A memory crashes into me like a tidal wave. My mother’s arms wrapped around me as she whispered this lullaby against my temple. I had clung to her, small hands fisting her gown, too young to know what she was—what I was. I had believed her. Believed that I was hers, that she would protect me, that we were not the monsters the realms feared.
Lies.
I tighten my grip on the hilt of my sword. I have to strike now.
To sunlit lands that shunned our name,
Return as king, with fire and flame.
The melody curls like ivy, threading through my ribs, tightening, tightening.
I see her as she was—not the monster impaled on my thorns but a woman in the dark, rocking me to sleep. My mother. My mother.
So rest, my child, in twilight’s keep,
In dreams of glory, in slumber deep.
The song is a weapon sharper than any blade, the rhythm imprinted into my being.
I swallow hard, shaking my head. “You can’t—” My voice cracks, and I hate that it does. “Stop singing.”
Every word she speaks, every move she makes is a trick. I know this. Iknowthis. I force the sword down again, aiming for her heart?—
For in the morn, with dawn’s first light,
You’ll rise to claim your ancient right.
My blade stills. I hesitate.
I should remember all the horrors she’s committed, all the ways she’s broken me. The pain, the suffering, the ruin. I should end her here, now.
But the smallest, weakest, most pathetic part of me still hears my mother’s voice and feels something. Pity? Love?
I don’t know.
And that is the cruelest thing of all.
In that split second, her face changes. The tears stop falling. Her lip curls into a snarl, and her eyes are devoid of that false affection. “You will fulfill your destiny, my love.”
Grasping hands of shadow shoot up from the ground, driving into me like mallets. I slide, smashing against one of my own spiked thorns. I cry out as the spike impales my back.
Before I can stand, the shadows tangle around me. They’re ice cold. Everywhere they touch sends shivers of fear billowing through my body. My heart begins to beat rabbit-fast.
I watch in horror as my mother shifts into smoke, then rematerializes, shrugging her injured shoulder. It’s true. I don’t have the power to stop her…
But I protected Winter. I clutch the glowing vial tighter, yet the glass is strangely cool, slick with a magic I know too well.A magic that belongs to me. The flask fades from my hands in a puff of smoke, nothing but an illusion. And there she is—my mother, holding the real vial over the mouth of the volcano.
Her smile is a blade sheathed in sweetness as she tips the bottle. The liquid slips out, thick as honey and dazzling as sunlight on Summer seas.
“No!” My cry tears through the air.
My briars erupt from the earth, lashing like living whips, shattering the glass container.
Sira screams, stumbling back as shards scatter, spilling the last of the liquid fire across the stone. It sizzles, burning like acid, then vanishes into the heat.
But not all of it. I lunge to the edge of the rocky bridge just as the first drops strike the lava.
The glowing liquid spreads across its surface, devoured by gurgling flame. The mountain gives a furious shake. Stone walls tremble, and my palms tear open on the jagged rock as I cling to keep from tumbling off. Chunks of stone crash into the molten depths, sending ripples through the glowing sea.
