His fork stills. He sets it down with care, the clink of silver against porcelain far too soft for the weight of the moment.
“Nothing,” he says slowly, “will get in the way of my destiny, Celeste. Not my wife. Not even my daughter.”
A coldness spreads through me, sinking deep into my bones. It’s the kind of chill that no fire can touch. Hatred stirs at the edges of it, sharp and certain. Whatever faint hope I might have had—that some part of him could be reasoned with, reached—dies right there between us.
The seer doesn’t turn from the window, but I feel her attention like a thread pulled taut. She’s listening. Measuring. Torbin lifts his glass, his eyes on me as he takes a sip.
I will not cry in front of them.
But the tears well, anyway, pressing hot against the backs of my eyes—not just for my mother, whose blood I see as vividly as if it were still fresh, but for the hatred taking root in my chest. Hatred for the man who sits before me, eating his breakfast as though he hasn’t just admitted to destroying everything that should have bound us as kin.
My gaze drifts to Ella. “Did you do it of your own will,” I ask quietly, “or did she make you?”
The tsar’s knife hovers above his plate. He doesn’t answer.
“I thought you hated sirens,” I press, my voice sharpening. “Banned them from setting foot in our land. Imprisoned them. Killed them.”
His mouth curves faintly, not in amusement, but in something colder. “Ella is different. She opened my eyes to the truth. Showed me what I am destined to become.”
My nails bite into my palms beneath the table. “And how do you know she wasn’t manipulating you? That she isn’t still?”
His gaze hardens, that faint curl of his lip deepening into disdain. “Because unlike you, I can see beyond the narrow scope of a single lifetime. I see the shape of the ages, the rise and fall of empires. You look at what is and think it will always be. I look at what will be and shape it into reality.”
My pulse spikes. “What I see,” I say, my voice cutting through the space between us, “is you destroying everything you touch. Creating monsters that feed on humans. Tearing apart villages. Destroying families. Waging war on the realms as if their ruin were your birthright.”
His chair scrapes violently against the stone as he shoves it back, the sound shattering the air like a blade drawn. “You are as small-minded as your mother.”
I rise too, holding my ground. “And you can’t count on your so-called destiny,” I snap. “Because I will never help you.”
His eyes flash. He doesn’t waste breath arguing further. Instead, he calls sharply for his guards.
For a heartbeat, I don’t realize what’s happening until rough hands seize my arms.
The tsar strides toward the door without looking back. “Bring heralong.”
Torbin falls into step behind my father.
The guards drag me after them. I twist against their grip, my boots scraping over the cold, stone floor. “Get off me!”
The seer turns then, finally pulling her gaze from the window. Her steps are soundless as she follows, her head tilting the slightest degree.
A hum slips from her lips—low, resonant, and impossibly smooth.
The sound slides into my skin like warm water, pooling in my bones, winding through my veins. My power, which had been simmering hot and wild beneath my ribs, ebbs away in an instant.
My knees weaken. My resistance falters.
ChApter
Fifty-Three
The guards jerk me forward, hands tight on my arms, dragging me through the endless marble halls. My feet scrape against the cold stone, the echoes of our steps bouncing off the high ceilings. Every ornate carving, every gilded frame, every flickering torch seems to mock me, like the tsar designed these halls to remind me I’m already trapped.
“Where are you taking me?” I demand, my voice trembling more from fury than fear. My question hangs in the air, unanswered.
The tsar glances back, lips curling in that infuriatingly calm smile. “Somewhere you will understand the weight of your choices,” he says, his tone silk over steel.
I bite back a sharp retort, forcing my mind to reel with possibilities. My chest tightens, a coil of dread and rage twisting in my stomach. I have to survive. I have to make it through this.
