It wouldn’t work.
She was still the Shadow sister, and what a mess she’d made by pretending to be somebody she wasn’t.
She was curled up on the cold floor, wrapped in a single thin blanket. Every ugly thought she had made her fold a little more tightly into herself. She wished she could curl tightly enough to disappear all together. Numbness started to overtake her thoughts and her body.
Then she heard a familiar voice outside.
She sat up and hastily reached for the glass of water one of the guards had left, and she gulped it down and tried to clear the dryness in her throat. It had been so long since she’d talked to anyone that it felt as if any words might splinter her throat on their way out. And she had so,somuch to say.
Though something told her Prince Tarron wasn’t going to want to talk anymore.
The door to her prison opened, and he stepped inside.
“I-I’m glad you’re here,” she stammered. “We need to talk.”
Their eyes met. She thought she saw a flicker of uncertainty in his. Or regret, perhaps, for locking her away like this.
But all he said was, “It’s time to go.”
“Go?”
“The main council has decided to try you separately from our Shadow Court prisoners. That council is waiting for you now.”
“Oh. Right.”
She knew it was coming, but still some foolish part of her had hoped he might change his mind. That theyallmight change their mind, and she wouldn’t have to answer for what she’d done.
So foolish.
Two armed guards arrived to escort her. Her hands were bound, and then the four of them made their way outside, down a narrow set of stairs that led to a large circular room at the tower’s base. Here they joined a group of more guards and servants—an entire procession to lead her to her trial at…well, she didn’t know where. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t thinking about where she was going. She was still too caught up in the places she’d been, thinking about all the things she could have done differently.
The prince walked several paces ahead of her to start with, speaking with one of the servants. But as they reached the first floor of the palace, he slowed his step and fell in beside Sephia. With a curt nod, he dismissed the two guards that had been personally escorting her.
At least a dozen feet now separated them from anyone else in their procession. Not exactly enough room for a private conversation, and yet it somehow felt like only the two of them existed now, for better or worse.
He didn’t speak right away. He seemed to be bracing himself for whatever he needed to say. The hurt and anguish were written plainly across his face once more, as painful as they’d been in the dungeon the other day.
He didn’t look at her as he finally spoke. “Your name is Sephia Anne Caster. Not Leanora.”
She fixed her eyes straight ahead. “Yes.”
“You had theaudacityto insist on having my true name when we first met, and yet you did not give me yours.”
She didn’t reply.
“I have spent the past two days collecting all of the information I could about thisSephia. I’ve also written a detailed letter to the Middlemage court about what has transpired, though it remains unsent.”
“You’ve been busy,” she said, softly.
“Yes.” A long pause, and then: “And I’ve been researching Shadow magic, as well. I already knew the basics, of course. But I have been trying to figure out the rest.”
“And what did you figure out?”
“Those other fae we captured…I believe their intentions were to use you as a vessel, a conduit of sorts. With you in the palace, close to myself and the king, they didn’t have to actually be within the palace grounds themselves. They’ve confessed to sending shadows that they hoped you would be able to use. Shadows that you could see, I’m assuming?”
She fixed her eyes on the ground while she nodded.
“And that you controlled in some cases? That first evening in the garden…”
