“Your own betray you, Xavien. You cannot stop what is coming.”
The sorceress laughed—low, obscene.
“Join me,” she breathed. “And I will make her kneel for you. If you can keep her caged…”
His fury lit, eyes blazing, but before he could speak—
Evander moved.
Flame kindled in his palm, bright, violent, until the air quivered. His voice was guttural.
“Enough.”
“Evander—!” Amerei cried.
She reached too late.
He hurled the fireball.
The basin roared like a furnace.
For one hideous instant, Zeporah’s face swam in the smoke—twisted, scorched, her shriek ripping the chamber. The water boiled, blinding white. Cracks spidered through the onyx, each one screaming.
Xavien dragged Amerei back, shielding her with his body as the bowl exploded. Shards tore the floor, steam scorched the walls, black smoke clawed the ceiling.
When silence fell, the basin was ruin—charred stone and rubble hissing in their own heat.
Amerei’s cry tore raw.
Her knees gave, hands reaching for wreckage as though she could still see.
“No—no, no, no—
Her sobs broke jagged, chest heaving.
“We can’t see him—we can’t—we can’t—”
Xavien caught her, locking his arms as she writhed. Her fists beat against him, golden hair tangling in his grip. He seized her wrists, pressing them flat against his chest.
“Hear me,” he begged, fever-bright.
“If Sevrak falls, if the mountain takes them all—”
His gaze burned into hers.
“I will tear you from this castle myself. I will carry you from Amethyst, from Elváliev, from every throne and banner—”
His forehead pressed hers, desperate.
“—and we will board a ship east. Tonight.”
Her sob caught.
“You can’t—”
“I will.”
His vow struck like iron.
