Thia gasped. The shard—she’d thought she’d seen a flash of silver when Thran had spoken of the king’s eyes outside Cyning. And other times, too, now that she was searching for it. She brandished the fragment at the woman. “You’ve been watching us.”
Solanthe shrugged. “I never lied, Thia. You could have found me in it if you’d possessed the ability. But portals operate in both directions.” She sniffed. “You should be grateful. You were never in any real danger, so long as my eye was on you.”
Thia frowned.
“Unfortunately,” Solanthe said, turning her attention back to Thran. “I cannot say the same for you.” She offered him a frigid smile. “I suppose I have the Storm Crow to thank for delivering you to me, far away from anyone who might wonder why the Silver Sorceress has an interest in you.” She lifted her hand and gave a sharp flick of her nail.
At first, Thia didn’t understand. Thran’s eyes bulged; he made a strange gurgling sound and bent at the waist.
Then Thia saw the sliver of red splitting his throat in two.
Blood gushed into his hands as he raised them to the wound, like he could push it back in. He fell to the floor, wheezing and thrashing, as more and more red pooled around him.
Thia screamed. She dragged herself toward him, practically crawling. “Thran,” she cried, throat burning as she reached him. She could see the ruins of his trachea dangling through the center of the cut, the speed at which blood was pooling telling her at least one of his arteries was severed as well. She put a hand on his shoulder as sobs racked her weakened frame, and he turned his watery gaze to her.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
“I’m sorry,” Thia sobbed.
And then he was dead. Thia collapsed onto his chest, feeling sick.I’ll see you home.This was her fault.
Solanthe laughed. At the sound, Thia drew her knife, rage burning every cell in her body.
The mage seemed only more amused at Thia’s show of bravery. And it was not misplaced; she gave another wave of her hand, and an invisible force tore the dagger from Thia’s fingers.
“Go on then,” Thia snapped, glaring. “Kill us too. What are you waiting for?”
Solanthe smoothed her hair with a careful hand. “Thia, dear. I’m never rash. You will not die today.”
“Why not?” she demanded. She almost wished for it. To end this misery, when home was impossible now. To forget about Thran, dead on the ground beside her, his blood soaking through her breeches. “You’re the Tyrant, and I’m the Storm Crow. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Solanthe smirked. “As I said, I’m never rash. I had to know if you possessed any of your mother’s gifts. What an amusing way to find out and rid myself of a pesky witch infestation at the same time.” She pressed her lips together thoughtfully. “Such a disappointment you turned out to be. Oh, not to me, dear,” she added, at Thia’s confused expression. “Your lack of talent is highly convenient to me. But I mourn to think just how devastated Melina would be to discover neither of her children inherited her prowess.”
Thia’s brain was slowly coming back alive, and while dwelling on her dream from the Mirror of Souls, another vision played through her mind at the queen’s words.
I knew your mother, Dess had said.She was singing.
It had never made sense why they’d been sharing a cell.
But if the Mirror had shown Thia something real, something more than just her feelings, then it could have shown Dess the same.
“Dess is my brother,” she breathed. She looked over at him, wonderingly. He met her stare with one that was equally hopeful and horrified for what that would mean about his past. Now that she had stated it, she could see the truth of it, in the jaw so like the photos she had of her father when he was young, the same yellow-blond hair. The nose that was Melina’s, short and pert. And of course, those hazel eyes, so like her own.
Solanthe laughed. “Right again, Thia. I must say, I enjoy watching you piece it together. How exciting.”
Suddenly, Mavrel shot from his hiding place behind the boulder. He dove for the mage’s face, talons extended to rip, to kill. “You,” the queen shrieked. With his injured wing, it was a clumsy flight; he managed one vicious cut across the woman’s cheek before a snap of her fingers sent him flying back into the boulder, where he dropped to the ground stunned. “I should have known you’d be here with them.” She brushed an elegant hand over the blood dripping down her face, and her skin reappeared unblemished.
Oskaren slid across the floor to reach for Thia’s hand. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done,” she snarled.
Solanthe’s expression soured. “Your ego always did need checking, Ren-díeran.It seems I did not punish you enough the first time. A mistake I assure you I will not make again.”
Thia was suddenly exhausted. With Thran dead on the ground, Oskaren’s hand clutching hers hard enough to hurt, the truth of her brother ringing in her ears with no hope of saving him, she just wanted this over with. But Solanthe still made no move to harm them. Instead, she began pacing, expression thoughtful, as though her next words were as much for her own benefit as theirs. “As for Melina’s children, you will live, for now, as I promised. The Storm Crow is but a harbinger, after all.”
There was a plan in motion, some greater plot the woman was alluding to, that Thia’s tired brain could not keep track of. “So?”
“So,” the woman hissed, turning to pace back in the other direction. “If you are dead, there is nothing to set events in motion. I have spent decades searching for the last of the Dómgeorns. With the Storm Crow in my grasp, all I must do is wait. The child of House Nightwing will reveal themself before long.”
Something else was needling Thia, some other thread of the puzzle she had dropped.
