A sigil, rough and fresh, carved in crimson across the ruined line of her mouth—three lines intersecting a circle. And Halwen lay beside her feet. His hand still held a dagger after he’d carved the sigil.
The woman’s head lifted.
She looked at Evelyne with red eyes pierced through her, through a frail veil separated the living from whatever slept beyond.
Before he could move, the woman spoke.
“Don’t trust the one who stands beside you when the moon bleeds,”she whispered, her eyes rolled back.“The gate will open when no shadow touches Elareth. Silver festoons the gold.”
Evelyne simply sat there, rigid, her wide gaze locked on the woman as if the words themselves had wrapped chains around her.
Alaric stepped forward, placing himself between them.
The woman swayed where she stood.
“Filaments undone in weeping ash,”she continued to chant.“The guard walks in darkness… the wolf hidden in plain sight…”
Her voice cracked and whatever spell had stitched her together unraveled all at once. The guards surged forward. They seized her, dragging her collapsing form back. She fell into their arms, utterly lifeless this time, her mouth falling open in a final, empty gasp.
Alaric stared down at her, heart thudding, a bitter taste crawling up the back of his throat.
Magic, wild and starved, bled through the cracks in the world where Halwen and his fanatics had tried to tear it open. It roared against the broken stone and raked clawed fingers through the night.
And then it was gone, sucked in by the air.
The shimmering thread faded into soot and silence, leaving only the stench of blood and failure behind.
He turned slowly.
Evelyne was still on the ground, curled over Thalen’s small body. Her nightgown clung to her in blood-soaked folds.
Beside the boy lay the broken wooden sword.
Alaric dropped to his knees, his wound flared, but he didn’t stop. He gathered her and the boy, cradling them. Evelyne shook against him, howling now, deep and guttural. Just the sound of heartbreak wrenched raw and thrown into the night.
Around them, the soldiers began to gather. One man stopped and lowered his head. Another followed, and then another. Hands lifted, pressing to hearts in unison. Blades dipped next, steel catching a shard of moonlight before angling toward the ground.
Ravik stood off to the side, his face carved in anger. Even he, even that scarred and battered cynic, lowered his head. Vesena stood frozen, her eyes red, tears streaking down her cheeks. Isildeth knelt a few paces off, hands over her mouth, trembling.
Cedric shoved past the others, breath ragged, blood on his hands, eyes wild. The sword slipped from his grip and struck the stone with a sharp, echoing clang. He crossed the distance slowly, until he dropped to his knees beside them. His fingers closed around the splintered wooden blade, cradling. His jaw locked hard, the muscle ticking, but he kept staring down at it.
Alaric rocked Evelyne gently, his cheek pressed to her tangled hair, one hand curled over Thalen’s cooling back. There were no words. Only the unbearable weight of a world that would never be the same again.
Chapter 75
The tea tasted bitter.
Evelyne cradled the cup between both hands, staring ahead at nothing in particular. A thick blanket was wrapped around her shoulders, the stitches in her wrists, legs, and face ached with every movement. Bruises bloomed across her ribs like slow, ugly flowers.
Everything after the ritual had blurred into half-memories and lightless noise. She remembered the sound of voices echoing through the broken arches of the Ivory Bastion, the hiss of flame. The rest of the Silwerwards stormed in, too late to stop what had already begun, but not too late to witness its end.
News spread before she understood it herself.The Heir is dead. The Princess had survived.Her father appeared in the chaos like thunder after silence. She barely registered his presence except for the way he stared at her brother.
Evelyne didn't remember when he had been taken from her arms. She had held him so tightly. She only knew that one moment she was there, the next, she was in her chambers.
They were all seen by the court physicians. The scent of blood and poultices lingered in the halls like incense long after the bodies had been removed. Isildeth had cleaned her carefully. She hadn’t spoken once, only wrung out a fresh cloth, helped Evelyne into a simple linen shift, and tucked the blanket around her shoulders.
And then, sometime after in the Council room, Alaric had taken a seat behind her, his fingers gently untangling the knots in her damp hair. He’d braided it carefully, as though weaving the pieces of her back together. Evelyne looked up at him with silent confusion and wet lashes.
