Морган Райс
Ruler, Rival, Exile
“Foolish,” the Bone Folk woman was saying with a smile. “Wonderfully foolish. Thank you.”
Ceres looked around at the boats nearest to them. All of them were up in arms now, many of the sailors aboard rushing for weapons. An arrow hit the water near them, then another.
“Row!” she yelled to the combatlords, but where could they row to? Already, she could see the other ships moving to intercept them. Soon, there would be no way out. It was the kind of situation where she might have used her powers before, but now she didn’t have them.
Please, Mother, she begged in the quiet of her mind, you helped me before. Help me now.
She felt her mother’s presence somewhere on the edge of her being, ephemeral and calming. She could feel her mother’s attention, looking through her, trying to work out what had happened to her.
“What have they done to you?” her mother’s voice whispered. “This is the sorcerer’s work.”
“Please,” Ceres said. “I don’t need my powers back forever, but I need help now.”
In the pause that followed, an arrow struck the deck between Ceres’s feet. It was too close by far.
“I cannot undo what has been done,” her mother said. “But I can lend you another gift, this one time. It will only be once, though. I do not think your body could stand more.”
Ceres didn’t care, so long as they escaped. Already, boats were closing in. They needed this.
“Touch the water, Ceres, and forgive me, because this will hurt.”
Ceres didn’t question it. Instead, she placed her hand on the waves, feeling the wetness flow around her skin. She braced herself…
…and she still had to fight to keep from screaming as something poured through her, shimmering out across the water, then up through the air. It seemed as though someone had drawn a gauze veil across the world.
Through it, Ceres could see archers and warriors staring in shock. She could hear them shouting in surprise, but the sounds seemed muted.
“They complain that they cannot see us,” Jeva said. “They say that it is dark magic.” She looked at Ceres with something like awe. “It seems that you are everything Thanos said you would be.”
Ceres wasn’t sure about that. Just holding this hurt more than she could believe. She wasn’t sure how long she would be able to keep it up.
“Row,” she said. “Row before it fades!”
CHAPTER THREE
In the high-roofed temple of the castle, Irrien watched impassively as the priests prepared Stephania for sacrifice. He stood unmoved while they bustled, tying her in place on the altar, securing her while she screamed and struggled.
Normally, Irrien had little time for such things. The priests were a bunch of blood-obsessed fools who seemed to think that placating death could fend it off. As if any man could hold off death except through the strength of his arm. Begging didn’t work, not to the gods, and not, as Delos’s brief ruler was finding out, to him.
“Please, Irrien, I will do anything you want! Do you want me to kneel before you? Please!”
Irrien stood like a statue, ignoring it the way he ignored the pain of his wound, while around him nobles and warriors stood watching. There was some value to be had in letting them see this, at least, just as there was value in placating the priests. Their favor was just another source of power to be taken, and Irrien was not so foolish as to ignore that.
“Don’t you desire me?” Stephania begged. “I thought you wanted me for your plaything.”
Irrien wasn’t so foolish as to ignore Stephania’s charms, either. That was part of the problem. When her hand had been on his arm, he’d felt something beyond the usual stirrings of desire he felt with beautiful slaves. He would not allow that. Could not allow that. No one would have power over him, even of the kind that came from within him.
He looked over the crowd. There were more than enough beautiful women there, Stephania’s former handmaidens kneeling in their chains. Some of them wept at the sight of what was happening to their former ruler. He would distract himself with them soon enough. For now, he needed to get rid of the threat that Stephania posed with her ability to make him feel something.
The highest of the priests came forward, the gold and silver wires in his beard jangling as he moved.
“All is ready, my lord,” he said. “We will cut the babe from its mother’s belly, and then sacrifice it on the altar in the proper fashion.”
“And your gods will find this pleasing?” Irrien asked. If the priest caught the slight note of derision there, he did not dare show it.
“Most pleasing, First Stone. Most pleasing indeed.”
Irrien nodded.
“Then it will be done the way you suggest. But I will be the one to kill the child.”
“You, First Stone?” the priest asked. He sounded surprised. “But why?”
Because it was his victory, not the priest’s. Because Irrien had been the one fighting his way through the city, while these priests had probably been safe on the ships transporting them. Because he was the one who had suffered a wound for this. Because Irrien took the deaths that were his, rather than leaving them to lesser men. He didn’t explain any of that, though. He didn’t owe ones such as these explanations.
