But it’s my heart that aches the most.
Esta was never my sister. Not really. Not like Malia and Taniya. But she was the best of the royals.
I reach out to close her eyelids, only to find that my hands are shaking and my fingers knock violently against her cheeks.
Damn, my chest hurts.
I can’t process what I’m feeling right now. I’m angry, so angry. And afraid. Really afraid. And there’s a well of sadness that’s rising up because this could have been Malia or Taniya. When I challenged Arga on the bridge when we first arrived… If he had beaten me then…
A shudder racks me at the thought of how much danger we were in.
My sisters have been as safe as they could be in the prison, but if I don’t make it through the next trial, then Roman won’t be able to get them out. He risked touching the prison today, but he can’t step foot inside it without breaking it apart.
I have to get them out before the next trial—and since Crone has proven that she can’t be trusted not to spring a trial on us, that means I have to get them out as soon as possible.
Tonight.
I can’t wait.
“Nova!”
I jolt as Roman’s desperate roar breaks through to me, a distant echo that sounds so far away. It makes me realize how long I’ve sat, shivering, beside Esta’s body, trying to make my thoughts work—and just how much damage Arga did to my body and my mind.
Arga will have emerged by now and Roman…
“Nova! Answer me!”
He won’t be allowed to step foot in this room.
I have to get to him.
Even though my legs are shaking, I make myself stand up. I can’t leave Esta here, so I bend to her, scooping her up and carrying her across my shoulder, her hair brushing the backs of my thighs. It’s not elegant, and it feels disrespectful to carry her like this, but I can’t support her weight any other way. Even like this, my legs are buckling, but I tell myself to get the fuck on with it.
Maneuvering through the maze of furniture, I take it step by painful step, my muscles screaming while Roman continues to roar my name, every shout becoming more guttural until I can hardly recognize his voice.
Finally, I approach the final obstacle, but this time, I shove my weight against the set of drawers, pushing them aside so that I can squeeze around them.
I pull up short when I emerge into chaos.
The fountains are shattered and puddles of liquid are splashed all over the floor. The nearest couch is blasted apart, its stuffing scattered. The others are tipped over. There’s glass everywhere and a whirlwind of power streams from one side of the space to the other, picking up debris and hurling it at the walls, which are cracked from ceiling to floor.
Koda stands in the far right corner near the door. Crone is a few steps farther inside the room, her face falling when she sees me. It looks like Arga didn’t tell her I survived—or he did, and she hoped he was wrong.
He’s nowhere in sight and neither are the elites.
But it’s Roman who draws my attention. He paces opposite me, his eyes completely black, a storm of runes swirling around his chest while his skin is dark amethyst and his normally blond hair is pitch black.
He flies toward me, a blur of movement, snatching me into his arms as I collapse. Somehow, he catches Esta as well as me so that neither of us hits the floor.
“Nova.” He breathes my name and his skin and hair morph back into their more human forms as he strokes my back, pulling me close, still supporting us both.
“Esta’s gone,” I whisper against his chest.
My sense of failure weighs heavily within my chest as Roman takes Esta from me, laying her down on the floor.
Crone stands at the door, her black eyes sharp, and I sense the vibrations through the floor beneath me, a sign of her power approaching, but I’m also aware of Roman’s power—a heavy rage in the air—and I don’t know what will happen if these two ancients were to ever truly collide.
Koda suddenly swings to Crone with a snarl. “Stay the fuck away from Esta.”
