himself to care. All he could think of was the fight.
An enormous grin spread over his face as he looked down at the gaping hole that ran across his torso. How long had it been since anything had injured him this badly? A thousand years at least. But this was no child of the mountain. This was a human, a swordsman of the Heart of War. Could it be that he’d found his equal at last? The one to give him the challenge he’d sought since Benehime had torn him from the sky and made him her sword?
His eyes flicked back to the black length in his hand. The seed was enormous. Most demonseeds were the size of almonds. When Alric told him Sted’s seed had been as wide as his hand, the Lord of Storms almost hadn’t believed him. But the Daughter’s seed dwarfed anything he’d seen in the five thousand years he’d been hunting.
It was as long as his forearm and only slightly thinner, tapered to a sharp point at both ends. How the thing had fit in the girl’s body, he had no idea, but it was good he’d gotten it out. Even separated from its host, the seed’s surface burned like a brand against his palm, eating him little by little.
The Lord of Storms shifted his grip with a grimace. He could see why the Shepherdess had wanted to handle it herself. A seed like this was a danger to the entire sphere. Of course, he thought bitterly, it was only fitting she deal with the seed since it was her fault the thing had gotten this big in the first place. If she hadn’t prevented the League from going near her precious thief, they would have killed the girl ages ago.
He shook his head and set off across the whiteness in the direction of the Shepherdess. The Lady had been in decline for a long time now, but she took all leave of her duty whenever the boy was involved. Fortunately, that infatuation seemed to be over. Maybe now, with the Daughter of the Dead Mountain safely disposed of, Nara out of the picture, and the thief in disgrace, things could finally get back on track.
The Lord of Storms cleared his thoughts as he approached the White Lady. Benehime was kneeling beside her sphere with her head in her hands, white hair falling across her body. She didn’t look up as the Lord of Storms approached.
“The Hunt was successful,” he said, coming to a stop beside her.
She stirred at his voice and slowly raised her head. When he saw her face, the Lord of Storms jerked back. The White Lady had been crying.
“Shepherdess,” he said, feeling uncharacteristically awkward. “I can return later if—”
You have the seed?
The Lord of Storms held out his hand, offering her the seed. The lingering blood on its black surface hissed when she grabbed it, burning away with white fire wherever her fingers touched. The seed itself, however, was unchanged.
You’ve done well, my Lord of Storms, the Lady said, cradling the seed in her arms. It’s larger than I thought.
“I’ve never seen its like,” the Lord of Storms admitted. “How do you mean to dispose of it? Will you give it to the Hunter when he returns today?” The Hunter was the only soul who left the shell that sheltered creation from what lay beyond. Even in the Lady’s own care, the seed was far too dangerous to remain here. Throwing it into the void would be perfect.
Benehime lay the long, wicked length of the seed across her bare knees. When she looked up again, her white eyes went to the Lord of Storms’ sundered chest, and her mouth pressed into a thin line. He stood at attention and waited for her to say something, but she simply turned back to her sphere. No, he squinted—not to her sphere, but to something floating beside it.
It was the pearl from earlier, the small sphere that she’d pressed the gold vein into, but where before it had been opaque, it was now beautifully clear. Clear enough that, despite its tiny size, the Lord of Storms could easily see what lay inside. The Shepherdess was holding a tiny, perfect world between her fingers, a beautiful, jeweled landscape of sparkling seas and deep forests, and as he saw it, the Lord of Storms felt himself go cold.
“What is that?”
You’re overstepping your bounds, my Lord of Storms, the Lady said, stroking the delicate arch of the tiny sphere with one long finger. Swords do not ask questions.
“You are the source of my strength,” the Lord of Storms said. “And I am the source of the League’s. Therefore it is very much within my bounds to question you when your actions seem self-destructive.” He crossed his arms over his lacerated chest. “Why were you crying just now? And what is that small sphere? Why are you calling in the stars?”
The Lady glared at him over her shoulder. I do not explain myself to you.
“You do if you want me to keep your world safe from the demon,” the Lord of Storms said. “You’ve been causing a panic for three days now that’s made my life very difficult and almost cost you that seed. I don’t care what you do with your time, Benehime, but if it hurts my ability to do your work, then I need to know. Especially if you mean to keep this up much longer.”
The Lady turned suddenly, the black seed clutched in one long hand while the other reached out to grab his face. As she touched him, the air went rigid, trapping him in place. The Lord of Storms could do nothing but clench his teeth as she pulled his head down until their faces were level.
My dear Lord of Storms, she whispered, running her white fingers along his jaw. How long have we been together?
The Lord of Storms didn’t know this game, but he grudgingly played along. “Little over five thousand years,” he growled. “As you well know.”
So long, she whispered. And in all that time, have you ever wished you could do something else?
The Lord of Storms sneered. “Like what?”
Have you ever tired of this life? she whispered, her lips inches from his as she looked down on him through half-lidded eyes.
“No,” the Lord of Storms said. “I am your sword. Swords don’t get tired of cutting.” And he might have just found the equal opponent he’d been searching for all his life, but the commander kept that bit of information to himself.
The Lady was looking at him strangely, her snowy eyes studying his face as though she were memorizing it. As she looked, her fingers roved up to trace his nose, sliding down the ridge of it before coming to rest on his lips. I think I shall miss you, she said quietly. I would take you with me, but I have no need of storms in paradise.
Her words made no sense, but the finality in them made him wary. He shifted back, trying to pull away from her touch. “What are you talking—”
She cut his words off with a kiss. It was not the hard kiss she usually gave him when he was caught like this, but a soft brush, gentle as a new lover’s. Her lips lingered against his, and when she pulled away, her face was almost sad.
Good-bye, my stubborn, loyal sword.
And then her hand stabbed into the wound in his chest.
The Lord of Storms screamed, the sound turning into a thundercrack as it filled the white nothing. The Shepherdess’s hand burned inside him, her fingers searching through his clouds for the threads of power that kept him together. She broke each one as she touched it, undoing the binding she’d laid down at the world’s beginning. Every break brought a new flash of pain, but the worst was the feeling of falling apart. The Lord of Storms was breaking, crumbling, his power splintering beneath the Shepherdess’s fingers, and he could do nothing but hang in the air and scream as the White Lady did what no demon had ever been able to achieve.
When she finally released him, the Lord of Storms fell to the ground. His form was more cloud than man now, and he could barely move for the pain. Even so, he forced his head up just in time to see the Lady turn away.
In reward for your years of service, I’ve left you enough control to choose the location of your death, she said. Go now, I must prepare for my brother’s arrival.
The Lord of Storms twitched on the ground. The agony was overwhelming, and yet he had to speak. Even if he died halfway through, he had to know.
“Why?” he croaked. “If I die, the League falls, and the demonseeds will overrun the world. You told me so yourself when you made me. So what are you—” His voice broke as a wave of pain overwhelmed him, but he forced himself to finish. “Why, Shepherdess?”
She looked down, her face full of pity. Not for him, but for herself. I find I don’t much care what happens to
