Lucian shakes his head, his golden eyes filled with worry. “Veda, I don’t understand this.”
I take my brother’s hands, holding them tightly. “You will understand. And I promise, no harm will come to you or Orlan. When the fury who lives there makes an appearance—which she will—tell her that the new Ultima Nostra sends you in the name of peace.
“Tell her that I am allied with Rebella, the fury of Mount Greylock, and now I seek an alliance with the supernaturals of St. Michael Cemetery. The fury will see the truth in your message, and she will not harm you.”
“Sister…”
I give him a hard stare. “Can you do this for me?”
He nods. “I can.”
I tremble with relief. It’s only when I pull my hands away from his that I remember how badly burned my left palm still is.
I hide it quickly before he can see it.
To the dark elves, I say, “You will stay here with me. I will need you.” I take another deep breath. “I will need all of the precious darkness in your souls and the power in your hearts. I will need you to be here with me and keep me steady. No matter what. Can you do that?”
They each give me solemn nods, and, even though they’re resolute in their actions, I can hear the way their hearts jump and pound with uncertainty. They promised to do what I ask, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t anxious about it, an anxiety that I completely understand. But it can’t sway me.
I turn to the keeper, approaching the right side of the bed and depositing the bag of soggy material and two metal feathers on the floor next to it.
Soon, those things may not mean as much to me as they do now.
I lower myself onto the bed, finding a spot that wasn’t cut up by my wings so I can kneel on the keeper’s left.
As my pack takes up position in a circle behind me—Orlan and Lucian to the right and the dark elves to the left—I reach for the keeper’s left hand, wrapping my burned palm around his wrist.
My voice is strained as I whisper into the silence, speaking to him now as if he could answer me. “Do you remember when Ryuji and I spoke about a broken teapot?”
I wait a moment, listening to the keeper’s heartbeat, waiting for it to respond to my voice, but it continues in its thready beats.
I force myself to continue, fighting to keep my voice steady. “I described that teapot as a thing of beauty created with care. But if I were to break it, I could use the pieces as weapons. And he said… that may be true, but with a steady hand and the right mix of lacquer and gold, even the smallest shards may once again form a thing of beauty.”
I can’t stop the hot tears from building behind my eyes, can’t stop the ache in my chest as I rest my right hand over his failing heart.
Then I do what I swore I wouldn’t do. I slip my left hand over the crown.
It’s the first time I’ve willfully touched it.
Oh, he’s run his hands over every part of my body while wearing this ring, but I’ve never reached for the crown. Never wrapped my left hand around it and called for its power.
Not like this.
I gasp as energy explodes through me, and my vision ignites with a dark flame that lights up my mind.
My dark hair gleams around my shoulders, the strands becoming luminous. Metallic.
The pain in my burning palm fades, and as fast as the agony recedes, those terrible, impossible impulses take its place.
Take control of the light and the dark.
Shape the world to match your needs.
Fight the old and find the new.
I push back against the impulses with all of my might as I slowly draw the ring along his finger without removing it completely.
There it rests, right at his fingertip, and there I will keep it.
