No one could speak. Daimon couldn’t voice the question he desperately needed to ask. It seemed Carwyn couldn’t either. Evelina had never been able to shield to that magnitude before.
“Are you saying you believe Evelina is dead?” Senna finally asked. His usually level voice held a tinge of disbelief, and perhaps even anger.
Willow closed her eyes, and a single tear rolled down her face. “Whatever magic she unlocked, it must’ve been too much for her body,” she said quietly. “We found no trace of her in the village, nor at its perimeter. No rebels survived to escape or take her.” Her voice grew desperate, clearly disturbed by her findings. “I saw how fatigued she was when she shielded last. I can’t imagine she could have run far if she had survived.”
Carwyn exhaled a shaky breath. “Her light has never been strong enough for something like this. It—it isn’t possible.”
“I saw it myself,” said Willow, awe overwhelming her guilt. “It was like the sun itself burned away the shadows.”
Keir cleared his throat, rising from his seat. “We must gather the rest of the council.” He called to one of the palace guards by the door. “Bring the rest of the Manor siblings to the throne room.”
Daimon could feel his lungs burning with each breath he took. He wanted to find a host of rebels and tear them apart limb by limb, while another piece of him wanted to succumb to the grief building inside of him.
“We can alert the council together,” Senna said, rising with Keir. “Though what of the queen?”
Carwyn wiped away a tear. “We wait to tell her. Her body weakens every day. This news could destroy her.”
Senna nodded solemnly and left, Keir following close behind. Carwyn finally broke her composure, shoulders slumping as the tears fell. She took a deep breath and walked out of the room.
Daimon prayed to the moon goddess as the others filed out of the war room.
She couldn’t be gone, not truly—no matter what Willow saw or heard. There was still a chance, as unlikely as it seemed. He refused to lose her, to imagine a world in which her light betrayed her in such a way.
And if it had, if she’d been stolen from him and taken to the gates of the afterlife, he’d raze the whole of Caelum down to bring her back.
Thirty-Nine
Evelina
Evelina awoketo the sound of a baby crying. Her head buzzed and she blinked her eyes, her vision blurry. Her arms trembled as she tried to push herself off the hard ground, but they gave out and she collapsed face-first into dirt.
She rolled onto her side to try and figure out what had happened. Her vision slowly cleared as she searched for danger. Her brows pinched together when she realized she’d landed far enough away from the small village that nobody could likely see her, hidden beneath the bushes and tall grass near the forest’s edge.
Her muscles tensed, and a brief moment of terror coursed through her body as she remembered the little faces she had so desperately wanted to save. The rebel soldiers she had hoped she could stop, though she knew she was outmatched.
But she didn’t feel helpless before she blacked out. She felt strong—powerful.
Slowly, she tested her strength and braced herself on her elbows. She waited a breath to see if her arms would hold, and when they did, she peeled herself off the ground. Every muscle in her body ached. Each movement was a painful strain on her body.
She leaned against a pine tree, her head spinning. After the stars cleared from her vision, she was able to see the village better.
It was a sight she’d never seen. A small crowd had formed on the outskirts of the village, escaping the smoke still burning off the buildings. The villagers looked safe—the children she thought dead alive and well before her eyes. They were being held by a plush female with auburn hair and a deeply tanned male who was broad enough to hold all of them in his arms.
She strained her ears to listen.
“The rebel soldiers are all gone,” an Aegis warrior announced.
Everyone paused to listen, a palpable relief pulsing in the air.
“The princess saved us—savedallof us!” the little girl cried.
Evelina’s breath picked up.
She couldn’t have killed those soldiers… It wasn’t possible.
Despite them being horrible, terrifying beings, she felt a wave of guilt. Her vow was to protect as a healer, to never do harm to another. Now she had killed—murdered—not just one but countless others.
They were infested with a darkness she didn’t understand, so ruthless that they would’ve destroyed the entire village, the children, the storyteller—all of them. And yet she still felt the sour pang of guilt.
