Kairyn lifts his head and looks to me. His eyes…the irises are now bloodred. Mother’s eyes, Father’s eyes…they’re gone.He stretches his hand out, fingers grasping for me. “H-help me, brother,” he whimpers before those eyes close.
63
Caspian
Inever knew I was a coward. It’s a humbling thing to discover,to be sure. I suppose when I look back, the evidence was there all along. I tormented Kel because I was too afraid to let him go. Protected Birdy because I couldn’t imagine living without her. And I obeyed my mother because I was so lost in fear, I couldn’t fathom another way out.
But here I am, hiding in the dark, because whatever glimpse of hope I’d fooled myself into believing was there is awash in Sira’s shadows.
If I’m to be a coward, I might as well be a smart coward and leave. I’ll send a thatch of thorns beneath the net, grab my friends, and briar us all away. Rosalina will be mad as a hissing cat, but what’s the alternative? Wait to die? There can be no victory against an enemy who views the entire world as collateral.
But I’m stuck still, buried in shadow and pushed tight to the rock, staring out at the bridge. Everything is a blur—Kairyn’s contorting body as he was altered, the net sweeping over my friends. The only thing clear in my vision is her.
My mother, the glowing vial held tight in her hand, a disgusted look on her face as she stares down at Kairyn.
Even she can’t stand her own creations.
Sweat drips into my eyes. How can my friends blame me for running? I’ve spent my entire life tiptoeing around her, knowing at any moment, she could deem my steps too loud. And if that was her judgment, I would pay body, mind, and soul. I have been broken too many times to remember where all the fractures are. And if she catches me after leaving her for them…
The one thing I admire about my mother is her ingenuity. I can scarcely imagine the depths of the torment that awaits. Death would be a kindness. No. Sira longs to create, and when she cannot create, she destroys. She will sever any last threads of resolve or sanity I have left before she lets me out of her clutches: through death or otherwise.
I need to briar us away before I lose the chance. I take a deep breath and dig my hands in my pockets to ground my body?—
But my hand touches something in my pocket.
A little wooden camel.
“Trust yourself to find the way. When the path is lost, the journey begins.”
That’s not fucking fair, Anya, I think.Neither of us had any idea of what was coming. If I stray from my path for even a moment…
We didn’t know what we stood to lose. What Istillstand to lose.
I stare at Rosalina. Though she’s trapped in the net, her gaze sears, jaw firm. There’s no loss of hope, no trembling of will. She won’t stop. And if I force her out of this fight because of my fear, then I’m no better than Kel, refusing to break his bargain.
Rosalina is hope.
And that’s worth fighting for.
A blast of heat hits me as I step out from the passageway and onto the bridge. The convection of the lava blows back my hair and stings my eyes, but I don’t blink. People dubbed me the Prince of Thorns. The surface realms have cowered and fled at the mere mention of my name. I have ripped a hole in the world.
Let Sira remember what her son is capable of.
Shadows and briars twine together as they surge up at my command, ensconcing me in a calamity of darkness. My lip curls back as I train my eyes on her and only her. “Sira!”
Sira’s dark gaze flicks toward me. For less than a moment, a series of emotions plays across her face. Relief. Wrath. Satisfaction. Fear.
“My darling son, finally returned to me. I do hope you enjoyed your little escapade. I suppose you realized how positively exhausting it is to face defeat at every turn.” Sira tucks the vial into her dress pocket, snaps her fingers, and points to the space next to her. “Enough of this farce. Return to my side, and all will be forgiven.”
The word is a dark breath: “No.”
“Come to me,” she says lowly.
“No!” I yell, a command, a prayer, a howl at the moon.
The only show of emotion on her face is the single line forming between her brows. One I know terribly well. “Come. To. Me.”
My shadows and thorns swirl together like a rolling fog through a wood, twisting into shapes until a blade emerges in my hand, one made of briars black as pitch. “I won’t answer to you again. You have no power over me. I will submit no longer.”
