Dreadgod (Cradle, #11)

by Will Wight

Lindon woke and shivered. [I’m both relieved and disappointed.] Dross drifted out, floating over Lindon’s face. [Unless we have died, and the afterlife is an exact replica of your guest house in Moongrave. Then I’m only disappointed.] It felt like only a moment ago that Lindon’s body and spirit were wracked with pain, and he quickly twisted to check his condition. His body seemed unharmed, and his spirit was whole. Malice must have released him from the consequences. He contemplated sending a message through Dross to tell Mercy about the Dreadgods, but his throat tightened. He sighed. “That is disappointing.” He slid out of his bed and stretched. “I was hoping she’d let us out of the oath entirely.” [We could break it again,] Dross suggested. “I’d rather not. What time is it?” Dross drifted to another floor and checked a clock. [About an hour until dawn. Four hours until that defense coordination meeting.] “Good.” Lindon headed down the stairs for the entrance to the basement. “Time to train.”

Shen snarled in her face. “Am I the only one who saw the stars die?” Larian spread her hands and danced backwards. “Hey, maybe the rest of us didn’t eradicate the Arelius family before learning that their founder was the interdimensional god of death. You know what they say about hindsight, don’t you?”