tried to do more than that, though. At least, not yet.

I want to reach for the Thief and beg him to save me. Anger and pride halt my hand and my voice. Instead, I settle for glaring at him.

He grins back at me, his form darkening slightly.

I can’t believe he’s a god. An evil, cursed god.

“You know,” he says conversationally as I’m dragged backwards, “I knew a siren once. She was beautiful like you. And mated, like you. But that is where the similarities ended.”

A hand jerks on my ankle hard, and I nearly lose my footing.

I don’t really give a fuck about story time right now. I just want these dead fairies to stop groping me.

Euribios frowns, his eyes softening as they grow distant. “But that was another life,” he says, still lost in his memories.

I shudder as phantom bodies swarm around me. They stare at me from below with agonized eyes. Piece by piece, they remove my gear and carry it off, leaving me in nothing but the shirt and trousers I put on back in Somnia.

Even that is not enough to satiate their interest in me. They rally around me, drawn to my life force or my glamour. I cannot imagine how many of them have been imprisoned in this pool. Not even death could release them from the Thief’s torment.

Euribios leans against a nearby pillar. As he watches me, he begins to move his hand, murmuring under his breath.

“What are you doing?”

He pauses his chants, but his hand still twists and flicks. “Removing a ward.”

Removing a ward? What ward?

“There are worlds where magic has no effect on me,” he says conversationally. “And worlds where it does. This is the latter.”

So he’s affected by magic? And the ward in question—is this something he placed on himself? Something he’s now lifting?

If so, that changes things.

“Why are you telling me this?” My voice wavers mid-sentence as an arm winds around my torso and yanks me back.

“I want to hear you sing,” he says as he finishes.

I feel the subtlest stir in the air as the ward dissolves away. It was so expertly crafted that I didn’t detect its presence, and now I barely notice its departure.

“No holds barred,” Euribios continues. “I want to feel what all those men felt when they died at your kind’s feet.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“You’re not immune to my glamour?” I ask, my skin glowing. It’s slow to process, partly because I have a horde of dead fae trying to drag me under—but holy shit.

He smiles a little, his eyes narrowing. “Enchant me, if you can.”

The siren surges.

We can enthrall him.

My wings protrude, my claws sharpen and my scales shift and resettle along my forearms. My glamour thrums against my skin and coats my throat.

At the display, the dead around me grow frenzied, grabbing me and dragging me down with greater urgency.

I fight against them, but it’s a losing battle.

And just when things were becoming halfway interesting.

Of course, that’s the entire reason why the Thief removed the ward. He wants to hear my glamour when I pose no threat.

If he can fall prey to us, then we’ll always be a threat.

My neck slides under the water, my chin skimming the surface. I part my lips. There are only two things I want from him: one, for the Thief to release his hold on Des; and two, for him to die.

He looks undaunted. “Any attempts you make on my life will be thwarted. I have my own tricks too, enchantress.”

Then saving Des it is. I’m trying to piece together the correct order when the spirits of the pool jerk hard on me. My mouth slips beneath the surface, and I have to tilt my head back to speak.

Time’s up.

“Come join me in the water,” I breathe, and then I’m dragged under.

The blood rushes through my veins, my siren singing as I call a god to me. To us.

This has been a decade in coming. This is what I was born to do.

Only now am I finally listening to the siren’s call.

Some of the spirits release me, swarming over to this new creature. Even with my glamour, I can tell the dead find him infinitely more interesting. He’s a god, which makes him more than just alive. He’s eternal.

It will make killing him interesting.

As soon as the dead’s hold loosens on me, I rise to the surface once more, just in time to see Euribios wading towards me, uncaring of the hands that grab at him. Curiosity and want war for dominance on his features. This is a creature who will take and take and take.

The spirits yank at me, redoubling their efforts, and it’s a struggle to keep my head above water.

“So defiant,” the Thief says, drinking me in, his eyes shining brightly, “even now when you know fighting is hopeless.”

I don’t know whether he’s referring to the ghosts pulling me down, or the more general problem of me being his captive.