Zareth's POV
The ice beneath my feet explodes into a thousand razor-sharp pieces.
I throw myself sideways as shards fly past my face, each one sharp enough to cut bone. My boots slide on the frozen lake, and I'm already moving, already hunting, already closing the distance between me and the man who thinks he can escape me.
Nobody escapes me.
"Stop running, Meridian!" I shout across the ice. "You're just making this harder."
The Timekeeper laughs—actually laughs—and spins around to face me. He's old, maybe a thousand years or more, with white hair that floats around his head like he's underwater. His eyes glow silver-blue, the color of ancient magic.
"Harder for whom, little Reaper?" His voice echoes strangely, like I'm hearing it from yesterday and tomorrow at the same time. "I've seen your future, Zareth Mourningveil. You won't like how it ends."
My heart pounds, but I push the feeling away. Feelings make you weak. Feelings get you killed.
I pull Silverbane from its sheath on my back. The sword hums in my hand, eager for blood. It's killed one hundred and twenty-six immortals. Meridian will be one hundred and twenty-seven.
"Your tricks don't scare me," I say, circling him slowly. The ice creaks under our weight. "You're just like all the others. You steal magic from regular people. You make children starve in the Mourning Districts while you live forever. You're a parasite."
"Is that what they taught you?" Meridian tilts his head, studying me like I'm a puzzle. "Is that what you tell yourself when you close your eyes at night, covered in our blood?"
"I don't lose sleep over killing monsters."
"No," he says softly. "You don't sleep at all anymore, do you?"
How does he know that?
I attack before he can say anything else. My sword cuts through the air, silver light trailing behind it. Meridian waves his hand and time slows. I'm moving through honey, through mud, through water that wants to drown me.
But I've fought Timekeepers before. I know their tricks.
I bite down hard on my tongue until I taste blood. The pain shocks my body, breaks through his magic just enough. I push forward, faster, and my blade slices across his arm.
Gold blood spatters on the white ice.
Time snaps back to normal. Meridian stumbles backward, clutching his wound. He looks surprised—actually surprised—that I hurt him.
"You're better than I expected," he says. "She trained you well."
"Who?"
"Your moth—"
I don't let him finish. I charge forward, swinging Silverbane in the pattern I've practiced ten thousand times. Cut, thrust, spin, strike. The Timekeeper blocks with shields made of frozen seconds, but I shatter them one by one.
We fight across the lake. Every time my blade touches his skin, gold light spills out. Every time his magic touches me, I feel my heartbeat stutter, feel hours of my life being stolen and given back.
My silver marks—the tattoos covering my arms and neck—start to burn. They always burn during a hunt, keeping my emotions locked away, making me faster and stronger and deadlier.
But tonight, something's wrong. The marks don't just burn. They ache. Like something inside them is trying to break free.
"You feel it, don't you?" Meridian gasps, blood dripping from a wound in his side. "The cracks spreading. The lies falling apart."
"Shut up!" I slam my blade toward his chest.
He catches it—actually catches Silverbane with his bare hand. Gold blood runs down the silver metal. His eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, I can't look away.
"He's been waiting for you," Meridian whispers. "The last one. He knows what you are. He knows what they did to you."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do. In your dreams. The ones that shouldn't exist. The memories your marks are supposed to erase." He smiles sadly. "A sister's laugh. A mother's song. A father with golden eyes."
My breath catches. How does he—
No. No, those aren't real. Those are just nightmares. The marks keep me focused, keep me pure, keep me from being weak like regular people.
"The Empire lied to you, child," Meridian says. His grip on my sword loosens. He's dying. "About everything. About us. About them. About you."
"You're lying!" I rip Silverbane free and drive it through his heart in one clean motion.
The light goes out of his eyes. Gold blood spreads across the ice like spilled paint. The Timekeeper falls, and the lake cracks beneath him, spider-web fractures spreading in every direction.
I stand over his body, breathing hard. One hundred and twenty-seven. That's my record now. One hundred and twenty-seven immortals who won't steal magic anymore.
So why do I feel sick?
Meridian's lips move. He's not dead yet—immortals take forever to actually die. I kneel down, even though I shouldn't, even though I should just walk away.
"What?" I ask.
"He's been waiting for you." His voice is barely a whisper. "The last one. Lysander. He knows... what you are... what they made you..."
"Made me what?"
But Meridian's eyes close. His chest stops moving. The gold blood stops flowing.
He's gone.
I pull Silverbane free and wipe it clean on the ice. My hands are shaking. They never shake.
The marks on my arms burn hotter. I look down and gasp.
There are cracks in them. Actual cracks, like they're made of glass instead of ink. Silver light bleeds through the fractures, bright and wrong and alive.
I touch one of the cracks. Pain shoots up my arm, and suddenly I'm somewhere else—
A woman with silver marks like mine, but softer, glowing instead of burning. She's singing to a little girl. "Hush now, little anchor. The stars will keep you safe."
The little girl is me.
I jerk my hand back. The memory—if that's what it was—disappears.
My heart pounds so hard it hurts. The marks are supposed to stop memories. They're supposed to keep me focused on the mission. That's what High Luminary Cassian said when he gave them to me.
So why are they breaking?
And why did Meridian's last words sound less like a warning and more like a message?
I look up at the night sky. Stars shine overhead, cold and distant. Somewhere out there, the last immortal is waiting. Lysander Ashencrown. The Star-Devourer. My final target.
My final hunt.
The ice beneath me cracks louder. I need to leave before I fall through.
But as I turn to go, I see something that makes my blood freeze.
On the ice, written in Meridian's gold blood, are words I didn't see before. Words he must have written with his dying breath:
SHE KNOWS YOU'RE COMING
Not "he." She.
Who is she? And why would an immortal use his last moment of life to warn me about someone else?
The marks on my arms crack wider. Light spills through them, bright as stars.
And deep in my chest, in a place I thought was empty forever, something I haven't felt in twenty years wakes up.
Fear.