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I take it.
The farther I get from the Moonwell, the quieter the panic becomes, but the fear lingers in every corner, a taut string pulled to the breaking point. Whispers trail behind me.
At the turn leading toward my chambers, another wave of dizziness crashes over me, and I steady myself with a hand on the cool stone wall. The spire thrums under my palm, calmer now, but still hungry, still expecting more than I can give.
“Not now,” I mutter, pushing off the wall and forcing my legs to carry me through the last stretch.
By the time I reach my rooms, my breath is ragged, and my hands shake. A pair of attendants hover nearby, unsure whether to flee or offer aid.
I lift a trembling hand. “Tomorrow. Not tonight.”
They bow and step back as I swing the doors open and enter, shutting out the anxious faces, the murmurs, and the fear I do not have the strength to soothe.
Only then, alone at last, do I allow my knees to buckle.
I sink onto the edge of my bed, bones aching with a fatigue that transcends the physical. The connection to the sithe pulses at the back of my consciousness, a constant reminder of duty, of responsibility, of the precarious balance I maintain.
Above my headboard, personal treasures rest among scholarly tomes. A small wooden box carved by Elionn when we were children. A pressed flower from Lunaria’s gardens. And there, a strip of white cloth threaded with silver and stained red. A piece of the rider’s uniform Amalia wore and bled through on her last visit to our world.
I reach for it, then stop, fingers hovering inches away. It has stood as a reminder all these months of why she deserved to leave, and why it would be cruel to seek her out again to drag her back here, even after she bonded with Elionn’s sithean stone.
But drag her back, I did, only to risk losing her again.
My fingers close around the silk, cool silver threading sliding beneath my fingertips.
I hold it to my lips, breathing in the salt and copper of her humanity. “Come back. All of you.”
The sithe tugs at me again, and my body braces for pain.
I will hold so that those I love have a home to return to.
33
THE HOLLOW HEART
AMALIA
The fissure spits us out hard enough that our entire linked chain stumbles.
My boots splash into a trembling, opalescent surface that’s neither water nor land. The court’s sweet-cold air floods my lungs, and Theron swears under his breath at the shock of it.
Kelaros, still gripping the last guard’s hand, jerks upright with a sharp inhalation.
Yeah. The Opal Court doesn’t like that I brought guests.
Above us, the rippling sky convulses, its impossible colors shrinking inward before blooming outward again. Trees around us age and rejuvenate in frantic lurches, leaves erupting and withering in the same breath. Flowers die in time-lapse cycles so fast my stomach pitches.
The ground flexes, concentric ripples rolling through it as though a stone has broken its surface. The guards tighten their formation without letting go, hands locked.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Kelaros surveys the court with a proprietary air. “Even in decay, it remembers its glory.”
I ignore him, turning instead in the direction I last traveled. “We should be able to reach the mirror room before nightfall. That’s where we last saw Prince Elionn.”
“Our primary goal is the hollow stag,” Kelaros correct, his tone sharpening. “Or have you forgotten our purpose here, cousin?”
“I know our purpose.” My hand tightens around Theron’s before I release him. “We don’t need to hold hands anymore.”
As soon as we separate, the blood tattoo on my palm burns beneath my glove, responding to Opal magic. I flex my fingers, trying to ease the ache. The sithean stone grows warmer with each step, giving way to the pulse of a living thing awakening.
