Eliana’s blood froze. “What did you say?”

His bleary gaze locked with hers. “Kill me, El. Then he can’t use me against you like this.”

From the shadows, Corien stretched, his joints popping. “God, it really can be hard work to dig and dig like this, to implant. To focus so singularly on one mind while also controlling thousands of others. Quite painful, really, if that’s a consolation of any kind?”

“He’s done nothing to you.” Eliana swiped at her eyes with shaking hands. “He’s an innocent.”

“So were many angelic children who suffered the same fate Remy just lived through,” Corien returned calmly. “And they didn’t wake up in their own bodies afterward, alive and whole. Isn’t he lucky?”

Then Simon spoke. “If you care about him, you’ll do as you’re commanded and spare him the pain.” The quiet whip of his voice shocked Eliana, jolting her. How could she ever have thought him warm, passionate, selfless? His mouth quirked cruelly, as if he knew her thoughts. “Or perhaps you don’t care about him,” he added. “Maybe you’re as good a liar as I am.”

“Why is he here?” she asked Corien, choking on her own voice. “I won’t beg him for help. I won’t beg either of you.”

Remy’s hand tightened around hers. A small smile touched his mouth.

Corien glanced Simon’s way. “I have to make sure he’s still mine, don’t I? I can understand how the two of you—his pretty little charge and her sweet pup of a brother—might melt the very coldest of hearts. So I’d like him to see every moment of this. I’d like to test him. He likes it when I test him.”

A private smile passed between the two of them. Eliana searched for the telltale adatrox gray in Simon’s eyes but saw only the familiar bright blue.

He was not under Corien’s control. He was, at last, utterly himself, and as Eliana sat with Remy limp in her arms, the truth of how alone she was in this place, how she had only herself to turn to for strength, settled against her tired bones like silt in dark water.

She turned to face Corien, a desperate plea on her lips.

He was there at once, kneeling at her side. “You can have everything I’ve shown you. Every happiness, every peace. I’ll end this, Eliana—this life of yours, all its violence, all its sacrifice. Your brother will be safe. He’ll be so happy, and so will you. Alive, healthy. Safe. Safe, can you imagine? For once in your life.”

He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I can end your fight, if you only do this final thing for me. Let your power rise, as it once did. Share it with Simon, as you once did.”

Even with Simon watching from the shadows, compliance hovered on Eliana’s lips. She could taste the words. Yes, she longed to say. You’ve won. Both of you have won.

But something stopped her, some last shred of defiance, and with a sharp sound of frustration, Corien gripped her head and shook her.

“I must go back to her, Eliana,” he whispered, tears in his eyes. “I must find her. Open up. Give us your power. Send me back.”

• • •

When Eliana awoke, she was in the white room from her dreams.

Corien sat beside her on the bed, and Simon stood behind him, waiting, and her dull-eyed adatrox guards surrounded the room, white-robed and silent.

Her castings, intact around her hands, were warming.

And Remy…Remy was nowhere. Remy was gone. What had he said? It’s a place of many rooms. It’s underground, dark and cold.

Imagining Remy trapped in such a place, years and years of his life torn from him, Eliana’s grief and anger became physical, an exhausted explosion of heat that swept through her body. She could not stop it from coming, nor did she want to. She wanted it to rise and consume her, the rooms in which she now lived, the palace that had become her entire world, and spit out the ashes like poison.

She pushed away from Corien, stumbled out of her bed, and fell hard to the floor. Her hands slammed against the white stone, and at the impact her castings bloomed with light. They were twin nets of fire around her hands, and she could sense, in that moment of white-hot clarity, countless cords of energy bursting furiously to life at her desperate, unknowing command.

The world shuddered—an earthquake, an explosion. The windows of her bedroom shook in their frames. Her guards stumbled.

In the silence that followed, Eliana huddled on the ground, her vision sparking with light, her fingers splayed across the stone floor. She panted, dizzy and heaving, every muscle trembling.

And in her palms, her castings buzzed—alive, now, and waiting.

At the sight of them, horror punched her in the gut, and her vision cleared as terrible understanding set in.

She immediately grasped for control. Anger coursed through her still, and a terrible sadness clutched painfully at her throat, but she could not allow that to beat her. Corien could weave a thousand beautiful lies for her every day for the rest of her life. It would not matter. She could not allow this to happen, not ever again. She imagined shoving against her castings, turning them cold and dark once more. She imagined her power returning to the deepest corners of herself, hidden and untouchable, like shadows retreating fast at midday.

But it was too late.

Beside a humming, pale ring of light, Simon stood with raised arms, both of them shaking with obvious effort. But when he stepped through the light and disappeared, he emerged the next moment at the far side of the room. He took a single staggering step before falling to his knees, gasping for breath, and when he looked up at Corien, it was with a tired triumph.

Such a little thing, a mere skip across a single room, and he had not touched the threads of time.

But the threads of space he had found were brighter than those he had summoned upon her arrival in Elysium. Stronger, more reliable. It was a start, and Eliana had allowed it to happen. She had made it happen. She had lost her grip on her power, let it rise as she had when Remy lay bleeding in her arms, and again on the beach in Festival, and again—awfully, guttingly—in the gardens of Willow with Simon’s heart beating under her hands. That one small moment had been enough.

Her stomach plunged fast, a swift fall of ice.

Corien smiled, wide and slow.

“Excellent,” he said quietly. “Now we can begin.”

9

   Navi

“The last queen of the Vespers? Oh, we all loved her. Her consort died at sea many years ago, left her a young widow, but she kept building her ships, and she raised seven children to be the sweetest little crownlings you could ever hope to meet. Then the Empire came to the capital, killed her and six of her babies on the steps of the Ivory Palace. But her seventh child, little Brizeya, was never found. Some think she was swept out to sea, where the waves laid her to rest beside her father. Others think she still lives, planning her revenge. I think of that poor child every night. If she does still live, I hope she never learns her true name. There’s nothing left for her here. There’s nothing left for any of us.”