Woudix’s jaw tenses, but he doesn’t dare disobey a direct order. He crouches next to Artain, whispering low in an ancient language, and the edges of the door begin to glow with black iridescent light.
Artain gives me one final scowl. “Be seeing you again soon, darling,” he hisses as he twists the doorknob. “Banishment to the underrealm is hardly a life sentence.”
He jerks the door open. Instead of broken floor tiles beneath, it’s a yawning portal now, earthen stairs descending into a darkened realm.
I stare him down, unblinking, the solarium horn high in my fist.
He descends the stairs into the wavering portal, which is windless, dark, cold as a grave.
Woudix stands next, leaning close to the bars. “One day,” he purrs, “You’ll join me in my underrealm. Maybe not for a thousand years—but you will.”
He takes a step down but stops when he realizes Hawk is not at his side. Instead, she’s looking at me. Torn ears raised. Big eyes wavering. My heart clenches for her—but he taps his thigh, and she turns to descend with him.
One by one, they leave.
Samaur, grinning ghoulishly, says before leaving “Remember—this is far from over. You struck a bargain to provide us with games, theatrics, and recreations of legends worthy of our stature. Your Fae Games ended halfway through, but don’t fear. We’ll plan somethingtrulymemorable for the conclusion—anew game. Something no one’s ever seen before. Something to be written about in the history books for ages.”
Thracia follows him through the door, looking my tattered gown up and down, unimpressed.
Iyre follows.
Finally, it’s only Vale. He stands tall behind the brimfire bars, towering over me, and I swear I see a cold vein of pride in his eyes.
Almost…the thrill of a challenge.
“Enjoy your peace, daughter,” he says. “While you have it.”
He joins the others, taking slow, heavy steps like the clatter of a funeral bell—and then the underrealm door smashes closed.
I’m alone in the cavernous Raven Hall. The glow beneath the door cuts out, and now it’s just a splintered old door sitting on top of tiles.
My legs give out.
I crash to the broken tiles, which were once such a beautiful tribute to humanity’s virtues, and cradle Tòrr’s horn against my chest.
I don’t rest like that long before I hear heavy boots on the castle steps.
“Sabine!”
I whirl around to see Basten charging into Raven Hall. He pulls me to my feet, wrapping his arms around me so fiercely I can barely breathe, but I don’t care. I squeeze him back just as viciously, sobbing against his shoulder.
“Basten. You’re okay.”
He kisses the top of my head, messy, desperate caresses like he’s afraid someone is going to tear me away from him. He takes my cheeks between his hands, tilting my head to look at him.
“Are you hurt?” he asks.
I shake my head. Physically, I’m in prime condition. My fae blood has healed every tiny scratch, repaired my bruises, and restored the strength in my muscles.
But my heart aches as I clutch Tòrr’s horn.
“One final thing,” I whisper, and stagger to the tall doorway of Raven Hall, with the twin carvings of the words BRAVERY and VIRTUE still standing—one of the few unbroken parts of the castle.
I glance back at Basten. “You have the fae needle?”
He takes it out of his pocket, carefully wrapped in a blood-stained handkerchief. “Stolen from the exhibit hall, as you asked.”
I set to work stitching apart the fabric of space along the stone edges of the castle’s entry. I don’t rush, remembering all the times I’ve used this tool before, and exactly how to set the portal’s opening point to the exact place I wish to reach.
