The distant roar of a ship's engine cut out. Ahmen slipped deeper into the shadow of a pillar, his attention fixed on the opening leading from the corridor into the courtyard to where the mirror stood, innocent, quiet.

Since Sethi's arrival, the mirror had become Ahmen's sole occupation. As his flesh work to knit itself back together, he sat before the mirror through the scorching days and lonely nights, waiting, patient, vigilant, dispatching Marduk's warriors before they even knew where they were. Then, two nights ago, the mirror fell silent. Its abrupt somnolence unnerved Ahmen. He waited as the days and nights passed, his uneasiness growing, paired with dread.

He cut a quick look up at the night sky, its stars far brighter than before. The shield remained, though only a faint glimmer coated the canopy, a shadow of its former glory. A short while ago, within the mirror's reflection, the shield had flickered and dimmed. He had stood and scanned the sky, waiting for the shield to return to its former state, willing it to have been the tinkering of Thoth. But it did not. Instead, it continued to dim. And now—

A heavy tread came from the furthest end of the corridor, determined, purposeful, heading straight for the courtyard. Ahmen tightened his hold on his weapon, his instincts hauling on him, warning him to stay back.

Sethi emerged from the corridor into the starlit courtyard, his chest and arms splattered in blood, the jihn once more in his possession. The weapon's bleak presence slammed into Ahmen. Along its dark blades, ripples of pale blue light undulated, the symbols flaring each time the light passed over them. He braced himself for its onslaught, for the despair, the rage, the guilt. It came, insidious, sliding between the cracks of his mind. He resisted, willing himself to bear it.

Sethi came to a halt just before the mirror, his chest rose and fell, his breathing ragged. He turned and scanned the courtyard, the fractals against his chest moving, seamless. A glint of tears sheared through his eyes.

He reached into the folds of his kilt and yanked something free. The dull gleam of gold caught Ahmen's eyes. Sethi set it on the ground beside the mirror. He stared at it for a heartbeat, redolent with grief and regret.

"I have lost the battle," he rasped. "It is over."

The jihn's symbols ignited. With a roar of anguish, he threw his head back, the muscles of his chest and arms taut from his inner battle. The fractals on his chest ceased their rotation, then juddered back to life, erratic. The jihn's light seethed toward the portal, seeking relief from the lingering oppression of the shield. Sethi lowered his head. Darkness poured into his eyes. He slammed his palm against the mirror. Its surface rippled. The stars' reflections faded as the portal coalesced into Meresamun's suite in—Ahmen blinked. He eased nearer the pillar, clenching his teeth, enduring the brutal, grinding accusations of the jihn's subdued presence. Dread slinked along his spine. That was not Perev—

Sethi pushed his arm in up to his elbow. Light poured over him, bathing the courtyard in pale white light. He plunged into the opening, his profile streaming into a sleet of light before it surged into the portal, leaving nothing but the residue of his presence behind. A heartbeat passed, enormous, loaded with the weight of Sethi's departure. The portal's light faded. Darkness slid over the courtyard. Silence.

Ahmen eased out from behind the pillar and went to the mirror. Gone was the portal's destination. He glared at the mirror, blameless in the faint light of the stars, hating Marduk for his cunning. His reflection glared back at him, an ugly mess of half-healed flesh and half-exposed tendon and muscle. He bent to collect the item Sethi had left behind. From beneath a thick coating of congealed blood, a pair of golden serpents entwined a stave. He rubbed the blood away from their faces. Istara's pendant glinted back at him in the starlight, mournful.

The scream of another ship tore through the desolate silence and came to a skidding halt on the terrace. Ahmen wrapped his fingers around the pendant, bleak. It was too late. Sethi was gone, and with him, the jihn. He lifted his gaze to the sky, where the shield glimmered, faint, its web so thin in places he could almost see through it. Soon, very soon, he sensed Sethi would return, and when he did, there would be no reprieve. None.

❃

A thundering slammed into Sethi. Intense pressure gripped him. Disorientation assaulted him. The portal's light faded. His vision cleared. He turned. The mirror from Ninsunu's suite stood strapped against the dark gray metal of Marduk's warship. To its left, the door to the chamber with the regeneration devices. He caught hold of the edge of a crate and steadied himself. Down a corridor lined with rows of hulking crates, their faint blue heartbeats blinking in the near-darkness, a familiar pool of light beckoned.

He left the mirror and headed for the spiral stairway. Freed from the oppression of Anki's shield, the jihn's ravenous power coursed through him, rejuvenating him, reigniting his hatred for Istara and the shield she had had Thoth create to control him.

He reached the bottom of the stairwell. A thought occurred. Marduk had been decimating the cities of Tholis. He paused and cast a look over his shoulder at the mirror. Five long days ago he had passed through it. The pieces assembled, created a whole. Marduk believed he had lost his commander so he had abandoned Perev to begin his assault on the gods, had taken the mirror with him in case Sethi found a way to return. He eyed the jihn, loathe to leave it behind after their long separation, and yet, after Aiya's reaction to it, he did not relish a repeat of her trauma. He returned to the regeneration chamber, punched the code into the panel and locked the weapon inside.

