“Be safe!” Glenn calls.
In the Illusion apartments, the plane is plucked tight like the strings of a bow between two energies. The twinkling magic and the unfeeling one: fallen snow and an empty sky.
The two siblings swallow wine in silence, passing the decanter over the table on a magical wind. Kassandra beckons me, still not looking my way.
“Both, please,” she says, and I place the plates before her. I try to catch her eye, but she waves me off. “Depart.”
“Stay, little faerie.”
I linger, glancing between them. Two months ago, I hesitated as well, unsure of who was the top master. Now I battle within myself: To obey Kassandra would be to abandon her here, with her brother.
“It’s confused.” Dominik barks a laugh.
“Avery.Leave.”
My legs move despite my screaming thoughts.Coward,I think.Stay for this fight.
“Seems like disobedience is another trait you two share,” the heir jeers.
“I do not disobey, brother.”
A peach pie lifts from the table, floating across the room. It drops in front of him, the plate cracking, the dessert crumbling. His nostrils flare, pupils dilating. The chair flies across the room as the fae leaps to his feet, body heaving with rage. The plane swirls around him, drains into him, as he siphons its power and lays it across his skin.
“Then what do you call this?” he screams. “What is this?”
Kassandra meets her brother’s gaze. “An act of war.”
“You declare war on your own House?”
“I am declaring war on you, Dominik. The title of Heir of Illusion belongs to me, and this is your last chance to hand it over peacefully.”
He slams the table, the dishware rattling, crashing to the floor. Yet he doesn’t reach forward with invisible hands, doesn’t strike out at her. There isn’t fear in his eyes, only fury. Something is off. More than usual. Something is missing.
My attention sweeps the room but can’t pick out any Illusions. But when have I ever been able to discern the sophisticated fantasies they spin? Bending over, I slip a shard of glass up my sleeve as pieces of wood splinter beneath Dominik’s grip.
“You’re a delusional cunt whose little rebellion has gone on too long,” he snarls.
“Avery, out,” Kassandra says. “Now.”
“Guards! It is time for my sister’s gift!”
Before I can move, Kassandra’s chamber door flings open. A line of Illusion guards files in, clad in silver armor and bows. Five, seven, ten march in, more than any number I’ve seen before outside of Illusion events. As they form a straight line, the hairs on the back of my neck rise. My genius panics, fluttering along the plane for a source of nature to call upon and finding nothing. I could conjure flames along my arms, but to what avail?
The soldiers draw their bows, notching silver arrows, strings pulling taut. Ten Illusion archers aim at Kassandra.
“Excuse me!” she yells. “What is the purpose of this?”
“To remind you of your place,” Dominik says. “They will follow who they know will win.”
“Guards, I demand you lower your weapons.”
No one moves. One exhale and ten arrows will rain upon her—could she survive it? One would pierce an organ. The arrows would reach her before I could. My broken piece of glass seems pathetic, but I grip it with everything I have.
Two Illusion halflings tramp in, each holding a fae in theirgrip. A familiar sky-blue male and a sage-skinned female twist to free themselves, each sporting a black eye and scrapes along their shackled arms. I recognize the female fae from Hector’s bed all those weeks ago—his mistress. And the male—Lord Tomas Roche—Illusion’s advisor, her husband.
The fae Kassandra had to tea. Clara Roche.
Something drops in my chest.
