So, no. The phrase I have lived my life by—to not trust anyone—wasn’t accurate anymore. There are people I love—people who need me—and I can’t let them down.
A flash of pink tugs my attention down to where Opal is pulling Graylen up the stairs toward us.
Finally, my gaze meets his.
He takes me in, watching me with a familiar intensity. For a moment, there’s a flicker in his eyes—a clearing of the darkness clouding them. It’s fast, so quick that I almost miss it. But it’sthere.
Pain. Longing.
Feelings he hasn’t shown since the moment Opal did something to him.
Fire stirs in my chest as they stop a step below us, a renewed hope roaring to life inside of me.
“Lord of Shadows,” Opal greets with a curtsy. “An honor to be here, before the son of Nyx.”
Her gaze slides to me, a smirk on her lips.
But my eyes fly to Daimon, her words nearly sending me stumbling back.
Daimon’s fingers tighten around the armrests of his throne, but he doesn’t look my way. He simply nods to Opal and waves her off.
Her smile dims, and her lips begin to move, but the words don’t reach my ears.
Before the son of Nyx.
Those words were directed at Daimon—at myfather. And he didn’t correct her. She said it loud enough for others to hear, but they don’t seem shocked.
Before the son of Nyx.
My thoughts begin to race, tumbling around my mind like rocks shaken in a glass jar.
The meeting with Nyx resurfaces, his words playing over and over again.
Blood of the gods. Daughter of both worlds.
My lips part, and this time, I do stumble back.
Nyx is my grandfather—myblood.
The God of Fear and Dreams, right hand to Vidaris. Not only is my father pure evil, but so is his father before him.
Another memory pushes into my thoughts, fighting for attention. My mother and Seretha took me to visit the Elder for advice, and their words brought more confusion than clarity:“A half-breed that smells like pure-blooded royalty… You smell strange.”
Memory after memory pours in, causing my heart to race.
Maybe the prophecy is right. Maybe Leda is the savior…and I’m destined for ruin.
Seventy-Seven
Emerald
There wasa time in my life when I dreamed of having a different father. I would imagine there had been a mistake, that I was swapped at birth or given to the wrong family by accident somehow.
In the safety of my mind, I pictured a kind and loving man as my father. He had partially grayed hair and small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes from constant smiling. The most important thing: he was the opposite of Reichardt.
Well, I got my wish.
Reichardtwasn’tmy real father. My real father is far worse.