Back at the stairs, he took them two at a time. He had gained considerable intelligence while he had been oppressed by the shield, Marduk would be pleased. He emerged from the stairwell. The walls of the cabin were opaque, lit in a soft white light. The door to the flight deck stood closed. Aiya sat on a divan with the king of Ikalur and another woman—the queen, he presumed from the golden diadem tangled in her hair. Both the king and queen's once-regal finery clung to them, stiff with dried blood. Neither looked at him. They sat, quiet, blank, biddable, their eyes on the closed door, reminding him of the devoted obedience of Marduk's steward.

Aiya came to her feet, her gown torn and stained, her hair disheveled, and her face swollen from weeping. A purple bruise marred her shoulder. She stood before him, trembling, broken. He took her into his arms. Wretched, she clung to him and wept, the events of the past five days unfolding between the shuddering breaths of her misery. She told of entire cities decimated with a single strike; the king and queen of Ikalur's brutal, bloody enslavement; her confession to Marduk to save her life; Anki's golden shield, impervious to the violence sweeping out from Marduk's ship. The days spent traveling across the heavens, the endless hours only punctuated by Marduk's savagery and destruction.

At last, she quieted. He gifted her a kiss and led her back to her seat. She sank onto it, numb. Exhaustion ravaged her elegant features. With a murmur of reassurance, he went to the door of the flight deck and punched in the code.

In the faint light of the console's illumination, Ninsunu turned, her eyes snagging on the blood staining his arms and chest. A wall of dread slid over her.

Marduk cut a look over his shoulder, granted him a cool look. "Whose blood is that?"

"Thoth's," Sethi muttered, catching Ninsunu's tremulous exhalation of relief, her hands knotting into fists against her lap.

Marduk pressed a series of buttons. "And the others?" he asked, bland.

Sethi folded his arms over his chest. "Alive. The shield suppressed my will, it took some time to overcome it enough to retrieve the jihn and get out."

Marduk said nothing, though disapproval oozed from him. Silence soaked the flight deck.

Sethi glanced at the screen in the center of the console, backlit against the dark of the star-clad night. "How far are we from Imaru?"

Marduk slid a look at the screen. "Imaru is of little interest to me. Rhewyn has proven useful in your absence. Rzhev is a new nation. A godless people. They do not have a portal."

"Imaru hates the gods," Sethi said. When Marduk ignored him, checking the readouts on the various screens, Sethi tried again. "They hate these gods."

Marduk swiped the nearest screen through several panes, disinterested. "And?"

"And they will join you if you offer them the power to avenge themselves against what the gods did to them." He tilted his head toward the back of the ship. "We have the mirror and what is contained in the crates. If you take the shield down, the gods and their allies will not be able to stand against us."

"The shield resisted my strongest weapons." Marduk's focus returned to the console. "The only way to defeat the gods is to destroy the world. If I cannot have it, neither will they. I have done this once before, with success. They take pity on the mortals, and leave. I can wait for the world to heal."

Ninsunu rose, brittle with unhappiness, the flight deck's shadows deepening those around her eyes. She slipped past Sethi and went into the cabin. Sethi took her empty seat.

"You might want to try again."

"Try what again?"

"Your weapons against the shield." Sethi endured Marduk's acrimonious silence. "The jihn drained a vast amount of the shield's power. It is no longer what it was anymore. And Thoth, the one who created it—"

Marduk's amber eyes flicked to Sethi, granted him a glimmer of approval. "Is gone," he finished. The slant of his mouth shifted, darkened. "Have Ninsunu return to her seat," he said, his hands moving over the controls, re-configuring the flight path, and setting the parameters to fire the ion drive.

Sethi rose, the map on the screen tilted, recalculating the route away from Chern toward Rzhev. Satisfaction shot through him. He left the flight deck to its faint illumination and joined Aiya.

After a beat's hesitation, Ninsunu returned to her consort, a shadow in the quiet cerulean light. Marduk regarded her as she sank onto the seat beside him, the sharp edges of his ruthlessness fading. He leaned over and fastened the restraints against her, gentle, his gloved fingers moving over her, a caress. The obsidian metal of his palm caught her chin and tilted her face up to his. He kissed her, soft. Trapped within the restraints, Ninsunu sagged, succumbed to him. Their kiss deepened. The door slid closed.

Sethi pulled Aiya against him and cradled her head against his chest, readying her for the grip of the drive. For them, there would be no restraints.

The ion's brutal thrust tore through the ship. Pressure rammed into him, brutal, excruciating. He bore down, concentrating all his strength on withstanding its force. In his hold, Aiya quaked, silent, enduring. He tightened his grip on her as the curve of the world fell away and they screamed into the heavens where they skimmed a path across the stars and Elati spun beneath them, stately, calm, ripe for the taking.