My throat closes.
“I have to go to him,” I grit out, forcing myself upright, legs shaking.
“You can’t,” Jules says instantly, pushing to her feet with a wince. “It’s too dangerous. If Idris is making his move?—”
“I don’t care,” I snap, and the words are raw, wet, ugly. “I can’t just sit here while he—while they?—”
Another surge hits, softer this time, but no less urgent. Not pain. Not exactly.
A cry.
A prayer maybe?
“Please,” I whisper, looking between them. “I have to go to him. Will you help me?”
Phoebe and Jules exchange a look. A whole silent conversation passes between them—fear, understanding, something like grim acceptance.
Then Jules nods once. Decisive.
“Yes,” she says. “You can use the portal.”
Phoebe licks her lips, shifting closer, gripping my arm as if anchoring herself.
“It’ll take you back to Ashfell’s anchor-stone. To Thorne’s keep. From there…” Her voice falters, but she squares her shoulders. “From there, you’ll feel him. Your bond will guide you and you should be able to access his powers.”
My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.
“Are you sure?” I ask, even though I know my decision was made the moment the first spike of pain hit.
“No,” Jules says honestly. “But if Alaric were bleeding out half a world away and I could reach him?” Her eyes flash. “There’s not a force in the multiverse that could stop me.”
Phoebe squeezes my hand again. “We’ll hold things here. Try to anchor our viyens from this side of the bond.”
Jules steps in, cupping my cheeks, pulling my gaze to hers. Her eyes are fierce and kind and just a little terrified.
“Go to him, Delia,” she says. “But please—please be safe. Come back. The three of us? We’re going to need each other before this is over.”
Emotion swells so thick in my chest I can barely nod.
But I do.
“I’ll come back,” I whisper. “With him. With all of them.”
Phoebe straightens, smoothing her hair back with shaking hands.
“The portal room is down the corridor, east tower. You remember where you came in? Right,” Jules mutters, glancing toward the ceiling like she’s communicating with her castle—maybe she is.
“Coming to Nightfall changes things—changes us—but I can’t imagine anything better,” she whispers.
“I believe you,” I reply.
Of course I do. Because nothing in my life is normal anymore.
I swipe at my eyes, square my shoulders, and take one last look at the two women who understand this madness better than anyone else ever could.
Three Jersey girls.
Three realms.
