But instead of silence or shame, he laughs. A mirror of my own cruelty.
“Oh, but wearethe same, Amara,” he says. “Yes, I have killed. But so have you. When you summoned your beasts. When your husband cut through my men like animals. You weren’t innocent that day. There’s blood on both our hands.”
He grips the bars tighter, his face pressed against the cage, his mask scraping the steel.
“Those were my brothers. My sisters. My Legion. Some I’d known since we were children. Some ran barefoot from the fire in Rethmar, like I did. Don’t think for a second you were the only one who lost someone that day. We were just fighting on different sides.”
“And nothing has changed,” I say, curt and cold.
“Really?” he replies, tilting his head as though trying to see through me. “Did you not try to heal me? Is that something you do for your enemies?”
I snort. “Unfortunately, yes. From time to time. It is my weakness.”
“No,” he says gently now, his head shaking. “It is your goodness. That has become... clearer to me these past weeks.”
I don’t like the way he looks at me. Eyes too soft. Voice too warm. I prefer him cruel. Condescending. The version I can hate without guilt. The version I can imagine strangling across a table without hesitation.
“I know what the Ithranor have planned,” he continues, his voice steadying, the exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “I know exactly what they need from you.”
“The portal,” I say, my tone sharp, unwilling to be fooled. “It is the price for everything. Perhaps even what you bargained with them for.”
He nods, and his eyes dim like the sun slipping behind a cloud. “The Sundered Kingdoms. The throne. House Ithranor will turn the tide of this war. We’ll defeat the Mordorin. Once and for all.”
“That’s what you desire?”
He doesn’t answer at first. Just stares. Lips parted. Words caught on the edge of his breath. His gaze pins me, sharp enough to make me blink first. I look away.
“Yes,” he murmurs. “That’s what I desire. It is what my brother died for.”
“Then enjoy it while it lasts,” I say, voice tightening. “Because when I’m reunited with Daed, we will…”
“There will be no reuniting, Amara,” he cuts in, the words spilling from him like a cracked goblet pouring water.
I frown. “We cannot be apart. Daedalus and I…”
“Yes, you can.” His voice sharpens. “And you will. If you open that portal.”
His eyes drift upward, his jaw clenched. When he finally forces the next words out, they scrape.
“You’re not meant to survive it, Amara.”
A short, stunned laugh escapes me. Disbelief. Another lie, surely. But when I search his face, I find no deception.
Only regret.
And when he realizes I see the truth written there, he nods.
“You’ve been tested,” he says. “To see how long you can last. How much pain your body can take. They need you to stay alive, just long enough to keep the portal open. Long enough to bleed you dry.”
I shake my head fiercely. “If I open the portal, he promised we’d be released.”
The Golden Son’s shoulders draw tight. He inhales like it hurts. “He didn’t mean your freedom.”
My chin falls. Water wells behind my eyes, the weight of it makes everything blur. My hand drifts to my swollen belly.
A kick. Small, but there.
“But my baby…”
