“It’s the embers, isn’t it?” Another figure knelt. Carus, she thought vaguely.
She shut her eyes. “I’m f–f-fine,” she tried to say, but her words were fractured and slow.
“Not very convincing, sweetheart.” Carus sighed. “Any idea how long this will last?”
Morgen took a breath near her ear. “I’m not sure.”
“Can you do anything for her?”
“I don’t think—” His voice broke off. “No, I don’t think so.”
“It’s like when you’re injured, and they heal you? But amplified?”
Nya tried to clamp her jaw shut, but the pain had moved to her head, and it felt like hereyeswere burning. She thought she might have screamed, thought Morgen was murmuring in her ear, that he started to shake nearly as much as she was…
“She’s about to lose consciousness.”
“Thank the fucking Fates.”
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
Nya dreamt of a little girl.She knew she was dreaming, because the child kept reminding her, insisting in a raspy voice that she was aware this was not real.
“Yes, I know,”she assured the girl for the third time.
Finally, the girl relaxed. She smiled and her eyes twinkled.“Good. What is my name, Nya?”
Nya paused. For the first time since the dream had begun, she noticed the child’s appearance: brown eyes speckled with amber, fawn-hued skin, and brick-colored hair, the strands framing her face shining bright silver. She was very small, perhaps only five or six years old.
“Who are you?”Nya whispered. Her voice echoed in the empty space around them.
The girl blinked, and shadows stirred in her irises.“You promised you would not forget.”She reached for Nya but did not touch her.“What is my name?”
Suddenly, Nya did not have to think about her response.“Ithesoa.”
The little girl sighed contentedly and took a step back.“I had to make sure you remembered. Thank you, Nya.”
Nya reached for the girl, but when she stretched out her fingers, they only brushed against a familiar, empty void.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
The strangest part of the last fifty years is waking up and remembering she is really gone. Before, I always knew the worst could come to pass. It was likely, even, with a king like Kronos. But we all fooled ourselves into thinking we could defy the fates. Even me. Look at where that got us.
—Lady Anabeth, Royal Scribe’s Apprentice, D’anna
She was uncomfortablywarm and covered in a sheen of sweat when she opened her eyes. Heavy blankets were wrapped around and draped over her. The flickering of flames blurred in the warped field of her vision. Someone was silhouetted by the hearth, their back to her, but when she tried to speak to them, she merely coughed, tasting copper in the back of her throat.
The figure turned, and she recognized Carus’ eyes staring back at her.
“Nya.” His voice was hushed and hoarse, and he appeared to have been rendered frozen in shock, the fire poker hanging limply in his hand.
She tried to speak again, and when all that came out was more coughing, he cleared his throat, setting the poker againstthe edge of the hearth and handing her a glass of water from a low table to the right of it. She accepted it, chugged over half of it, then glanced around, trying to place her surroundings.
They must be in Nyx and Thanatos’ house again. She was lying on a couch someone had obviously dragged from its usual spot to sit directly in front of the fireplace. Had she been cold? She could hardly believe that, given how feverish she felt now.
