“Demaya,” I plead, “come with us. We can fight together.”
She shakes her head. “The fight is on two fronts now. You change things from the outside. I’ll change them from within.” Her eyes soften. “Four Vespers remain. I won’t abandon them.”
Pride and grief war within me. I step forward and pull her into a fierce embrace. “Be careful,” I whisper against her hair. “Fight like hell.”
“Always.” She squeezes me tight, then pulls back, eyes shining. “Go be a queen. Show them what we’re capable of.”
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. Drayven clasps her shoulder, a soldier’s farewell. She accepts it with a solemn nod.
Kasaros claps his hands, breaking the moment. “Touching farewells aside, dawn waits for no one. Choose your door.”
I take Drayven’s hand and turn toward the rose-covered door. As we approach, the vines part, revealing glimpses of our kingdom beyond—snow-capped mountains, distant villages. Home.
A thought occurs to me.
“Wait.” I pause, turning back to Kasaros. “The Bride Hunt. You promised to end it if I reached the exit unsullied.”
“And you didn’t,” he counters. “We’ve established that. You are quite thoroughly sullied, my dear.”
“But I was claimed by theHuntsman—your servant—not ahunter. And I left your throne marked with my blood. Both sides won.”
His eyes narrow. “Clever girl.”
“End it,” I demand. “No more stolen brides. No more hunts.”
Kasaros considers me, his expression unreadable. Finally, a wicked smile curves his lips. “Nice try, but the Bride Hunt stands. After all, without it, your little rebel friend will be stuck in the Labyrinth for an eternity.”
“What?” Demaya blurts. “I thought I could?—”
“Perhaps you should leave the thinking to the grownups.”
I step toward Demaya, but she raises her hand, stopping me with a warning look. This is her choice. She wants to see it through. Right.
As painful as it is, I turn to the door, but Drayven hesitates.
“The Baron,” he says. “He was the Huntsman before me, wasn’t he?”
Kasaros nods, pleased by the question. “Indeed. He served well until ambition overtook duty. He wanted more than servitude. He wanted power.”
“Is that the fate of all who wear your mask?” Drayven’s voice is cold. “To become monsters?”
“The mask merely amplifies what already exists within.” Kasaros’s gaze shifts between Drayven and Demaya. “He wascruel before he served me. You were devoted. And she—” he nods toward Demaya, “—she burns with righteous fire. The mask will make her a formidable revolutionary indeed.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” I warn him.
He laughs. “Oh, little rose. I thrive on chaos, remember?”
I look at Demaya one last time. She stands taller already, resolve straightening her spine. I recognize that look—it’s the same determination I felt when I volunteered for the Hunt. She’ll be all right. She has to be.
Drayven turns to Demaya. “There are safe havens within the Labyrinth. Find the Wanderer’s Rest and ask for Jorrid. Tell him I sent you.”
Demaya nods once but it’s Kasaros who interrupts.
“I forgot about that one.” His expression turns thoughtful. “Perhaps it’s time I pay him another visit. Until we meet again.” He bows with mocking formality.
“Let’s hope we don’t,” Drayven mutters.
We step through the rose-covered door hand in hand. Warm light bathes our faces as we emerge on a snowy hillside overlooking the Iron Kingdoms. Below, smoke rises from villages. People continue their lives, unaware that everything has changed.