“Because I choose to,” he said. “Do you have an objection?”
“No, First Stone, no objection.”
Irrien enjoyed the note of fear there, not for its own sake, but because it was a reminder of his power. All of this was. It was a declaration of his victory as much as it was gratitude to any gods watching. It was a way of claiming this place at the same time as he rid himself of a child who might have tried to claim his throne when it was old enough.
Because it was a reminder of his power, he stood and watched the crowd while the priests began their butchery. They stood and knelt in neat rows, the warriors, the slaves, the merchants, and those who claimed noble blood. He watched their fear, their weeping, their revulsion.
Behind him, the priests chanted, speaking in ancient tongues meant to have been given by the gods themselves. Irrien glanced back to see the highest of the priests holding a blade over Stephania’s exposed belly, poised to slice down while she fought to get away.
Irrien returned his attention to those watching. This was about them, not Stephania. He watched their horror as Stephania’s begging turned to screams behind him. He watched their reactions, seeing who was awed, who was frightened, who looked at him with silent hatred, and who seemed to be enjoying the spectacle. He saw one of the handmaidens there faint at the sight of what was occurring behind him and resolved to have her punished. Another was weeping so hard that another had to hold her.
Irrien had found that watching those who served him told him more about them than any declaration of loyalty could. Silently, he marked out those among the slaves who had yet to be fully broken, those amongst the nobles who looked at him with too much jealousy. A wise man did not let his guard down, even when he had won.
Stephania’s screams became sharper for a moment, rising to a crescendo that seemed perfectly timed to match the priests’ chanting. It gave way to whimpers then, falling. Irrien doubted that she would live through this. Right then, he didn’t care. She was fulfilling her purpose in showing the world that he ruled here. Anything beyond that was unnecessary. Almost inelegant.
Somewhere in it, fresh screams joined those of Delos’s most beautiful noblewoman, her babe’s cries intertwining with hers. Irrien stepped back toward the altar, spreading his arms, drawing in the attention of those who watched.
“We came here, and the Empire was weak, so we took it. I took it. The place of the weak is to serve or to die, and I decide which.”
He turned to the altar where Stephania lay, her dress cut from her, clothed now in a mess of blood and caul as much as in silk or velvet. She was still breathing, but her breaths were ragged, and the wound was not one that a weak thing like her would survive.
Irrien caught the attention of the priests, then jerked his head at Stephania’s prostrate form.
“Dispose of that.”
They rushed to obey, carrying her away while one of the priests handed him the child as if presenting him with the greatest of gifts. Irrien stared at it. It was strange that such a tiny, fragile thing could potentially pose a threat to one such as him, but Irrien was not a man to take foolish risks. One day, this boy would have grown into a man, and Irrien had seen what happened when a man didn’t feel he had what belonged to him. He’d had to kill more than a few in his time.
He placed the child on the altar, turning back to the audience while he drew a knife.
“Watch, all of you,” he commanded. “Watch and remember what happens here. The other Stones are not here to take this victory. I am.”
He turned back to the altar, and instantly he knew that something was wrong.
There was a figure there, a young-looking man with bone-white skin, pale hair, and eyes of a deep amber that reminded Irrien of a cat’s. He wore robes, but these were pale where the priests’ were dark. He ran a finger through the blood on the altar without apparent distaste, simply with interest.
“Ah, Lady Stephania,” he said, in a voice that was even, and pleasant, and almost certainly a lie. “I offered her a chance to be my student before. She should have accepted my offer.”
“Who are you?” Irrien asked. He shifted his grip on the knife he held, moving from a grip designed to plunge down to one that was better for fighting. “Why do you dare to interrupt my victory?”
The other man spread his hands. “I don’t mean to interrupt, First Stone, but you were about to destroy something that belongs to me.”
“Something…” Irrien felt a flash of surprise as he realized what this stranger meant. “No, you are not the child’s father. That is a prince of this place.”
“I never claimed to be,” the other man said. “But I was promised the child as payment, and I am here to collect that payment.”
Irrien could feel his anger rising, his grip tightening on the knife he held. He turned to order this fool seized, and it was only as he did so that he realized that the others there weren’t moving now. They stood as if entranced.
“I suppose I should congratulate you, First Stone,” the stranger said. “I find that most men who claim to be powerful are actually quite weak willed, but you did not even notice my… small effort.”
