She brushed past me, and that scent filled my lungs. Fresh air and something floral—like a meadow high in the mountains after rain.
My chest ached. I knew that smell. From before. From home.
Somewhere the Elder Dimension hadn’t touched yet. But the memory slipped away before I could catch it.
Alice stretched out on the couch, pulling the blanket to her chin. “Do you think Ari will find us?”
“Maybe. Probably.” I kept my eyes on the street below. Empty. Too empty. The quiet made my skin crawl.
“Will he torture Flint and Steel to get them to talk?”
My jaw tightened. Torture was an art form in the queen’s castle. Ari had mastered it long ago.
“He’ll torture them. So will the queen.” I pressed my palm against the cold window. “But the twins won’t break. They’d die first.”
“What happens if they don’t talk?”
The question hung in the air. I didn’t want to answer. Didn’t want to say it out loud.
“She’ll execute them.” My voice came out flat. Dead. “Publicly. To send a message.”
A message meant for me. I knew exactly what the queen was doing—dangling my men in front of me, daring me to come for them. I could picture it already. The crowd. The platform. The blade. My hands curled into fists. She wanted me to watch them die. She wanted me broken.
She was going to be disappointed.
“That’s terrible,” Alice said. “What are we going to do?”
I stared at the empty street. At the shadows where Ari had stood.
What could we do? Storm the castle with no army? Trade myself for my men?
“I don’t know yet.” The words tasted like failure. “But I won’t let them die for me.”
Silence stretched between us. I thought she’d fallen asleep until her voice came softly from the couch.
“How long do people live here?”
I turned from the window. “Excuse me?”
She was staring at the ceiling, the blanket clutched to her chest. “In my nightmare, my mother said the king’s assassin found us. That was eighteen years ago.” She swallowed. “Do you think he’s still alive?”
“The Dark Fae have long lifespans. Much longer than humans.” I studied her face. She looked haunted—pale, hollow-eyed, like the nightmare hadn’t quite released its grip on her yet. “He could still be alive. Easily.”
She sat up slowly, something hardening in her eyes.
“Do you know anyone who kills by fire?”
The question landed heavy in the room.
She wasn’t just processing the nightmare. She was hunting.
I understood the impulse. But a vengeful witch with unstable magic chasing a Dark Fae assassin? That was a complication I didn’t need—not when I had my own men to save.
I shrugged. “Anyone can kill by fire. A flaming arrow. A flammable liquid. Anything.”
She shook her head, sitting up straighter. “I don’t think it was that simple.” She pulled the blanket tighter. “According to Tinker Bell, it was supernatural fire.”
“How would she know?”
