What did any of this mean? Reeve was… what? Dead? Devoured? Erased from a borrowed existence? Though she had heard Iya’s words and seen them merge into one, Faron couldn’t believe that the boy she had come to know had been overwritten by the monster that had manipulated her.
Reeve Warwick, who had distracted her with international gossip to calm her down during the Summit. Reeve Warwick, who had called the Queenshield to get her through the crowd of santi at Renard Hall when she was hobbled by her social anxiety. Reeve Warwick, who had kissed her as if the world might end if they ever stopped. Eyes the color of the ocean she rarely got to see, and soft-looking hair the color of chocolate.
I loved him, she realized as her eyes burned with a fresh wave of tears.Gods, I never even told him.
A hand appeared in her blurry line of sight. Faron sniffled asshe looked up to see Reeve bent over her. No, not Reeve. Just Iya, in the vessel that Reeve’s parents had promised him. She remembered, suddenly, when he had offered to possess an injured Reeve to get him back to Renard Hall, how she’d thought he had bent over Reeve to ask permission to share his body. In light of what she knew now, he’d probably never asked. He’d probably just been glad to have the opportunity to test out his new form under the guise of a favor to her.
For all she’d claimed to be the queen of lies, she’d never seen this one coming. He’d played her like a tambourine while she’d convinced herself she was in control.
“You—look what you’ve done,” Faron managed around the anger that was slowly taking the place of her pain. She clung to it tightly, because anger was active, anger would keep her from falling into the open grave in her chest. “What do youwant?”
Iya’s eyes darkened. “I wanteverything. I want all that I was denied when they locked me in that timeless, endless pit, everything that was mine before your gods and my own generals betrayed me.” He leaned closer, so close that for a moment she feared he would try to kiss her with Reeve’s lips. It took everything she had not to flinch. “When I am done, Faron, you will be the saint of nothing more than ashes, and I will be god of all that remains.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ELARA
BEFOREELARA ANDSIGNEY MADE IT TO THENATIONALHALL, THEYwere attacked by dragons.
The soldiers must have contacted the commander the instant they’d left Rosetree, because the Dragon Legion was treating them like approaching enemies. And Elara was rattling around like a marble in a tin can, clinging to Zephyra’s back for dear life.
“I hope you’re always this easy to read,” Signey said, arms tightening around her. “Let Zephyra do what she does best. You try to figure out where your queen might be.”
“It’s not like I have a map of the National Hall burned into my memory,” Elara snapped before realizing that she kind of did. One of the books in the Hearthstone library had given her a history of the place, and she’d gotten an extensive look at most of the halls and rooms during her and Signey’s visits. Even without the bond, Elara could tell that Signey was laughing at her for having forgotten that. The one good thing about their weekends in Beacon, the one thing they’d learned, was the layout of the building.
“Try the North Chamber,” Elara said. “Where we first arrived.”
Zephyra dropped like a stone, so suddenly that Elara beganscreaming. Signey laughed again, but her arms remained steady around Elara’s waist. Despite the fact that it seemed as if she’d left her stomach in the clouds, Elara felt safe.
They landed outside a line of high-set arched windows that looked down into the great hall. From this angle, Elara could see the commander, the director,andthe queen inside. Aveline was dwarfed by them both, but she carried herself like someone who eclipsed them in style, if not in stature.
“Go,” Signey said, releasing Elara. “We’ll lose the dragons.”
Elara slid down the side of Zephyra’s flank, tumbling onto her butt in the grass. Zephyra took off seconds later, chased by fireballs she dodged more easily now that she’d dropped the weight. Elara’s chest ached as she watched them, but she had to trust them to do their job the way they trusted her to do hers. She had to reach the queen.
If, of course, she could get past these soldiers.
Fighting a smile, Elara studied the approaching officers: the way they carried themselves, the swords they had drawn. She took a deep breath and sank into the astral plane, and it was like coming home, like the first breath after emerging from the waves, like light and love and joy all at once. She laughed, pure delight shooting through as her aunts surrounded her, glowing and beautiful, when she had worried that she would never see them again. Two months had made her less wary of Langlish magic, but this? Summoning? She felt whole again. She never wanted to lose this.
She reached for Aunt Gabourey, the strongest of them all, and blended their souls together, trembling only slightly as they became one. She felt Gabourey’s bloodlust as if it were her own. And maybe it was.
The officers raised their swords.
Elara smirked.
She left a small pile of unconscious bodies by the door and ran deeper into the National Hall. Her hands still glowed with unchecked power as she found the staircase that would lead her to the North Chamber. The guards she ran into on her way never saw her coming, and sheer adrenaline kept her from feeling the few strikes that grazed her skin. She could summon an astral and heal herself later. Thank Irie, she could heal herself again.
Elara laughed.Finally.
When she burst into the North Chamber, she was breathing hard. The commander, the director, and the queen were right where she’d seen them through the window, nothing changed except that the Warwicks now stood together. Aveline’s eyebrows lifted.
“Elara?” the queen said. “What in Irie’s name do you think you are doing? Were you the source of all that noise?”
“San Irie is under attack,” Elara gasped.
“I know that,” Aveline said impatiently. “That is why I am here. Why areyouhere?”
“No, I mean… Not the… San Irie is under attackwhileyou’re here. Right now.”
