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I laid my hand atop Nyx’s, his hand so soft and squishy-plump that I couldn’t stop myself from giving it a little squeeze. Rhys’s eyes glittered, like he knew exactly how much restraint it took for me not to grab those little fingers and give them a playful nibble. Nyx just peered down at his hand sandwiched between ours, head angled to the side in curiosity—so similar to his father that I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry with wonder.

The priestess began wrapping the silvery ribbon around our joined hands. “The Mother welcomes you to her world, Nyx, and offers her divine blessing.” She handed me Clotho’s ribbon, nodding her encouragement. “Hear the wishes of your parents, and know you are loved.”

My own fingers were shaking slightly as I wrapped the ribbon around our joined hands a second time. The fabric shimmered like sunlight on the sea. “I wish you a life of joy,” I said thickly as my son gave me a gummy smile. “Of courage and unending love.” My throat closed up, my eyes stinging as I beheld that perfect little face. There was so much more I wanted to say, to offer him, but if I said one more word, especially with this impossible conflict brewing around us, I’d begin weeping. I opted to kiss his brow instead, deeply breathing in his sweet baby scent.

I passed the ribbon to Rhys, and his free hand was well and truly shaking as he wrapped it a third time around our joined hands. Nyx squirmed, but then grew fascinated by the silvery ribbon twinkling between us. “I wish you wisdom,” Rhys said, so softly I could barely hear it. A tear slipped down his cheek. “I wish you strength—not only of body, but of spirit, too. And I wish you all the happiness that I’ve known with your mother. May you have the luck and honor of finding it for yourself one day.”

I met Rhys’s eyes, unable to stem my own tears as they slid down my cheeks.

No anger lingered from yesterday’s fight on the beach. It was gone, forgotten, like a swift-moving summer thunderstorm. Here, now—this was what mattered most.

The priestess took the remaining length of ribbon from Rhys’s fingers and tied it to the loose end she’d started with.

“Bound by love, by the hopes of your parents, we welcome you to the Night Court,” the High Priestess declared. I leaned forward, kissing Nyx’s warm, chubby cheek. He yanked on a section of my hair, suddenly curious about it.

“Your family and friends may step forward to extend their gifts of blessings and wishes,” the priestess said, opening her arms wide to welcome them to the dais.

Mor practically shoved everyone out of the way to get to the front of the line. Tears ran down her face as she beamed at me, then at Rhys, and finally at Nyx before she kissed his round cheek and said, “I offer you the gift of truth. May you know it when you see it, and may you always know the truth inside yourself, too.”

I could have sworn magic fluttered as she gently laid her hand atop our bound ones, then stepped away.

Cassian came forward next, nudging Mor aside with a wing as he settled his broad palm over my hand. His hazel eyes were wholly fixed on Nyx and his voice was heavy with emotion as he said, “I wish you friendship—deep and true. Friends who will help you grow into the person you’re meant to be, and tell you when you’re falling short.”

With a wink at me and a clap on the shoulder for Rhys, Cassian backed away from the dais.

Nesta stood behind him, tracking her mate’s movements. Cassian didn’t so much as look at her as he returned to the pew.

For a moment, it struck me—what a miracle it was that Nesta was here. That she had not only come to this ceremony, but emerged as a person who wanted to be here. Who now beamed at my son, her nephew, with wondrous love in her eyes. Even if I could see her pain as her mate took his seat across the temple from where she’d been, still refusing to look at her.

Nesta glanced up at Rhys, whose face had hardened slightly. I tensed, but Nesta held his stare a beat—then looked at me. Smiled faintly. I could see it there, the genuine happiness for me. The gratitude that I was here, that Nyx was here. That she herself was here. She knew that for the miracle it was, too.

Nesta laid her hand atop mine, and Nyx gave his aunt that broad, unbearably cheerful smile.

“For you, little warrior,” she said, unable to stop her answering grin, “I gift you—”

She blinked.

It was instinct, imprinted deep in my bones, that knew that blink for what it was: a warning.

I whipped my head to the door. To the windows. Nothing but morning sun, yet—There. I could feel it. The ripple that had made Nesta pause.

Nesta’s hand slid from atop ours as she faced the doorway. “I . . .”

The hair on my arms rose. “Get this off us,” I ordered the priestess, voice low, tugging at the tied ribbon. “Right now.”

“What’s—” the High Priestess began, but still didn’t move.

“Now,” I commanded, heart beginning to thunder.

Rhys’s power writhed in a dark cloud, the countless blooms around us shuddering in its wake. “What do you sense?” he asked. The others were already on their feet, angling toward the door. None of them had worn weapons—it was frowned upon to do so in a temple.

Cassian’s and Az’s Siphons were gleaming, twin flames of red and blue, respectively.

The priestess tried to untie the ribbon, but its weave was like metal—and with the magic in it, I had a feeling only the magical knife-cutting at the end of the ritual would have removed it. Until then, it remained steadfast.

Elain was already on her feet, pale with fear. Lucien had slid a few rows closer to her, into a defensive position.

“What is it?” Mor demanded, her own magic sparking at her hands.