I rubbed my eyes, trying to dispel the hallucination, telling myself it was just sleep deprivation and stress. Gods knew I was sufferingfrom both.
When I blinked my eyes back open, Mother was still standing there.
Her black hair shimmered beneath the faint moonlight, straight and neat. The same circlet I wore rested on her brow, golden like her eyes. Wings fell from her shoulders and spread across her back—the cape she always wore that made her seem so much larger than life.
Aethra had mentioned seeing Ainwir, trying to follow his shadow, but failing. Was I seeing ghosts, too?
“Mother?” I called.
Ma’at turned and walked away, descending into the shadows behind the hill.
I stood there in disbelief, trying to convince myself she wasn’t real. The other half of my heart raged, straining to hope.
Gods, I wanted to see her, to speak with her.
I’d give anything just to hear her voice again.
Breaking from my frozen stance, I chased after my mother. Her ethereal form remained ever out of reach, a faint glow against the infinite darkness swallowing the world. My heart thrummed painfully, and a sense of dread washed over me, turning my bones to lead.
Mother merged with the shadows—but she had not vanished into the night.
She’d stepped into the Empty. The void rose before me like a great black wall. Two paces from my boots, a sheer cliff tumbled into a perfectly still sea. Colorless.Dead.
Swallowing, I stepped back.
Even my mother’s ghost was lost to the Empty. Everything I loved had been taken by its cold embrace.
Hearing someone approach, I grabbed my dagger hilt and whirled around. Whisper bounded over the dunes, head lowered in concern. He cautiously approached me, sniffing vigorously as if to ensure I was still alive.
Kneeling, I held out a hand. “I didn’t realize you’d followed me.”
“He didn’t.” Seraphim’s voice rang through the night. “He followed me.”
The red-haired woman marched toward me, holding a flaming ball of blood aloft. Fire danced across her face, painting scowlingshadows on her severe mien.
Lowering my head, I turned back to the Empty. “I can’t do this, Seraphim.” My voice emerged as a horse whisper. “Not again.”
Seraphim joined me by the Empty’s border. “Were you following someone, just now?”
“Yes,” I sighed. “I thought I saw Ma’at.”
She nodded gravely. “I keep seeing Rhea.”
I turned to her, surprised. “Your wife? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I know she’s not real.” Seraphim stared wistfully into the void. “Even if part of me hopes she is.”
“She might be. You said the two of you were sent to a labor camp.”
“Yes.” Seraphim’s pale blue eyes flicked to me. “Lord Aristaeus owns most of the farmlands near Hades. There were a great many of us there.”
“Lords normally don’t kill their slaves,” I said. “Are you sure she’s dead?”
“I am.” Seraphim closed her eyes. “Rhea passed in childbirth.”
I stepped back. Childbirth? Oh, gods. The father must have been the lord who owned them.
Nobody wanted to hear, ‘I’m sorry.’ They were empty words.
