Eliana cupped the tight, cold air that held Zahra’s face. Listen to me.

“No,” Zahra said, her voice buckling. She looked away, her cloudy black arms flickering as if distant storms were moving through them.

Zahra, I command you to listen to me.

My queen. Zahra’s thoughts scrambled at the edges of Eliana’s mind. Don’t ask me to leave you. Please. Not now. Not when you’re about to put yourself in such danger.

I have my castings. I have Simon. Eliana ducked down to meet Zahra’s eyes. And Harkan will have you. Or else he’ll be fighting for me out there alone, facing the imperial army alone, and I’ll be out of my mind with worry for him.

Zahra silently shook her head, over and over.

And that is not the way you want me to meet my mother, is it?

After a long moment, Zahra at last replied, No, my queen, and a knot of tension released in the air, as if something physical had given way.

Then Zahra rushed at her, shrinking as she moved, shifting to the size of a child, and burrowed against Eliana’s chest. Pressed so close, Eliana felt the wraith open a feeling of love to her, so vast and sudden that Eliana stumbled, as if she’d misjudged the height of a step. Remy, crying quietly at her side, caught her elbow and steadied her.

That was from me, Zahra said, her voice in pieces, and also from Harkan. You are lucky, my queen, to have such love in your life.

And then Zahra was gone, darting through the garden like a shadow shot from an arrow, and then they were all gone, slipping fast into the morning. Remy hooked his arm through Eliana’s to help her back into the house, which was a lucky thing, for her own mind had gone soft and dark. She managed to put an arm tight around his shoulders and walked with him into the side parlor where Dani had held her, that first rainy night. There, she held him and let him cry against her shirt until he subsided, shivering and half-asleep.

Eliana was glad Simon had stayed upstairs for this. She was glad to share this moment of grief with Remy alone.

She sent a thought along the veins of the empirium she could now always sense at her fingertips, like the phantom echoes of a song that would never reach its finale.

Watch over him, she prayed, more fiercely than she had ever prayed in her life. Watch over them all. Saints. God. The empirium. Whatever you are, wherever you live. May the Queen’s light guide them home.

She closed her eyes. Give me the strength to burn bright for them, no matter what lies ahead.

• • •

Simon waited for her in the spot they had chosen—the patch of grass and clover by the tiny silver streams, near the willow under which she had healed his scar.

She joined him wordlessly, Remy’s tears still drying on her shirt. She avoided his gaze but felt it nevertheless, a warm pressure kissing her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Eliana,” he said, and then looked ready to say more, but she feared they would be words of comfort, words that would do nothing to ease the pain in her heart or the worry buzzing like wasps through her body, so she hurried to him and pressed a hard kiss to his mouth before he could speak.

He held her for a moment as she breathed, and then took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes.

“We should not attempt this if you’re grieving,” he told her.

“I’m always grieving,” she replied. “Isn’t everyone?”

“You know what I mean.” He frowned and looked away into the trees. “This is happening too quickly. We haven’t had the proper time to prepare.”

“And if we wait any longer, death may come for us before we can try. The Emperor’s army marches. Our friends march to stop them. So, we will do this.” She moved past him, standing in the center of the clearing. She lifted her chin against the heartbreak flooding her body. “Now. I’m ready.”

“Eliana, please, look at me.”

“I’ve been looking at you,” she said, her voice fraying. “I’ve looked at you so many times that I see you when I close my eyes. I can’t shake you. I’m going to lose you too, I’m sure. I’ll lose Remy and Harkan, and Patrik and Jessamyn, and I’ve already lost Navi, and I’m tired of knowing this. I’m tired of living in a world defined by loss. I’m ready to be rid of it. We’ve gone over our plan a hundred times. Let’s begin.”

He stood before her, touched her face. “Look at me.”

“No,” she said through gritted teeth. “I can’t bear it.”

“Eliana, love. Come on, look at me.”

She obeyed, unable to resist the soft pull of his voice.

“I’m not sending you anywhere when you’re this upset,” he said, his gaze holding her gently. “You need a clear head to talk to your mother. You need to be able to focus.”

She knew he was right, and yet if she remained in these gardens for another moment, she would lose all courage. Her sadness would drown her. She closed her eyes, allowing herself another moment of his touch, and then stepped away, wiping her cheeks dry and lifting her chin.

“You will send me back now,” she said, her voice steady and cold. “As your queen, I command it. We don’t have time to spare, and if you continue to doubt me, I’ll consider it an insult.”

He watched her for only a moment. Then he turned, every line of his body unhappy, and began to work.

She was familiar by now with the sight of his threads, golden and shimmering, but as he gathered these into a sparking circle, they were joined by new threads, just as long and thin, but made of shadows instead of light. They were a blue-black color, iridescent, each of them churning viciously through the air like curls of smoke from an angry fire. These darker threads snapped and hissed; they fought the tight whirl of Simon’s fingers. Sweat beaded on his brow and neck. The force of his work sent him sinking slowly to his knees.

Eliana fought to stay still, the urge to go to him overwhelming. But he had warned her about this, that the process of traveling through time would require much more of him, that it would be startling and perhaps upsetting to see. No matter what, he told her, she must not interfere.

So she waited, her mouth dry and her heart pounding hard in her ears, until at last she heard Simon croak, “Now, Eliana.”

Another of his instructions: She must not hesitate. When he told her to go, she must go. He would hold open the thread for as long as she required, but every passing moment would be more difficult. The shape of him kneeling in the grass, threads of light and darkness twisting out from his chest and fingers, began to shift and flicker. His voice came out distorted.

She took a breath, holding their plan in her mind. He would be sending her back to a relatively peaceful time in Celdaria, before the war against the angels truly began. Her mother was nineteen and newly pregnant. Her father, the Lightbringer, was still alive.