That, she would certainly have noticed.
Emriss had removed her hand from Lindon’s forehead, but now she set her staff aside and took him by both shoulders. She peered with dark eyes into both of his and spoke earnestly. “Do not be taken in by them. Some of my peers believe that the Dreadgods have only gained intelligence after the death of Subject One, but they were always clever. You cannot negotiate with them.”
“I know,” Lindon said.
He could feel the influence of hunger madra. Even now, his arm was reminding him of how much power Emriss represented. By Consuming her, he could benefit from her wisdom and experience in addition to her madra.
What could Dross become with a dream Monarch’s power?
How long could Lindon live with a tree’s lifeline? He might become so close to immortal that even the other Dreadgods couldn’t kill him.
The worst part was that it wasn’t just the arm that was urging him forward. This was the hunger that had been in him from beginning; the desire to get stronger, now taken to an absurd extreme.
That was what the Dreadgods were made of. At their fundamental level, they were made to devour the world.
Negotiating with them was like bargaining with a wildfire. Or a virus.
A virus that could turn into a mountain-sized monster.
Emriss saw the sincerity in his eyes and visibly relaxed. She patted him on both shoulders. “Good boy. This is the best chance we have to be rid of them since the last Dread War, so I wouldn’t want us to give it up.”
“We have three problems left,” Lindon said.
Dross projected images of Malice, Sha Miara, and Reigan Shen into the air.
“If we’re lucky, the Bleeding Phoenix will take care of Shen for us,” Emriss said. “But I’ve never been so lucky. I don’t think his fate ends here.”
“What about Sha Miara?” Lindon asked.
“I can handle Miara. My concern is Malice.”
Lindon looked into the image of Malice, seated on her throne with her legs crossed and shadowy hair drifting behind her. Dross made her adopt a smug smile.
“There’s no telling what that girl will do if she feels cornered,” Emriss said sadly. “She might burn it all down rather than let someone take it, like the dragons she so despises.”
[Don’t worry, we have a personal contact with Malice. That will make it easier. I’m certain. I haven’t run the simulation, but—Oh, I just did. This makes it harder, doesn’t it? Way harder.]
Lindon stared at the floor in a corner of the room. Mercy was a few floors down, working on the Book of Eternal Night.
“We’ll try to talk her into ascending, if we can,” Lindon said.
Emriss raised one eyebrow. “Do you think that’s worth an attempt?”
“Yes. But not for Malice’s sake.”
“As long as you’re willing to do what’s necessary when that fails.”
Lindon could feel Dross’ thoughts in the back of his head. Dross was struggling not to tell him that there was a ninety percent chance Malice would never surrender and would instead go down trying to take as many people with her as possible.
“I’ll talk to Mercy,” Lindon said.
Emriss sighed. “Good luck.”
24
Mercy sat in the fifth page of the Book of Eternal Night. She was supposed to be taking it apart, as she had the first four pages, but instead she just let the never-ending nightmare flow around her.
It didn’t touch her as much as it had before.
She felt Lindon trying to enter the Book and allowed it. He could have forced his way in, but he wouldn’t.
The projection of his self appeared a moment later, and Mercy gave him a bright smile. “Tea?” she offered. She held out a cup.
Lindon looked from her to the tea set in front of her. She was seated on a blanket spread on the stone floor of this nightmarish cave, with the long-fingered inhabitants of the cavern system lurking around every corner.
She had a teapot and one cup, but she conjured another for him and began to pour.
Cautiously, Lindon sat down. “You seem like you’re doing well.”
“Not bad, right? Lovely weather we’re having.” Mercy waggled her eyebrows at the constant gloom that infused the air.
She handed him a cup.
“How are you really?” he asked. He didn’t drink yet.
Mercy looked around herself. “I thought this would be good training for me. If I can keep my mood up here, then it should be easy to face down my mother. Right?”
Lindon paused for too long before he sipped his tea. “I…hope so,” he said. Which told Mercy why he was here.
A shiver of fear passed through her that had nothing to do with the boundary field stored in this page of the Book. “It’s time, huh?”
“We can give you a little while to prepare,” Lindon said. “I wanted you to have a chance to talk to her. Before I did.”
Mercy could imagine what a talk between Lindon and her mother would look like. A part of her wanted to see that.
There was something satisfying about the thought of Akura Malice, Queen of Shadows, having to run from someone several centuries her junior.
But Malice lived up to her name. If Lindon cornered her, she would burn the entire clan to the ground rather than surrender. She would do anything to strike back, even if it meant taking the Ashwind continent with her. Or all of Cradle.
As long as something of the family survived, she would consider it a victory.
Mercy had practiced keeping her mood up in the middle of hostile dream aura, but now that was ruined. She stood up, tossing the tea aside.
Lindon carefully put his cup down.
“It’s just a memory,” she told him. “No need to be neat.”
“I know, but I don’t want to leave a mess inside your Book.”
Mercy laughed.
The fifth page closed at her will, melting away as the world around them shifted to the sixth page. Now they were in a six-sided room, and each of the six walls were mirrors.
Lindon glanced curiously around, although Mercy was a little embarrassed to show this to him. These were her own possible futures. At least, the ones her mother saw and wanted her to consider.
“Are these real predictions?” Lindon asked. “Or are they illusions?”
Mercy was about to reply when something occurred to her. “Can’t Dross tell?”
Dross appeared in a blink, arms folded and wearing a grumpy expression. [This whole world is made up! I can’t tell what’s real in here, can I? None of it’s real! That’s like finding the driest part of the ocean!]
“Oh, no, I’m sorry!” Mercy put on a concerned face to soothe Dross’ feelings, though she privately thought his indignation was funny. “It’s just that I don’t know either. I thought you would.”
[Oh yes, of course, I see that. In that case, in my professional opinion, it’s a mix of both. In broad strokes, these are possible versions of you, but they’re presented and arranged to make you focus on certain options.]
Dross sounded so certain that Mercy almost forgot how, a moment before, he’d denied having any idea.
Lindon dipped his head apologetically. “He doesn’t know.”
Dross pressed a tendril to where his chest would be, affronted. [How do you know? I’m Mercy’s Dross!]
Mercy herself hadn’t realized that. She looked to Lindon, uncertain of how to respond.
“He doesn’t really know,” Lindon assured her.
“Well, this isn’t the one I really wanted you to see. I’d like both of your opinions on the seventh page, but it’s…there’s a lot of my mother in it.”
[I’ve seen it!] Dross insisted.
Lindon nodded. “I’m ready.”
Mercy believed that, but she wasn’t sure she was. She had to shift her mentality again, as she’d done when she controlled the Silent King Bow.