His words barely registered, drowned out by the pounding of her heartbeat and the shallow, frantic pull of her breaths. She reached for theDraothCara, gripping the thread and tugging hard. She had to rift to the east wing—to Osin’s chambers. Calista had mapped out the basics for her. She remembered it was close to his study. The same study Ivan had dragged her to on that first day.
Her hands tingled, a faint numbness creeping into her fingertips as panic began to set in. She could do this alone. She had to.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Elara lifted her gaze to Dario. “I’ll leave with you. But only after I take care of what I need to. Only then.” A lie—but she was getting good at those lately.
Dario’s face went pale. “What did Osin do to you? What spell did he put you under?”
Elara sighed, her patience razor-thin. “Listen to me, Dario Voland, and listen well, or I swear I’ll knock you flat.” He blinked, startled. “I am not under any spell. I am not brainwashed. In fact, I’m clearer now than I’ve been in years—no thanks to you.”
She grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze.
“You owe me this.”
The fight drained out of him instantly. He closed his eyes. “Fine. Okay.”
Elara squeezed his chin gently. “I’ll find you—after.”
Another lie. She didn’t let herself feel it, didn’t allow a second thought. Instead, she pulled on theDraothCara, tugging the thread until a rift shimmered into existence.
Dario’s eyes widened, shock flashing across his face. He reached for her, but his figure blurred as she stepped through, the rift closing behind her.
Chapter 56
Dark currents twisted around Elara, alive and restless, yet for once she didn’t panic. She held still, letting the cold press in, seep into the cracks inside her. It was unsettling how the emptiness moved, how it coiled through her ribs as though it belonged there.
Hollow. Eerie.
Like standing on the edge of death.
She centered herself, focus narrowing to intent—to exactly where she needed to be. Slowly, a sliver of gold tore open before her, a rift just wide enough to reveal the corridor outside Osin’s study. Her pulse hammered as she scanned the hall.
Empty. Thank the gods.
Every guard must have been at the party, likely drugged or drunk. But she couldn’t assume anything—not after seeing how Osin had tightened security at the start of the festival.
Elara slipped free of the Void, landing in the corridor and breaking into a sprint. She followed Calista’s instructions, veering left at the turn?—
The servant’s passage wasn’t empty.
She cursed and pushed herself to run faster.
The workers froze at the sight of her, but none dared to stop her.Maybe they don’t recognize me?she thought, though even as the idea crossed her mind, she knew better. After the way Osin had paraded her around these past months, there was no chance they didn’t know who she was. She didn’t dwell on it. Her legs carried her forward, past shadowed doorways and dimly lit rooms that blurred into nothing as she ran.
Ahead, she spotted a set of private quarters, one door slightly ajar. Warm light spilled into the dim corridor, glinting off polished wood. Skidding to a halt, she bit her lip, glanced around, and slipped inside.
The room was sparse, barely furnished, but her gaze went straight to the dresser. She nearly sighed in relief at the sight of trousers. She pulled them on, cinched a belt tight, then grabbed a tunic—yanking off her gown and replacing it, tucking the fabric into the waistband with hurried hands.
Her gaze swept the floor, landing on a pair of boots that looked close to her size. She ripped off her silk slippers and shoved the boots on, not bothering to tie them properly.
Leaving her discarded things behind, she bolted back into the corridor. Paintings blurred past as she sprinted through the gallery, her sights locked on a small door at the far end. She yanked it open and launched herself up the narrow staircase, taking two steps at a time.
Her lungs burned by the time she reached the top, but she didn’t stop. Exiting the stairs, she ran down a short corridor, her heart pounding as she approached the heavy tapestry marking the entrance to Osin’s private hall.
A strange, shivering familiarity crept over her, tingling at the base of her spine as she stared at the tapestry. She knew this. Had seen it before. How, she couldn’t say—but every instinct screamed that she did.
Three women stood within the weave, their forms draped in flowing robes, hands lifted toward the heavens. The goddesses. The Three.
