“What the hell happened to us?” Taniya rasps. “One minute we were happy. We had everything we needed. And then…” She shakes her head, her tangled hair so matted that it swishes across her shoulders in clumps. “Then we weren’t.”
I keep my voice low, as gentle as I can, but I don’t sugarcoat what happened to them. “It was an illusion,” I say. “The prison wanted you to have your greatest desires so you wouldn’t try to escape. I had no idea how bad it was until I went in and saw it myself.”
I fight for control of my emotions, but a tear creeps down my cheek. “You were both so happy, but it was a lie. Sapping your energy. Starving your bodies. The prison is designed to keep you alive—and I have no doubt it would have—but eventually, I’m certain you’d have been shells of your former selves. All the while, your hearts and minds were happy.”
Despite her fatigue, Taniya’s fists clench, her hands shaking. “I was with Dastian.” She squeezes her eyes closed so tightly, it has to hurt her. “We had a home.”
Her pain is palpable, but at least she’s expressing it.
Unlike Malia.
She stares straight ahead, unfocused, giving no sign that she’s seeing the wall of books across from her.
“Malia?” I ask softly.
She swallows hard, finally pulling her gaze from the far wall. “I don’t even understand why it made me happy,” she says, her voice scratchy. “I decided long ago that I didn’t want to be part of a coven—not when they’re so discriminatory. I hated the Vegas coven. And yet…”
“It felt right?” I ask.
She nods, pressing her lips tightly together. “I felt complete, but now… I see how empty and fake it was.”
Slowly, she draws her legs up under her and sinks back into the sofa. “The illusion affected me. More than I’d like to admit. I loved the coven atmosphere, being able to share my magic… I’ve been struggling to bring my mind back ever since you got us out, but this is helping.” She brushes the tears off her cheeks. “Being with my pack again. You and the wolves. It helps.”
Roman returns then, carrying a huge tray crowded with plates, bowls, and cups, which he sets down on the floor between us. Heavenly scents waft up from the food that Roman must have conjured into existence. It makes me realize how long it’s been since I’ve had a decent meal, but my sisters come first.
“Go carefully,” Roman warns my sisters. “Your stomachs will have shrunk. Too much food, too soon, will make you sick.” He gestures to the broth in the bowls. “This soup is nutrient-rich and your bodies should tolerate it well, but sip slowly.”
Taniya pauses in the act of snatching up a buttered bread roll, eyeing Roman as she carefully pulls a corner off the roll and pops it into her mouth before reaching for a bowl of soup and cradling it in her hands.
She takes a measured sip, keeping Roman in her sights before she gives a groan as she swallows. “Oh… that’s good. Are you certain I can’t gobble this?”
Roman’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t quite crack a smile. “I’m certain. Go slow.”
“Damn,” she whispers, taking rapid small sips before slowing down again.
Some of the distress in Malia’s expression clears as she observes Taniya following Roman’s advice—when it’s clear our harpy sister wants nothing more than to shovel every bit of food she sees into her mouth. Malia slips off the sofa, wobbling as she makes it down onto the floor, and lifts a second bowl to her lips. She closes her eyes as she swallows, and I can only imagine the warmth the soup is giving her.
I mouth a silentthank youto Roman before he surprises me by sliding onto the armchair behind me and pulling me up against him so I’m leaning against his solid frame, the two of us snuggled together. It’s a more affectionate gesture than I was expecting him to make in front of my sisters. Certainly not unwelcome, but I expected him to keep his distance, to be reserved like he was before.
It warms me that he’s willing to reveal this side of himself in front of them.
I relax into him, reminding myself to take every shred of happiness I can find before the final fight.
“Tell me more about your father’s energy within the prison,” he says, a rumble at my ear while my sisters continue eating.
When we tumbled out of the prison, I only had time to tell Roman that my father had helped us escape.
“He spoke to me,” I say. “I don’t know how. Hell, I don’t even know if it was the prison playing tricks on me, trying to create an illusion to keep me there. You know… show me the life I could have had as a royal…”
“It wasn’t a trick,” Malia says, suddenly pausing with her spoon near her mouth. “He was communicating with us. At first, I thought he was a member of my coven, but his presence always felt sharper somehow.” She seems to struggle to describe it, her forehead creasing before she gives a dry chuckle. Not a real laugh but it eases the tension. “He actually asked us if one of us was you, Nova.”
“Our blood oath must have confused him,” I murmur. “He said that’s why he found you.”
I twist to see Roman. “How is his energy in the prison, but his body isn’t?”
“His soul,” Malia interjects again. “His soul is in there.”
Roman gives a slow shake of his head, but he seems to think it through as he speaks. “Jareth is one of the most powerful demons. Unkillable. Except by me.”
