How?How did any of this make sense?
The amount of thoughts and questions swirling through my head made me dizzy.
Had Etan taken everything from my father, or was it the dagger? Or both? Cato noted the rune on my father’s neck was intended to control Tsal-mawet and guide intention, but not what Etan’s intention had been.
And how did I figure out what the rune could do and still have no idea how it even remotely pertained to opening the damned gates?
Were we supposed to perform the Unmaking Ceremony in front of them? Was Ronen supposed to become king?
The thought wrapped around my intestines and squeezed. If it hadn’t been Etan who severed my parents’ bond, Ronen and I could lose ours. And my father… what would become of him? Would he die?
Fate couldn’t be that cruel. The mosaics had to be warning me about something else.
A muffled knock pounded on a door.
I straightened.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Cato!” my father’s muffled voice called out. Hebanged again.
Light from the main area spilled through the narrow gap beneath the door.
Footsteps padded across the wooden floor, then paused before a soft click.
“Sir, how can I be of service to you at this early hour?” Cato inquired.
“I thought I had Tsal-mawet, Cato. My mind hasn’t been with me lately,” my father admitted. “I’m assuming you have it under rune and key?”
This couldn’t be happening. The dagger with the black stone center laughed at me from Cato’s shelf.
Shit.
“Yes. You require it, my king?”
I wouldn’t be stealing it now.
I rushed to put his paper back quietly and scanned the study. Couldn’t he have an enclosed desk or something?
“Yes, I believe it’ll help with our gate issue.”
Part of me wanted to pop out and ask my father how. Until Cato’s flushed, angry face came to mind. Dream-walking into his dreams was one thing, this… breaking into his private rooms and going through his stuff? I’d crossed a line.
“You’ve found a way to save Saraqael’s soul?”
While I listened for my father’s answer, I stared with growing apprehension at the ledge running along the icy wall outside the window.
“Potentially.”
“Your daughter will love to hear that.”
I wasn’t so sure anymore, not after the Doors of Moirai’s images and reading Cato’s words.
My father laughed. The sound crawled through my hair and clawed at my ears.
“We’ll see.”
Hearing enough, I quietly unlatched the window and opened it, thankful for the still, silent morning. I stepped through the opening, keeping my eyes up and away from the ground, and scrambled onto the ledge.
