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Kelaros strides forward through the settling crystal dust, naked hunger stripping away his civilized restraint in this moment of triumph.
His hands rise toward the floating core. “Mine.”
Opal fire burns through Amalia as she, too, reaches toward the core, but she’s too far away. “You don’t understand what you’re doing!”
Kelaros doesn’t turn, his attention fixed on his prize. “I understand perfectly. The court dies today so I might live forever.”
His fingers brush its surface, and the core answers with a pulse of light so intense it casts no shadows, only perfect, blinding illumination.
The crystal floor cracks, fissures racing outward in all directions. Crystal dust rises into the air, swirling in patterns that mimic the movements of long-dead dancers. The surrounding walls begin to fold inward, reality itself compromised by the death of its anchor.
Thalindor grabs my arm, pulling me away from the collapsing chamber. “We must find Prince Elionn now, before everything falls apart.”
I resist, unwilling to turn from Amalia as she staggers toward Kelaros. “Not without her.”
“Your Majesty.” Thalindor tightens his grip, urgency overriding his usual restraint. “If the court collapses, none of us will survive to tell the tale.”
Above us, the core pulses again, power building toward a cataclysmic release. Kelaros reaches up and closes both hands around it, his fingers sinking into its surface.
Around us, the Opal court shatters.
35
A CROWN OF CRYSTAL
AMALIA
Pain detonates through me without warning, stealing my breath and folding me in half.
The court screams in my bones as what little balance it held onto shatters, power surging out of control. Wetness gathers at my lips and drips off my chin. I touch it, and when I pull my hand back, blood coats my fingers.
My body convulses with another wave of pain as the court continues to destabilize. Chunks of the ceiling crash down, shattering into dust. A guard screams as a crystal spike erupts from the floor, impaling him through the leg.
I collapse, my strength deserting me between one breath and the next. Strong arms catch me before I hit the ground, and Theron cradles me to his chest.
“We need to leave,” he urges, attempting to drag me backward toward the edge of the grove.
Crystal growths erupt from the walls, blocking our path as the floor rises and falls in waves. Everything bends inward, drawn toward the center where Kelaros stands with the Opal heart, still struggling to absorb its power.
“No!” I claw at Theron’s arms. “We can’t let him—”
Too late.
Kelaros brings the core to his lips, biting into its pulsing light, and opalescent magic floods through him, ripping through his arms and across his chest, illuminating him from within until his skin appears translucent.
Theron’s arms tighten. “What’s happening?”
The core shrinks as Kelaros absorbs its power, pulling centuries of accumulated magic into his body. Veins of opal spread across his skin in elaborate patterns, more beautiful and terrible than those marking my own transformation. Where my changes came gradually, his happens all at once, violent and all-consuming.
When his eyes open, they burn with Opal light.
“Beautiful.” Kelaros examines his transformed hands. “More than I imagined.”
A Dark guard steps forward, sword raised. “My lord, what have you done?”
Kelaros turns toward him with a triumphant smile. “What none of you had the courage to do. Take what was offered.”
His hand strikes out, and the guard’s throat opens in a spray of crimson before he registers the attack. His body crumples to the ground, blood spattering across crystal, turning it pink where the liquid touches.