Irrien turned back to him. He had Stephania’s child in his arms now, cradling it in a surprisingly accurate facsimile of care.
“Who are you?” Irrien demanded. “Tell me so that I can write it on your gravestone.”
The other man didn’t look up at him. “He has his mother’s eyes, don’t you think? Given his parents, I’m sure he’ll grow up strong and handsome. I’ll train him, of course. He will be a most skillful killer.”
Irrien made a sound of anger, low in his throat. “Who are you? What are you?”
The other man looked up at him then, and this time his eyes seemed to swim with depths of fire and heat.
“There are those who call me Daskalos,” he said. “But there are those who call me many other things. Sorcerer, of course. Killer of Ancient Ones. Weaver of shadows. Right now, I am a man collecting his debt. Allow me to do so and I will go in peace.”
“The mother of this child is my slave,” Irrien said. “The child is not hers to give.”
He heard the other man laugh then.
“It matters so much to you, doesn’t it?” Daskalos said. “You must win, because you must be the strongest. Perhaps that can be my lesson to you, Irrien: there is always someone stronger.”
Irrien had put up with enough from this fool, sorcerer or not. He’d met men and women who had claimed to command magic before. Some of them had even been able to do things that Irrien couldn’t explain. None of it had let them best him. Faced with magic, the best thing to do was strike first and strike hard.
He lunged forward, the knife in his hand flashing into the young man’s chest. Daskalos looked down at it, then stepped away as calmly as if Irrien had merely brushed the edge of his robes.
“Lady Stephania tried something similar when I suggested taking her child,” Daskalos said, with a hint of amusement. “I’ll tell you what I told her: there will be a price for attacking me. Perhaps I will even have the boy exact it.”
Irrien lunged again, this time going for the other man’s throat to try to shut him up. He stumbled past the altar, almost overbalancing. The sorcerer wasn’t there anymore. Irrien blinked, looking round. There was no sign of him.
“No!” Irrien bellowed. “I’ll kill you for this. I’ll hunt you down!”
“First Stone?” one of the priests said. “Is everything all right?”
Irrien struck him with his off hand, sending the man sprawling. He heard the others gasp. Apparently, they were all free from whatever spell the sorcerer had used to control them.
“Lord Irrien,” the highest of the priests said. “I must protest. To strike a priest is to invite the wrath of the gods.”
“The wrath of the gods?” Irrien repeated. He drew himself up to his full height, but apparently the old fool was too caught up in his self-righteousness to notice it.
“Do not mock it, First Stone,” the man said. “And where is the sacrifice?”
“Gone,” Irrien said. From the corner of his eye, he saw some of those there shifting in place. They at least seemed to recognize the dangerous nature of his anger.
The priest seemed too obsessed to notice. “The gods must be thanked for this victory, or there is a danger that they will not give you others. You may be the most powerful of men, but the gods – ”
Irrien pulled the other man close as he stabbed him. He’d been made to look weak by the sorcerer. He couldn’t allow the priest to do the same. Irrien bent the older man back until he lay on the altar, in almost the spot where Stephania had been.
“I have this victory because I took it,” Irrien said. “Do any of you think that you are stronger than me? Do you think that your gods will give you the strength to take what is mine? Do you?”
He looked around them in silent challenge, meeting their eyes and noting who looked away, how quickly, and how frightened they appeared when they did so. He picked out another of the priests, younger than the dead one had been.
“You, what is your name?”
“Antillion, First Stone.” Irrien could hear the fear there. Good. A man should realize who could really take his life from him.
“You are now the highest priest in Delos. You will answer to me. Do you understand?”
The young man bowed. “Yes, First Stone. Do you have commands?”
Irrien looked around, getting his temper under control. A flash of it could terrify those who needed to be cowed, but a temper that was not under control was a weakness. It encouraged dissent, and emboldened those who mistook it for stupidity.
“Clear away that as you did the first sacrifice,” Irrien answered, pointing to the dead priest. “Later, you will attend me in the royal chambers of this place.”
He walked to the kneeling slaves, picking out two of Stephania’s former handmaidens. They had much of the beauty of their now gone mistress, with a much more suitable level of fear. He drew them to their feet.
