Reckless triumph surges through me. We’ve got him. There’s no escape. No way to stop the Cursed One. Logan climbs onto the branch beside me and together we watch, ignoring the screams of the guards as they run into the Wasteland behind us. Ignoring the crackling flames as they eat through the ancient oak tree. We watch and wait for justice.

The Commander stops, holds out the fake tech, and tries to manipulate the gears wired to its surface.

I laugh, but choke on it when the Commander throws the fake device to the ground, rips open his uniform, and pulls out a heavy silver chain with what looks like a severed lizard foot dangling from it, its talons curved into wickedly sharp tips. It resembles a smaller version of the Cursed One’s own limb.

The beast jerks to a stop and snorts, sucking in the air around it as if hunting for something.

“No.” I press the bottom two buttons again. The Cursed One roars, but doesn’t advance. “Why isn’t it attacking?” I press the buttons repeatedly, and the beast coils in on itself, scales clanking. It shakes its head and blasts the ground beneath it with fire.

It will attack itself. But it won’t attack the Commander.

“Logan—”

“Look at it. The beast is sniffing something—”

“It’s always sniffing something. It tracks by scent. I can’t get this to work!”

“No, it isn’t tracking. It’s shying away. Something about that lizard foot makes it unwilling to attack.”

The Cursed One shudders as I press more buttons, willing it to get over whatever issue it has with the Commander’s necklace and destroy him with fire. It shudders, giant ripples tearing along its frame, but it refuses to attack.

“The foot protects him. Where did he get it?” He mumbles beneath his breath, listing options, trying to make connections.

“Who cares where he got it? Let’s go rip it off of him.”

“He’s had that necklace for as long as anyone can remember. In drawings of him protecting the first survivors fifty years ago, you can see the chain around his neck before the rest of it disappears beneath his coat. That was right after his team returned from the beast’s den. It’s a trophy. He must have killed another beast. The Cursed One’s mate? Its children? No wonder it won’t attack. The lingering pheromones must keep it at bay. What do you want to bet all the city-state leaders have necklaces just like this one?”

“I don’t want to bet anything. I want the Commander to suffer and die. We have to kill him ourselves.” I’m already reaching for my knife, but Logan stays my hand.

“Keep the Cursed One as close to him as you can to distract him.” He throws off his cloak, drops to the forest floor and draws his sword. “I’m going after him.”

“Wait!”

He looks at me, cold purpose on his face, his dark-blond hair turned red by the flames behind him, and says, “I know you want to be the one to kill him. But please don’t ask me to send you against the Commander in the presence of the Cursed One with nothing but your knife.”

I do want to be the one to kill him. But more than that, I want him dead. My knife is no match for the Commander. Logan has a much better chance.

“I wasn’t going to argue.”

“Then what were you going to do?”

The fire hisses and pops as the oak tree caves in on itself, and I jump down to the forest floor beside Logan. I regret all the things I never said to Dad and to Oliver. I’m not going to have regrets here, too.

I throw my arms around his neck. “I love you, Logan. Always.”

A fierce smile lights his face for a moment, and he grabs the front of my tunic, hauls me against him, and kisses me. “I love you, too. Always.” Then he’s gone, and I’m pressing buttons with frantic fingers, trying to keep the Cursed One as close to the Commander as possible to give Logan a chance.

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

LOGAN

I circle through the tree line to position myself behind the Commander. No one stops me. Every guard in the area is either running for his life or already dead.

The Cursed One roars, spitting fire in every direction, blackening the dirt perimeter that encircles Baalboden.

The Commander holds his severed lizard foot in front of him and laughs.

I heft my sword in the shelter of the trees twenty yards behind the Commander. All of my anger, pain, and loss coalesce into an unyielding sense of purpose.

He’s mine. For Oliver. For Jared. For Rachel. For my mother. For the citizens of Baalboden who crave change.

For me.

My sword flashes in the sunlight as I step away from the trees and gauge my approach. I can sprint forward. Bury my blade in the back of his neck before he knows I’m there. And take the talisman that keeps the Cursed One at bay so I can hold off the creature’s attack until Rachel sends it back to the depths of the Earth.

Raising my sword, I lower the point to the necessary trajectory, drag in a deep breath, and start running. I’m over halfway there when the entire plan falls to pieces.

The Cursed One jerks its head up as if it hears something and suddenly lunges west.

Straight for Baalboden.

The Commander yells, drops his talisman against his chest, and runs toward the city. Rachel bursts out of the trees, her face filled with desperate terror as she presses the bottom two buttons on the device. The ones that should turn the beast away from Baalboden.

The Cursed One never deviates.

Fire bursts from its mouth as it strafes the Wall. The stone is scorched black, but the Wall is too thick for even the Cursed One to destroy. Any relief I feel disappears in an instant as the beast rears up, plunges into the ground, and explodes into the air on the other side of the Wall in a shower of cobblestone, dirt, and flame.