Lori Lee - Gates of Thread and Stone

Whoever had been sent to meet us behind Zora Hall at noon must’ve been met by Ninu’s sentinels instead. Did that mean DJ or another hollow was dead?

I prayed it hadn’t been Mason. It couldn’t have been. Mason would have been rebranded, not killed. Please. Please.

“His death was quick,” Ninu confirmed. “But Avan will not be shown the same mercy. In fact, it seems not to be an option at all. So he will continue to suffer until you agree to lead me to Irra.”

I swallowed. “Lead you?”

Ninu approached me. Good. The closer he was, the better my aim. I tried not to look at Kalla, afraid to give anything away. Why hadn’t she demanded I hand over the knife?

“Of course,” he said. “I’ve sent my sentinels on enough pointless ventures into the Void. This time, you will return under the pretense of a successful extraction.”

I didn’t cringe when he touched my face, despite the primal urge to snap at his fingers.

His next words were spoken inches from my ear. “Irra will open his gates to you, and you will lead us into his fortress.”

He turned away. Only someone as confident in his power as Ninu would present his back to his enemy. Lucky me.

I leaned over, fingers dipping into my boot. The knife handle felt warm against my palm, as if anticipating my intent.

Before Kalla could warn him, I threw my mind against the threads. Time slowed and grew slack around me. I could move freely against its current. Ninu was half turned, his expression frozen in astonishment.

Beneath the ribs—that was where Mason had said to strike with a weapon. The knife slid in with scarcely any resistance.

Time snapped forward. I pulled the knife free. Blood darkened Ninu’s tunic as he crumpled. My stomach roiled, but I hardened myself with the memory of Avan’s body in the arena and his moans filling the blank space of my cell.

I spun around and pointed the bloody knife at Kalla. “Where are my brother and Avan?”

Kalla adjusted the strap of her silver dress and pursed glossy, red lips. She didn’t seem concerned by the fact that I’d just killed the Kahl. She wasn’t even looking at me.

A second later, I understood why.

A voice came from the shadowy alcove across the room, sinking into my skin.

“I haven’t seen that specific power for a long time.”

A SHADOW EMERGEDfrom the alcove and focused into the shape of a man. He wasn’t as tall as the one I’d just stabbed, and he was slender, with thin lips, a beaky nose, and white-blond hair cut close to his scalp. He looked young, not much older than Avan. His eyes were a cool green that reflected the same emptiness I’d seen in Irra’s.

He frowned at the body leaving a bloody puddle on the mosaic tiles.

“I liked him,” he said. His voice crept through the room. It skittered across my skin in a way that made me want to rub my arms and shake it off. “Now what am I supposed to tell the public about their fearless leader?”

I looked from the man on the floor to the one standing over him.

“You’re Ninurta,” I said.

He gave me a brittle smile.

“And he’s what?” I asked, gesturing to the body. “A puppet?”

Ninu touched his forehead, his lashes fluttering as he briefly shut his eyes. The door behind me opened. I shuffled back as a pair of sentinels entered. I didn’t relax my grip on the knife even when they walked past me.

“Well,” Ninu said, “it would be a little alarming to have a leader who never died. Human minds are fragile things. Supply them just enough magic and miracles to keep their reverence, but not enough to challenge what they think they know of the world. Can’t have another self-inflicted cataclysm, can we?”

The sentinels gathered up the body, carrying it between them like a plank of wood.

Ninu grunted as he surveyed the mess left behind. “I do hope that won’t stain.”

I forced my eyes away from the blood on the floor, the same blood that ran in dark-red rivulets down the blade of my knife, gathering around my clenched fingers. The knowledge of what I’d just done swarmed inside me, threatening to make me sick all over the tiles. But I held myself in check. I couldn’t think about it now. There would be time later for breaking down.

If I survived this.

I was a fool. I hadn’t considered a puppet leader. I assumed Ninu could change faces. He was Infinite—I couldn’t begin to fathom what he could do. But I had hoped, because the knife had scared off the gargoyles, that it might be able to hurt him. Maybe even kill him.

Well, it had done its job, just not on the right Ninu. And now I’d lost whatever minuscule advantage I’d had. Maybe I could slow time again and— But would the same tactic work twice? I’d have to get Ninu closer. I wouldn’t be able to hold the threads long enough to cross the room.

I shifted sideways to keep both Kalla and Ninu in my line of sight. I wanted to drop the knife and wipe my hands on my tunic, to rid myself of that awful stickiness, but I couldn’t let go of the last thing standing between us, no matter how useless it might be.

“If you want my help, then let Reev and Avan go. Safely,” I added in case he tried to twist my words.

“Of course,” he said. “In time.” He smiled, a gradual stretch of his lips, as if whatever thought he found so funny was slow to form. “Time.”

“Now,” I said.

“You’re a lot like your father. Both annoyingly stubborn.”

Father? Was this some sort of trick?

“Your abilities are much rougher, though,” he went on. “Lack of practice, I think. And your mortal body obviously holds you back.”

Irra had said Ninu was the youngest of the Infinite. He couldn’t possibly know more about their ways than Irra. Ninu must be trying to mislead me. “Let my brother and Avan go now, with the promise that they won’t get hurt, and I’ll take you to Irra.”

Ninu cut his hand through the air. “Irra is nothing but a fly that needs to be swatted.”

The anger in his voice vibrated in my bones.

“He can play hide-and-seek all he wants. I’ll find him soon enough,” Ninu said.

What? I gritted my teeth and lowered the knife. Kalla had draped herself across a plush white sofa, apparently ignoring the conversation.

“Then what the drek do you want from me?” I shouted.

“What do I want?” His question echoed across the room. “No one but Irra could have helped you infiltrate the Tournament. So when R-22 reported your presence, I saw an opportunity finally to catch him.”

It had been Reev. Ninu’s wall in his mind had allowed him to recognize me and still betray me.

“But you tried to have Reev kill me,” I said.

“We needed only one of you,” he said simply. “Your friend’s information would have sufficed. And what better way to demonstrate our power than to let him watch his friend die by her brother’s hand? But then I saw what you did in the arena.” His eyes closed again, head tilting. “Irra must have suspected who you are, and yet he sent you anyway.”

What if Ninu really did know something about my past? “Who am I?”

“Irra had no information to offer you?”

“He didn’t know,” I said. The flicker of uncertainty in Ninu’s face gave me a brief moment of satisfaction. He might be just as confused by all this as I was.

“You are an answer to a question,” he replied confidently. “A means to an end. A bridge to the other side. Take your pick.”

I decided he had no idea what I was. “If you don’t care about finding Irra, then what was the point of sending Istar to intimidate me? And your puppet’s threats?”

“My human counterpart was told only about your significance to Irra. And his threats still stand.”