“Later,” Irrien said. On impulse, he shoved one of them in the direction of the priest. “I will not have it said that I do not respect the gods. I will not be commanded, though. Take this one and sacrifice her. I take it that will please them?”
The priest bowed low again. “Whatever pleases you, First Stone, will please the gods.”
That was a good answer. It was almost enough to soothe Irrien’s mood. His hand closed on the forearm of the other woman. She looked shocked into silence, obviously realizing how close she’d just come to death.
The other started to scream as they dragged her to the altar.
Irrien didn’t care about that. He didn’t even particularly care about the slave he dragged along in his wake as he left the room. The weak didn’t matter. What mattered was that there was a sorcerer entangled in his business. Irrien didn’t know what that meant, and it irritated him that he couldn’t see what this Daskalos intended.
It took him most of the journey to the royal chambers to convince himself that it didn’t matter. Who could fathom the ways of those who dabbled in magic? What mattered was that Irrien had his own plans for the Empire, and so far, those plans were proceeding exactly as he wanted.
What came next would be even better, although there was one sour note in that. What did this sorcerer want with the boy? What had he meant about turning him into a weapon? Somehow, just the thought of him made Irrien shudder, and Irrien hated that. He claimed to fear no man, but this Daskalos…
He feared him greatly.
CHAPTER FOUR
Thanos knew he should have been watching the horizon, but right then, all he could do was watch Ceres with a mixture of pride, love, and amazement. She stood at the prow of their small boat, her hand touching the water as they headed from the harbor into open water. Around them, the air continued to shimmer, the haze that marked their invisibility seeming to twist the light that passed through it.
One day, Thanos knew, he would marry her.
“I think that’s enough,” Thanos said to her softly. He could see the strain on her face from it. The power was obviously taking its toll.
“Just… a little… farther.”
Thanos laid a hand on her shoulder. Somewhere behind him, he heard Jeva gasp, as if the Bone Folk woman expected him to be flung back by the power. Thanos knew Ceres would never do that to him though.
“We’re clear,” he said. “There’s nobody behind us.”
He saw Ceres look around in obvious surprise as she saw the deeper water they were now rowing across. Had it taken that much concentration to hold the power in place? Either way, there was no one behind them now, just empty ocean.
Ceres lifted her hand from the water, staggering slightly. Thanos caught her, holding her up. After everything she’d been through, he was amazed that she’d managed to show this much strength. He wanted to be there for her then. Not just some of the time, but always.
“I’m all right,” Ceres said.
“You’re more than that,” Thanos assured her. “You’re amazing.”
More amazing than he could have believed. It wasn’t just that Ceres was beautiful and clever and strong. It wasn’t just that she was powerful, or that she seemed to put the good of others ahead of her own so consistently. It was all those things, but there was also something special beyond that.
She was the woman he loved, and after what had happened in the city, she was the only woman he loved. Thanos found himself thinking about what that meant. They could be together now. They would be together.
She looked up at him then, and she reached up to kiss him. It was a soft, gentle moment, full of tenderness. Thanos found himself wishing that it could fill the whole world, and that there was nothing else they had to deal with.
“You chose me,” Ceres said, touching his face as they pulled back.
“I will always choose you,” Thanos said. “I will always be there for you too.”
Ceres smiled at that, but Thanos could see the note of uncertainty there in her expression too. He couldn’t blame her for that, but at the same time he wished it weren’t there. He wished that he could chase that away, leaving everything all right between them. He’d been on the verge of asking her for more then, but he knew when not to press things.
“I choose you too,” Ceres assured him, but at the same time she pulled back. “I should go catch up with my brother and my father.”
She went over to where Berin stood with Sartes and Leyana. A family, all looking happy together. A part of Thanos wished that he could simply go there to be a part of it. He wanted to be a part of Ceres’s life, and he suspected that she wanted him to be too, but Thanos knew it would take time to heal things between them.
Because of that, he didn’t rush over to her. Instead, Thanos stood considering the rest of the boat’s inhabitants. For such a small boat, there were a lot. The three combatlords Ceres had saved were doing most of the rowing, although now that they were clear of the harbor, they would be able to get the boat’s small sail up. Akila lay to one side, a conscript Sartes had freed keeping pressure on the wound.
Jeva was coming toward him.
“You’re an idiot if you’re going to let her walk away,” Jeva said.
“An idiot?” Thanos countered. “Is that any way to thank someone who just saved you?”
