“Nessa!” I crash onto the stage. “I’m here.”
She shoves me back with a wild, broken motion.Her voice is raw, shredded. “Happy thoughts, is that what you’ve come to tell me?”
Her words bleed fury and grief in equal measure, and my own throat closes around the tears rising fast and hot.
The Player’s guards rush from the wings, catching her as she sags between them. She twists against their grip, her gaze finding mine, pinning me to the spot like a spear.
“Tell me, Story Witch,” she croaks, every word edged with fury, “what have you gained from your pretty thoughts alone?”
The Player’s guards carry Nessa away, her broken sobs echoing behind her.
Queen Solara leans forward in her throne and crosses her arms over her chest.
“A pity,” she says, lips curving in something that is not quite a smile. “A spectacle begun in brilliance, ended in ruin.”
“And she has always been one of my favorites.” Zephara pouts. “Alas, a flame that falters is indeed no flame at all.”
A low murmur stirs through the court, and from the corner of the stage, the Player inclines her head, as if the judgment were already written.
Tears burn the backs of my eyes, but I lift my chin and force the words out. “Call it ruin if you like,” I spit, “but you’ll remember her. You’ll remember this. Because it’s not devotion you crave—it’s spectacle. And she gave her voice for yours.”
I rush off the stage after Nessa, world swimming in unshed tears, but Romy and Celine close ranks at the stage’s edge.
“You shall not go near her,” Celine hisses. “Yourteachingshave cost her enough.”
Her words pierce deeper than any blade. For a breath, I can’t move. Then the dam breaks. My legs carry me forward, fast and furious, torchlight stretching my shadow long and jagged across the sand. Declan is practically chasing me, his stride eating up the space I’m trying to put between myself and every mistake I’ve made that led me here.
Dav is planted like a gargoyle outside our tent, arms folded, eyes narrowed.
“I warned you,” he mutters. “Had it been up to me, you’d never have left this tent. And no voice would lie in ruins because of you.”
“I feel bad enough, Dav,” I snap, breath tearing ragged in my chest. “I really don’t need this from you.”
“You need it most of all,” he fires back, stepping closer. “You cannot come into this kingdom with your tricks and infect others with your recklessness. Witch or fraud, it makes no difference if all that is left behind is ruin and regret. Your guilt,Story Witch, is too cheap a price.”
“Dav, back off,” Declan growls, his patience thinning.
But something inside me cracks open, molten and wild. “You think I don’t know what I’ve done?” I scream, every word burning my throat. “You think I don’t have regrets?”
Declan grabs my arm, trying to steer me inside.
“Get off me!” I shove against him, heat prickling up my neck.
Dav steps forward, shadow long in the torchlight. “Do you see now? I told you this path led nowhere but ruin.”
“Shut up.” My hands shake, but I ball them into fists. “I don’t need another lecture.”
“You need truth,” he says, each word precise. “You spilled your empty visions, another paid the price, and now you rage as though you are the injured one.”
“I never—” My throat tightens. The image of Nessa’s wide, panicked eyes sears me raw. “I never meant for it to go that way.”
“Intent won’t heal the girl’s voice—”
“Enough!” I hold my hand up, palms out. “I already hate myself, all right? I know I ruined everything!”
Declan wedges between us, his hand firm on my arm again. “Let’s go inside.”
The fight drains out of me in a rush, and I let him pull me into the tent and seal it closed behind us. The moment he does, I wrench my arm free. “Oh, what, now you’re my handler too?”
