A ringing filled the chamber—metallic, ancient, holy.
The torches blew out.
My breath vanished.
Light erupted beneath me—the Ancestors howling in my ears. Golden lines crawled outward across the floor, weaving into a coronation circle.
“Impossible,” Selene whispered, backing away.
“Not impossible,” Rue whispered, clutching his chest as tears slid down his face. “Destiny.”
Trent looked up at me through smoke and blood. His voice broke on a whisper.
“I never meant to hurt you, Bellator… I only ever wanted to love you.”
Selene staggered, a momentary crack appearing in her facade of hatred.
Ubel swore under his breath. “He took the entire strike for her—why—WHY would he?—”
Trent turned his head toward them, shadows crawling weakly along his ribs where the blast had ripped him open. “Because she…” He coughed, choking on smoke. “…she was always mine to protect. Even before I knew her name.”
And then?—
The world split open.
The Ancestors erupted upward in a cyclone of light—gold, silver, deep blue, storm red—wrapping around me, lifting me off my feet. My body arched as centuries of lives poured through me like tidal waves breaking in reverse.
I saw them all.
Lilibet, fierce and sorrowful.
Seraphine, the queen who commanded storms.
Maera, who fought the First War with a Fellat at her side.
Isara, crowned in starlight.
Callida, whose fire melted mountains.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Every queen I had ever been.
The Ancestors spoke with a thousand voices:
“THE SACRIFICE IS ACCEPTED.”
“THE LINE RESTORED.”
“THE QUEEN RETURNS.”
My back arched, my mouth opened in a silent cry as light sealed itself along my sternum—the broken crown burning into brilliance, no longer fractured.
A completed crown.
A sovereign mark.