He saw the Bone Folk woman shrug. “You’re an idiot for doing that too. Risking yourself to help another is stupid.”
Thanos cocked his head to one side. He wasn’t sure that he would ever understand her. Then again, he thought with a glance across to Ceres, that was something that applied to more than one person.
“Risking yourself is what you do for friends,” Thanos said.
Jeva shook her head. “I wouldn’t have put myself in danger for you. If it is your time to join with the spirits of your ancestors, it is your time. It is even an honor.”
Thanos wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was she serious? If so, it seemed a little ungrateful given the risk he and Ceres had taken in order to save her.
“If I’d known it was such an honor to be a figurehead for one of the First Stone’s ships, I would have left you to it,” Thanos said.
Jeva looked at him with a slight frown. It seemed to be her turn to try to work out if he was serious or not.
“You’re joking,” she said, “but you should have left me. I told you, only a fool risks his life for others.”
It was too harsh a philosophy for Thanos.
“Well,” he said. “I’m glad you’re alive, at least.”
Jeva seemed to think for a moment or two. “I’m glad too. Which is strange. The dead will be displeased with me. Perhaps I have more to do. I will follow you until I find out what.”
She said it evenly, as though it was already a settled thing in which Thanos got no say. He wondered what it must be like, walking through the world with the certainty that the dead were in charge.
“Isn’t it strange?” he asked her.
“What is strange?” Jeva replied.
“Living your life assuming that the dead make all the decisions.”
She shook her head. “Not all of them. But they know more than we do. There are more of them than us. When they speak, we should listen. Look at you.”
That made Thanos frown. He wasn’t one of the Bone Folk, to be ordered about by their speakers of the dead.
“Me?”
“Would you be in the circumstances you are if it weren’t for decisions your parents and your parents’ parents made?” Jeva asked. “You are a prince. Your whole power rests on the dead.”
She had a point, but Thanos wasn’t sure that it was the same thing.
“I’ll be deciding what to do next for the living, not the dead,” he said.
Jeva laughed as though it was a particularly fine joke, then narrowed her eyes slightly. “Oh, you’re serious. We have people who say that too. Mostly, they are madmen. But then, this is a world for the mad, so who am I to judge? Where will we go next?”
Thanos didn’t have an answer for her when it came to that.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “My father told me where I might find out about my real mother, then the former queen told me that she was somewhere else.”
“Well then,” Jeva said. “We should go. Such news from the dead should not be ignored. Or we could return to the lands of my people. They would welcome us with the news of what happened to our fleet.”
She didn’t seem daunted by the prospect of reporting so many deaths to her people. She also seemed to be looking over at Ceres every so often, glancing at her with obvious awe.
“She is everything you said she would be. Whatever stands between you, solve it.”
She made it sound so simple and direct, as if it were as simple as saying it. Thanos doubted that things were ever that easy.
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder,” she said.
Thanos wanted to. He wanted to go to Ceres and declare his love. More than that, he wanted to ask her to be his. It seemed as though they’d been waiting forever for that to happen.
She waved him away. “Go, go to her.”
Thanos wasn’t sure about being dismissed like that, but he had to admit that Jeva had the right idea when it came to going after Ceres. He went over to her and the others, finding her looking more serious than he’d expected.
Her father turned, clasping Thanos’s hand.
“It’s good to see you again, boy,” he said. “If you hadn’t come, things might have been difficult.”
“You’d have found a way,” Thanos guessed.
“Now, we need to find our way,” Berin replied. “It seems everyone here wants to go somewhere different.”
Thanos saw Ceres nod at that.
“The combatlords think we should go out to the free wastes to become mercenaries,” she said. “Sartes is talking about slipping into the countryside around the Empire. I thought about maybe going back to the Isle of Mists.”
“Jeva was talking about going back to her people,” Thanos said.
“And you?” Ceres asked.
He thought about telling her about the lands of the cloud mountains, about his missing mother, and the chance to find her. He thought of living anywhere, anywhere with Ceres. But then he looked over to Akila.
“I’ll go wherever you go,” he said, “but I don’t think Akila will survive a long journey.”
“I don’t either,” Ceres said.
Thanos knew her well enough to know that she’d already thought of somewhere to go. Thanos was surprised that she hadn’t already taken charge. He could guess why, though. The last time she’d been in charge, she’d lost Delos, first to Stephania, and then to the invaders.
