“It’s not right,” Roburn argues.
“Do it, Captain,” the soldier says forcefully. “Or I will.”
I wish I could scream my agreement with Roburn. None of this is right. I’m burning with indignation, with rage and shame, clinging to my last thread of life. In this state, I might have one more strike in me. But no more. Not enough.
Roburn sighs heavily as he carefully uncaps the bottle. When his eyes lock with mine, I can only hope he can see the plea written there. The captain pauses.
Then hurls the potion into the soldier’s face.
I’m showered with liquid and broken glass, but the ploy works. The soldier drops my arms, and with my hands free, I swing up, smashing my fist into his jaw.
Roburn’s sword sings as he draws it, and he whirls to block the next soldier who rushes me.
I roll to avoid getting trampled, seeking Cygnus. We’re making it out of this together. One of the guards drops his arms, surging to join the fight against Roburn. The monster in me doesn’t hesitate. With two hands, I blast power straight at the guard, shattering both his legs. He lets out a terrible grunt, and he tumbles.
The monster purrs. Spiteful.
I lock eyes with the other guard—the one still holding Cygnus.
He drops him. Surrenders.
I grab Cygnus, yanking him toward the stairs. I spare just one backward glance, and my guts twist at the wall of guards and Frumentari streaming after us.
Roburn plants himself between us and them, his longsword rising. One man against an army.
And when he turns to watch our escape, I see everything unspoken in his eyes. Duty and honor, what’s wrong and what’s right, and the silent command, echoing Sandria’s.
Make this sacrifice worth it.
I tear my eyes away, charging with Cygnus toward freedom.
My magic flings out behind me and latches onto the familiar trace of Roburn’s life energy.
I’m still tracking—still hoping—when his life force winks out.
But Cygnus and I can’t stop. Can’t slow. Dante stays close to our feet as we push forward, limping and staggering. We stomp over rosebushes and stumble through hedges, hands locked, as the castle and its beautiful lies recede behind us…
Until we reach the distant lake where the Everwillow looms.
rise in the darkness.
There’s never enough light in Ruin. That’s the first thing I learned about our new home. No sun means no way of anchoring my days, so the hours blur past mindlessly. I’ve been sleeping late and retiring early, telling myself I’m adjusting.
But deep down, I know what—and who—I’m avoiding.
Dante scratches at the door while I’m lacing my boots. Sharing a roof has been an adjustment for everyone, but between him, Cygnus, and me, the fox is thriving the most in our new home. The one thing Ruin has plenty of is rats, and over the last couple of months, he’s hunted enough to fill out his ribs. Without work to fill my days, there’s time for infinite games of fetch, chin scratches, and trips to the lake, which has become our favorite place.
Word about our arrival spread quickly. Soleste knows that I’m hiding in Ruin, and she has her guards on the lookout for me in the common places. The Elven people just know that Lyria Fletcher, the former consort of Prince Finneas Thorne, is responsible for creating the omnidraught. So I’m lying low.
When Cygnus and I returned, Melia welcomed us back with open arms, at least figuratively. She put us up in this miserable shack of an apartment and connected Cygnus with the rebels. He sees her much more than I do now at meetings held in secret hideouts like this one. So far, I’ve declined to join them. I’ve declined to do much of anything.
Melia knows I’m broken. But she doesn’t know how to fix it.
Not when she did so much of the breaking.
I tiptoe into the kitchen and find it empty. Not surprising. Cygnus and I have been drifting around each other like two ghosts, avoiding run-ins by keeping opposite schedules. If I hear his key in the door, I shut myself in my room. He leaves before I wake up. Peace is kept.
Mother wants me to present myself to the Mage and begin my magical training. But doing anything she wants feels like acceptance of her betrayal.
