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Dentarius’s pained expression as that sanguinagi bolt pierced his chest.

Tenny’s arms wrapping around Kit when she and Nox found her in Seastone.

The look of death in Cedric’s eyes in the moments after Elyria was taken.

The bewildering tilt of a nocterrian chin as they said, “I like knowing where you are. I like being there too.”

Evander’s wink on that last day, moments before he walked through the Gate in Castle Lumin.

Evander, after.

There was so much light in her life. So much that darkness had already corrupted.

So much worth protecting.

Was she really willing to lose anyone else while she sat around, waiting for permission?

Kit rolled her shoulders back and stood to face Sephone. “We need to find out why Malakar is so interested in the mana springs. We need to know how many more followers he may have sprinkled throughout Nyrundelle. We need to confirm whether Castle Lumin really is the base of his activities. And, most of all, I need to get Ellie back.”

A slow, satisfied look spread across Sephone’s face. “Good call, Princess.”

Kit rolled her eyes. “Stop calling me that. I’m not a princess.”

“Close enough. How long were you planning on staying in Aerithia?”

“Not long. I suppose now it depends on my uncle’s ‘consideration.’ But I’m going to . . . trust . . . your boss to start making the necessary moves.”

“That was difficult for you to say, wasn’t it?” Sephone winked. “Do whatever you have to. Finish up your family politicking. If the king has a change of heart, wonderful. We’ll take all the help we can get. But I wouldn’t count on it.” She waved a hand, dispersing the air barrier surrounding the room, and the faint sounds of bootsteps and conversational chatter instantly filtered into Kit’s ears.

“I’m staying at the Gryphon if anything comes up.” She waltzed toward the door, her hand on the knob as she looked back at Kit, those black eyes amused, assessing. “Feel free to come say goodbye before you leave.”

And then she was gone, and Kit was left lingering in an empty room with a thousand burning questions still racing through her mind. But burning underneath them all was the simmering spark of hope. It looked different than she’d expected, but it was there all the same.

She would cling to it.

12

DEEPER WOUNDS

ELYRIA

“It was an accident, mi sanguinexos, I swear it. I’m sorry. I’m so sor⁠—”

Petra’s pleas cut off with a gasp as Malakar twitched his fingers, and the shadows that were wrapped around her throat cinched tighter.

Elyria flinched, tried to say something, shout something. Tried to reach for the girl. But she was still stuck—frozen in place by Malakar’s ironfisted hold on the shadow inside her.

“Hmm? What was that?” The dark sorcerer lifted a mocking hand to his ear. “Were you hoping to join the conversation? Come on, then.”

He flicked his wrist, and Elyria’s body lurched forward, flying across the hall in a single, nausea-inducing rush. She landed on unsteady feet directly in front of Malakar and Petra, the steel grip on her body relaxing.

“Stop!” Elyria cried, staring at Petra, whose glassy eyes were lined with tears as she grappled with the shadowy collar choking her. “You have me. I’m here. Let her breathe. Let her go!”

Malakar sighed. “But I do not have you,” he said, sounding tired. He looked tired too, she realized. Dark circles lay under each eye. The lines etched on his pale face seemed somehow deeper, the hollows of his cheeks cutting sharper. And there was something about his general aura—the way he held himself, his black eyes roaming over Elyria with a hunger that had been mostly absent from their previous encounters. “No matter how much I try, no matter how much I give you, you still refuse to aid me. And I am afraid this little stunt has eradicated the very last of my patience.”

“I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me, withstood everything you’ve done to me,” Elyria said through gritted teeth. “And as anyone who knows me even a little would be more than willing to tell you, I’ve done so with shockingly little complaint. I cannot relinquish your power any more than you can cut it out of me—I think we have established that.”

Malakar wasn’t listening. He began pacing back and forth, boots shuffling along the deep red carpet of the entrance hall, paying little attention to Petra, whose head was arched back, her bound hands at her throat, fingernails scratching bloody lines into the skin of her neck as she fought to continue being able to breathe. Elyria’s fingers twitched with the need to intervene, but she didn’t know if doing so would make things worse. Didn’t know what the mad sorcerer would do if she moved to help the girl.