“It’s all right,” Thanos said, reaching out to touch her arm. “I trust you. Wherever you decide, I’ll follow.”
He guessed that he wouldn’t be the only one. Ceres’s family would go with her, while the combatlords had sworn to follow her, whatever they were saying about running off to seek adventure elsewhere. As for Jeva… well, Thanos didn’t claim to know the woman well enough to know what she would do, but they could always drop her off somewhere, if she wanted.
“We can’t catch up to the smuggling boat that brought you to Delos,” Ceres said. “Even if we knew where it was, this small boat won’t move as fast as it can. And if we try to go too far… I think Akila won’t make it.”
Thanos nodded. He’d seen the wound that the First Stone had inflicted on their friend. Akila had survived as much through willpower as anything else, but he needed a real healer, and soon.
“Where then?” Thanos asked.
Ceres looked at him, then at the others. She still seemed almost frightened about saying what she needed to say.
“There’s only one place,” Ceres said. She raised her voice to a level where the whole ship could hear. “We need to get to Haylon.”
Her father and her brother immediately started to shake their heads. Even some of the combatlords didn’t look happy.
“Haylon won’t be safe,” Berin said. “Now that Delos has fallen, it will be a target.”
“Then we need to help them to defend,” Ceres said. “Maybe there won’t be people trying to take it out from under us while we do it this time.”
That was a good point. Delos had fallen for a lot of reasons: the sheer size of Felldust’s fleet, the people who hadn’t stayed to fight, the lack of stability as Stephania conducted her coup. Maybe things would be different on Haylon.
“It doesn’t have its fleet,” Thanos pointed out. “I persuaded most of them to help Delos.”
He felt a wave of guilt over that. If he hadn’t talked Akila into helping, a lot of good people wouldn’t be dead, and Haylon would have the means to defend itself. His friend wouldn’t be lying wounded on the deck of their boat, waiting for assistance.
“We… chose to come,” Akila managed from where he lay.
“And if they don’t have a fleet, it’s all the more reason to try to help them,” Ceres said. “All of you, think, it’s the only friendly place nearby. It held off the Empire when it was strong enough that Felldust didn’t dare to attack. It needs our help. So does Akila. We’re going to Haylon.”
Thanos couldn’t argue with any of that. More than that, he could see the others coming around to it. Ceres had always had the ability to do that. It had been her name, not his, that had brought the Bone Folk. It had been she who had been able to persuade Lord West’s men, and the rebellion. She impressed him more and more every time she did it.
It was enough that Thanos would follow wherever she wanted to go, to Haylon or beyond. He could put the attempt to find his parentage on hold for now. Ceres was what mattered; Ceres, and dealing with the damage that Felldust would do if they spread out beyond Delos. He’d heard it on the docks in Port Leyward: this wasn’t going to be a quick raid.
“There’s a problem if we want to go to Haylon,” Sartes pointed out. “To get there, we would have to go through Felldust’s fleet. That’s the direction they were coming from, right? And I don’t think they’re all sitting in Delos’s harbor.”
“They aren’t,” Thanos agreed, thinking back to what he’d seen in Felldust. There had been whole flotillas of ships that hadn’t set off for the Empire yet; the ships of the other Stones had sat waiting to see what would happen, or been there gathering supplies so that they could join in the process of raiding.
They would be a real threat if their small boat tried to sail to Haylon by the direct route. It would simply be a matter of luck whether they met with foes on the way, and Thanos wasn’t sure whether Ceres would be able to pull off her disappearing trick for them again.
“We’ll have to go around,” he said. “We skirt the coast until we’re well clear of any route they might take, then come around to Haylon from its far side.”
He could see that the others weren’t happy about that thought, and Thanos guessed that it wasn’t just because of the extra time involved. He knew what that route meant.
Jeva was the one to say it.
“Taking that route would bring us through the Passage of Monsters,” she said. “It might be better to take our chances with Felldust.”
Thanos shook his head. “They’ll hunt us down if they see us. At least this way, we have a chance of going undetected.”
“We have a chance of getting eaten too,” the Bone Folk woman pointed out.
Thanos shrugged. There were no better options that he could see. There was no time to go anywhere else, and no better way through. They could risk this, or sit there until Akila died, and Thanos wouldn’t abandon his friend like that.
