Rosalina
Plumes of green flame still burn in the destroyed throneroom. Ezryn sits next to his brother, armor heaving with his rapid breath at the base of the shattered ice throne.
It looks like a melted candle, drooping and shimmering in the light.
If there was any relief to be had, it was returning here and seeing Dayton and Farron as themselves.
Keldarion peers out the broken hole in the throne room. The wall around Keep Wolfhelm is destroyed, parts of the city damaged. It could have been a lot worse had I not gotten Caspian—gotten the Prince of Thorns—away. The thought doesn’t ease the ache in my heart.
I turn back to Ezryn, Farron, and Dayton. There’s too much sorrow in me to even shed a tear.
Ezryn tilts his head. “I thought he had a plan.”
“He did,” I say.
And now, so do I.
Unfortunately, it’s a stupid fucking plan.
And I can’t do it alone.
I walk toward the Winter Prince.
“He’s gone,” Keldarion says without turning to me, voice broken. “He’s really gone. And not lost to arrogance or pride or betrayal but because I couldn’t trust him. Not in time.”
“We’ll save him.”
“You meant what you said on Mount Rhuvenmark.”
“There’s no other way.” Past the broken wall, the volcano spews black smoke. It’s not only the fate of Winter that lies in the balance but that of Castletree and the staff.
Keldarion turns to me, his face streaked with dirt and tears. He trembles, his fists clenching as if trying to hold something in. “Get away, Rosalina,” he says with a grimace.
His body convulses. I stumble back. His form twists, contorting until he’s no longer a man but a white wolf, enormous and feral. Ice juts from his fur like jagged icicles, and glowing blue lines carve patterns along his massive frame.
Ezryn puts a hand on my shoulder. “Give him space. He’s not himself.”
I press against Ezryn, unable to look away. The wolf’s eyes—Keldarion’s eyes—glance at us once. Then he throws his head back and howls, the sound shaking the broken walls of the throne room.
Without hesitation, he leaps through the hole, his massive form disappearing into the smoke-filled sky.
For a moment, I can’t move. The despair in my chest grows, swelling until it feels as though it will consume me.
“Keldarion,” I whisper, but he’s already gone.
Footsteps echo in the hall beyond. Marigold steps into the room, her golden hair wild. “I know things are terribly wrong, but this can’t wait.”
Her face is tight with panic as she clutches something to her chest.
Astrid.
“This morning, she couldn’t change back into a fae, and now she won’t talk!” Marigold pushes Astrid into my arms. Her small, limp form feels unbearably light, fiery red eyes staring blankly ahead.
“Astrid,” I murmur, shaking the hare gently, trying to rouse her. “Astrid, please. Say something.”
There’s no response.
“I helped you once,” I say, falling to my knees. “I’m going to help you again.”
