I turn my head to meet my mother’s gaze. Her eyes have grown clear, swimming with flames. We exchange no words, but a silent understanding passes between us. If this is the end, so be it. Mother gives me a subtle nod.
I rise to my feet on strong legs. “No.”
“Seize them.” Mr. Duveau’s shout brings two guards toward me, while the others close in on Mother. A sudden blast of light halts all movement for a split second. I look toward Mother. Despite the icy water soaking her bottom half, fire erupts from her palms, melting the iron cuffs. She yanks them hard, and they break, releasing her. She presses a fiery palm to the chest of the nearest guard, and he shouts in pain.
“Maven Fairfield.” My mother’s name bursts from Mr. Duveau’s lips, carrying the undeniable weight of magic. “Do not move.”
To my horror, Mother freezes where she stands, and the guards wrest her arms behind her back. Mr. Duveau retrieves his revolver from beneath his robe and points it at her.
I look from him to Mother, then back again. That’s when I remember my final weapon against the councilman. One I didn’t want to use unless absolutely necessary.
“Henry Duveau.” I say it with the same power I touched when I used Aspen’s true name. I await the vision of the bridge, the cliffs, but it doesn’t come. Only a flicker of a vast chasm obscured by fog. Perhaps the vision of the bridge is unique to me and Aspen. I refocus on the power of the councilman’s name. “You will let my mother go. You will allow us to leave this trial unharmed and will not pursue us for as long as we live.”
My eyes lock on Mr. Duveau’s, his expression unreadable.
Then, to my horror, his lips pull into a wide grin. “Did you really think I’ve made my birth name public? Did you honestly believeyouhad the power of my true name?”
He pulls the trigger.
* * *
My world shattersat the sound of the gun firing, then narrows to the point of a bullet. All sound is hollow in my ears as I watch the bullet strike between my mother’s eyes.
There’s no moment of hope, no opportunity for Mother to fight against the iron that burrows into her forehead and ends her life.
A scream that is mine yet sounds so far away bursts from my chest as Mother’s body topples into the tub, the water quickly running a bright shade of red.
I’m vaguely aware of a raven’s caw as Mr. Duveau shields his head, shouting as a black beak seeks to peck out his eyes. A few of the guards leave my mother’s lifeless form to charge the bird, while others close in on me.
Anger burns inside my heart, sharpening my mind. The raven shifts into Franco, but he’s unlike any version of him I’ve ever seen. He’s tall, lithe, cloaked in shadow, fangs lengthening in his terrifying maw as he intercepts the guards. The guards shrink back with horrified shouts, and I watch as shadows are leeched from them, being pulled in by the prince.
The councilmen and jurors begin to shout, clambering out of their seats.
Mr. Duveau stumbles back from the dark prince, and my eyes lock on him. Heat floods my palms as I pursue his retreat. When his attention meets mine, his composure stiffens. He turns the barrel of his gun on me. “Evelyn Fairfield.”
I’m too enraged to fear that he’s using my name. All I feel is fire and pain and a burning need for revenge.
“Don’t move,” Mr. Duveau says, the power of my name heavy in the command.
I freeze, hating the lack of control over my own motor functions. His fingers find the trigger, but before he can pull it, I say his name again. He may have kept his birth name secret, but the Legacy Bond means I should have power over it regardless. So this time, I seek the power of intent.His true name, his true name.I repeat it like a mantra, seeking it beneath the fog that blankets the chasm. There’s still no bridge, but a thin rope-like tether connects us and is growing clearer by the second. I imagine his hands stiff and immobile, frozen like ice, unable to fire the gun.
The councilman’s hand begins to shake, and I can see the effort it’s taking him to try and pull the trigger. His gaze intensifies, and I feel his attention on my name. I still can’t move, but neither can his trigger finger.
Sweat beads at my brow, but I maintain my focus, gripping that tether with everything inside me. From the corner of my eye, I see Franco still fighting with the guards, most of whom are cowering on the floor, convulsing wildly.
Mr. Duveau blinks a few times, his face growing red. Finally, a gasp escapes his lips and he lowers the gun. In that same moment, an enormous creature barrels between me and the councilman. My heart leaps into my throat. It’s Aspen. The real Aspen, not the ethereal version of him that was here before.
In stag form, Aspen charges Mr. Duveau, antlers striking the man’s midsection and sending him sprawling across the floor. I’m about to chase after him, my palms yearning to burn his flesh to a crisp, but Aspen steps between us. “Get on,” he says.
Mr. Duveau struggles to rise, blood seeping from his abdomen. Everything inside me wants to finish the job. To do to him what he did to my mother.
“Get on!” Aspen repeats, louder this time. That’s when I see the flood of soldiers enter the room. Without a second thought, I pull myself on Aspen’s back. He carries us toward the startled soldiers before they can react, swinging his antlers to clear our way. In seconds, we’re racing out the front of the building, Aspen’s hooves pounding the cobblestones.
“Get Foxglove and meet us at Lunar,” Aspen says.
I know he must be talking to Franco, but I don’t bother looking for the raven prince. All I see is blood and flames, my mother’s lifeless body in a tub of crimson water. Sorrow threatens to unravel me, so I seek my anger instead. It burns easily, searing me from the inside.
I lose all sense of time as we race through the night, Aspen’s stag mouth lathering as he carries us from city streets to the quiet forest. Even beneath the cover of trees, he neither slows nor rests. My anger refuses to slacken as well and only seems to grow with every minute, every hour that passes. The heat becomes tangible, uncomfortably warm as sweat drips from every inch of my skin. I’m only half-aware of the bright glow that emanates from my body.
