She pulls away from Axel. Zryan is still looking out across the ball, searching for a Curer, his body held so tightly she thinks he might snap in two. He notices her moving toward the body and grabs her arm. “What do you think you’re doing?”
She wrenches her arm free. “Look,” she whispers, and she nods toward Quincy.
Zryan follows her gaze. She sees it, the way his breath releases, bit by bit. His lips part and she sees the flicker of hope. He scans the crowd again, frantically now, while Skylar moves to the body.
ToJessa, not Astrid. To the familiar, dying at her side.
Skylar bends down as Quincy lays his head at Jessa’s side, curling into her. His soul, unable to survive without her.
She doesn’t know what makes her do it. She doesn’t know the fox, and she doesn’t think Jessa ever liked her. But she reaches out, touches his head. To offer some comfort in his final moments. He lets her hand rest there, and slowly, he lifts his eyes to hers.
WE WOULD RATHER GIVE OUR LIVES THAN HAVEASTRID LOSE HERS.
“I know,” she says. She’s seen it, the way they treat Astrid. Knows it’s more than that she is a royal, an heir. Knows they would likely die for her, even if Astrid were nobody at all.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, wishing she could think of something better. Quincy sniffs the air, the action exhausting him. He looks back at her. SHE IS COMING.TELL HER GOODBYE FROM US.TELL HER WE LOVE HER.IT’S UP TO YOU TO PROTECT HER NOW.WHILE YOU CAN.
“I will,” Skylar murmurs, feeling tears prick her eyes. And in thatmoment, the promise fills her—settling into a part of her soul with a force she doesn’t quite understand.
Tears burn a path down Skylar’s face as the fox takes his final breath. She feels it, the moment his life ebbs completely, gone to join Jessa, wherever she is now.
Skylar brushes back Jessa’s hair, not wanting her to be hidden. That people should see her, this woman who died to protect someone she loved. Who was murdered in the house of her enemy.
It nearly breaks her, when she hears it. An awful scream.
She stands and turns to see Astrid, running toward them, Bastet on her shoulder. She rips Jessa’s mask from her own face—they must have switched at some point in the night.
Zryan tries to take hold of Astrid, but she scratches his arm to get away from him—and he lets her. She moves to Jessa, and Skylar backs away. Astrid drops to her knees. She is already crying panicked, desperate tears. Pain claws at Skylar’s insides—Astrid’s pain, like it is her own. And she can’t stand it.
Skylar hates herself for being the one to have heard Quincy’s goodbye. And for being unable to do anything to help the woman who is now taking Jessa’s hand and stroking Quincy’s soft fur. Who is desperately whispering what must be spells, her voice cracking on each syllable.
Bastet jumps down from Astrid’s shoulder, nudges Quincy’s lifeless form. Skylar can’t bear it, the way Astrid’s heart is aching. She knows this pain. It’s what she felt when Cam was taken—only she clings to hope, whereas Astrid has none.
She can hear Axel shouting behind her, ordering the Dreki to lock the place down, to start questioning nearby witnesses. Meanwhile Zryan stands there with his hands hanging uselessly at his sides, watching Astrid like she is the only person here.
He moves toward her again, seemingly unable to stop himself. “No,” Astrid spits. “Don’t come near me.” Bastet hisses, positioning himself between Astrid and the prince. “You.” Her voice breaks, and she turns her tearstained face from Zryan to the remaining crowd that lingers to watch. “You people are the reason she’s dead.”
Zryan takes another step. “Astrid, I—”
“I said stay away from me!” There is a ripple of power through the air.
It is no more than a blink. A swirl of shadow, a moment where darkness swells.
Then the whole crowd stills.
Because it is no longer a little cat, hissing in front of Astrid.
It is a panther, sleek as night, teeth white and gleaming. A panther with feathered wings that stretch out on each side, blocking access to Astrid, who kneels mutely behind him.
Skylar can only stare as Bastet—this is Bastet—lets out a roar.
The muttering grows louder, like angry bees. Zryan is silent, his expression somehow both haunted and awed as he looks at the witch and the winged panther at her side.
Astrid is still, the barest flicker of a tremble. She is clutching Jessa’s hand, but she looks at her familiar and he looks back at her. And though Skylar knows they cannot speak mind to mind, she is sure something passes between them.
“How is this possible?” She doesn’t know who utters it—and doesn’t turn to look.
Because she catches sight of something up on the wall above them.
