There is no pride in the words. Only inevitability.
“I am sovereign here. I have presided over your kind and all others since before your histories learned to keep record. I have seen ambition dressed as righteousness. Devotion masquerading as destiny.”
A pause.
“You hold no power here, Princeling. I command all seasons.”
“Winter.”
A sprinkle of snow drifts down from nowhere, soft and silent. It lands on Sorren’s upturned face. He brushes it aside, lip curled in disgust.
“Summer.”
A ring of fire erupts around Sorren’s feet. So close that he flinches away, but there’s nowhere to run. The flames vanish as quickly as they appeared, leaving nothing but scorched earth behind.
“Fall.”
A violent wind tears through the chamber. My cage swings wildly, chains groaning overhead. I stagger, fighting to stay upright, to keep my skin from brushing those freezing bars. Below me, Sorren plants his feet and lowers his center of gravity, muscles straining as the wind claws at him.
“And finally…”
The voice softens.
“Spring.”
The air changes.
The sweetest perfume floods the chamber. Flower petals drift down from above in soft spirals, pastel pink, pale yellow, blue so delicate it becomes translucent, almost disappears, against the light.
They’re so beautiful I forget myself and slip my hand carefully between the bars to catch one. A single petal lands in my palm.
Soft.
Alive.
I curl my finger, and it crumbles instantly to dust.
“I grow weary of your interruption of my sanctuary. Of this mindless repetition,” the voice intones, without warmth. “What do you seek?”
Sorren plants his feet in the dirt, shoulders squared.
“I seek justice,” he says. “The Thornreaper. The Amulet of Springtide. The means to end Winter’s corruption in my court.”
“You think you deserve spring’s renewal? That you’re worthy of it?”
Sorren pulls himself to his full height. “I do.”
“You are weak,” says the voice of the Egg. “You stood and watched as your father was slain at your feet. You ran and abandoned your court. You hid behind this…this mortal woman who healed you, sheltered you, protected you.”
I flinch at the disgust in its voice. The way it saysmortallike being one is a sin. My mind rebels. How could it know those things? How dare it judge?
Sorren goes very still.
Not shrinking or retreating. But the words land. I can see it in the tense set of his face. The flex of his hands at his sides. The way his shoulders lock as though bracing for a blow no one else can see.
For a terrible second, I think he believes it, and that makes something inside me snap.
“No!” I shout, pressing as close to the bars as I dare. “Lies! Don’t listen to it, Sorren.”
