Long ago, in the goldstone palace, Parys had suggested that Nimue was the original recorder of the Void and Ethereal Prophecies.
Now here they were, laid out in full.
The Void Prophecy, with its depiction of the shadows and moons. The Ethereal Prophecy… more abstract, but there. And then…
I had to pull away from Arran to bend down, to see the carvings at the very base of the stone. Arran remained rigid above me. The tingling was in my wrists now. But the void did not pull at me. I tried to feel Arran through the bond, but he’d shut off his emotions. Much as he had before he’d regained his memories, when he’d wanted to keep me out.
It was probably reflex.
Despite the joy of having one another back fully, we were still healing. It would take time to fully adjust, to share all the secret, damaged corners of ourselves again.
I tucked my hands into my cloak as I leaned closer.
A whorl with the two figures—the two queens, Void and Ethereal. And then they were gone. The prophecy ended—and those two queens did not reappear.
I cocked my head to the side. There was one more stone. It was nearly identical to the one that preceded the prophecy. The tower, the valley. Except that the hordes of succubus were gone. And so was the whorl at the top of the tower.
Arran’s hand touched the base of my neck.
Drew me up to stand.
Slipped around my waist.
When I was in Avalon, Accolon came to me in my dreams.
I jerked around to look at him. His eyes nearly broke me.
The wall between us was gone, and in its place… an emptiness as deep and howling as the void. His eyes… my mate’s eyes, dark and burning for me, always… they were cold with dread.
He spoke of the sacrifices that he and Nimue made to push back the succubus. But even then, they knew it would not last forever.
I opened my mouth to ask one of the dozens of questions rising to my lips. But Arran shook his head. Pressed his fingers to my lips, then his forehead to mine.
He could not say the words aloud.
Together they must stand, to defeat what once thought dead. Together they must give, if any shall live to the end.
The final line of the prophecy.
All of it.
To banish the succubus forever, to save my kingdom, my friends, my mate, I must fulfill the prophecy. I would have to find the Ethereal Queen. And together, we must die.
104
CYARA
It started at the corner of her right eye. A single elegant swirl. Joined with another as it curved over her cheek, down underneath her bejeweled earlobe to caress the elegant curve of her neck.
Arran murmured something in Veyka’s ear, drawing an easy smile from her lips as the artist moved farther down. The ribbon of black ink curled over her shoulder, then around her arm in two graceful swirls before it ended at her wrist, just above the beating pulse of life.
It should have looked wrong. The fierce black ink against her pale skin and moon-white hair. But it was beautiful. Everything about her was beautiful. The stark black made her skin and hair glow even brighter, turned her eyes luminous. Or maybe it was the blazing ring of blue fire around her pupil, the glow that never seemed to fade.
No one in the great hall knew. Not a single one of the terrestrials watching the Queen of the Elemental Fae being inked with a Talisman, a marker of her unique power, a sacred terrestrial tradition… not one of them knew that she was doomed.
That the cost of their safety—their survival—was her.
“I almost cannot stand to watch.” Lyrena said, her voice achingly hollow. “Knowing that this is the beginning of the end.” Her golden smile had been nowhere in sight since their return to Eilean Gayl.
