On one of my last days in the Void Palace, the wind has died down enough to explore one of the lower courtyards. Ice sticks relentlessly to the stone, prickling over the grass attempting to rise through layers upon layers of snow. The base of a tree trunk, thin and weak, is covered in white, its branches and bare spindles the same.

I stand underneath the shadow of a stone staircase, rocking back and forth on my heels to instill warmth. The subtle breeze licks at the back of my neck and freezes my ears, painting my cheeks a bright shade of red. I look out to a rounded archway with a raised portcullis that hasn't dropped in years judging by the dead vines interweaving through the metal, rusted and chipped with age. As every other surface in this courtyard, that is covered in ice too.

The Void Palace is a complicated maze of staircases, courtyards, towers, spires, gardens, halls—all of it masked in one simple color, one trend. Not a break in design nor safety. Everything is black. Black stone. The walls encasing me in this lower courtyard, the best wind-block the Void Queen could find, is darker than the rest and much emptier.

The other courtyards, often referred to as balconies, hang overhead from differing towers. Voices of students anxious to see the sun after a long winter drift down below, freezing on the ground with my toes.

No one appears to frequent this low into the palace. The archway leads to the mundane stables and sun houses but allows in a sizable draft from the north. Each stone bench meant to comfort silent conversations and means of privacy is submerged in snow that the servants have pushed to the side in a large heap, cluttering dirt and ice together into one dangerous punch. Another task for Luminary students.

Old crates and barrels accompany me underneath the staircase until I hear the soft click of heels descending the steps. I'm surprised she didn't just float down here from an open window to impress the students venturing onto the balconies. At least the warm stench of magic travels south, far away from my nose and gag reflex. Enough of it, when paired with exhaustion, makes my stomach churn.

I step out from my hiding spot as Wyetta hits the last step, brushing the cold from her hands after trailing the banister. I crane my neck back up the stairs, looking for my usual training partner, but she's alone. Drenched in a heavy fur coat, leather boots, and thick pants that should hinder her ability to move, yet she's surprisingly fluent with each step.

"Where's Zikkora?" I question shakily, my teeth chattering.

"Don't worry about him; he has other matters to tend to," she says. "It's just us today—one of your final training sessions before...heading back." The smile on her face is not genuine. With her silver hair pulled back in a bun behind her head, every feature is already stark on her face but the smallest of shifts has her expressions standing nude in front of observers. And I don't see glee in that smile.

I detect a hint of sadness. Remorse. For me leaving? That can't be right.

I step aside from the awkward tension building so early on. She hasn't overseen one of my training sessions without Zikkora; maybe this is a testament to what I have learned. He trusts me enough to be alone with her, believes I can do just as much damage without him holding my hand. Whether I live or die, none of that will matter.

Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I force myself to stand up straighter. If she wants a show, I'll give her one. "What would you like to see today?" I ask.

"Everyone knows Luminaries as being unlimited in their potential." She gathers her hands together in one firm slap and walks nonchalantly to the outside of the staircase, running her fingers over the frozen stone. Ice melts away from the heat of her skin—and magic—providing the sun's warmth. "I want you to reach a limit with your power that you have never gone before. I want you to use lightning, specifically. Create a storm."

I squint at the sky. "But it's not snowing for once. I think the students would much rather enjoy the sky."

She flashes me a sympathetic look and takes to swirling her finger along the top of a barrel. Ice melts away, leaving behind a puddle. "There will always be excuses not to try, Marie."

I shrug. If she wants a storm, I'll give her a storm. And I won't hold back. The one thing she has always told me when she oversees my sessions is that if I hold back, I'll never reach my full potential. This courtyard is wide enough for what she wants me to do, and second-guessing myself when I already know the answer takes up valuable time. I step away from the Void Queen, shrugging past with ease, and she smiles towards the ground. Content with my lack of protest—for once.

In the middle of the courtyard, I close my eyes. I feel her presence watching me from the shadows, the eyes of students from above, the cloudless sky in which I must create something from nothing. I bring my frozen hands together in front of my body, hovering one over the other—my elbows crooked inward, bent gently.

The world slips away. Similar to the Luminary tether, I start from within, crafting lightning of my own design. Not in the clouds I plan to create, not the sky, but in my own hands. It crackles to life, splintering and breaking in jagged bolts as it wraps around my fingers. Then I connect the pieces together. Drawing from puffed white clouds heading south, towards the capital, I pull them back overhead, swirling together and dripping in darkness. They obey my command.

Characteristically, another wind picks up. Shudders of angered voices drift back inside the palace, leaving only me to do as the Void Queen requests. And my hand slips from the leash. Willingly. Thunder slams hard against the clouds and shakes the ground underneath my boots, earning a squeal from the woman standing on the other side of safety. Underneath her own shield, likely.

Such freedom in lightning, a manipulation that does not involve itself, but a manifestation of so much more. To have lightning, a bolt of energy, one must create a storm. A foundation for chaos.

With that ball of lightning in my hand, I throw my palm towards the sky. A blue bolt snakes down from the clouds and connects with what I have created, shattering across the courtyard in horizontal streaks of energy, hissing and buzzing so close to my ear that I fear it'll strike too close to home. It chooses the stone instead. The frozen terrain of land underneath my feet. I hear grass simmering, snow melting, the Void Queen clapping in appreciation for allowing myself to slip so freely into danger.

My chest heaves in a breath of smoke. And I ignite. I throw my hand down, towards the ground, and lightning streaks down from the clouds to connect with the earth. Their rupture slams against the ground around me in multiple blue streaks of my own design, hitting the staircase, the walls, the frozen portcullis. Ice kisses my cheeks.

"Keep pushing," I hear Wyetta order from beyond that constant buzz. "Become the lightning."

My power absorbs itself on command. Splitting pain ruptures through my skull, but I welcome the difference as I know what this is. Lightning courses through me and releases from my fingertips. When I open my eyes, they're shrouded in blue and glowing bright enough that the world reflects the same. My hair whips in the wind.

I want to feel this free during all hours of the day. These Luminary students don't realize the advantages they have in a kingdom looking to eradicate what they hold. I have learned plenty from them, from Wyetta, from Zikkora, and have come to my decision. Magic deserves the chance to breathe and to thrive in Rivian; the land is better off for it.

If I manage to step foot in Exole once more, I'll share my findings. Not the location, not the names of students or what Wyetta plans to do with all her different legions. I'll reveal to Cloak, to the Raven Queen, to anyone that asks just what I found. Magic is not looked down upon, it is appreciated and celebrated and brought to life enough times that a scent accompanies it. Does anyone know magic smells distinctly of summer, of flowers, of life? Foreign life, but breath all the same.

A band of hot, twisting, striking lightning wraps around my abdomen and squeezes tight. My lungs fill with smoke, and my body adapts to the changes, succumbing to the lightning banding around my arms like thousands of blue bracelets that act freely. Moving in jagged, calculated patterns. My abilities continue to stretch deep into the Luminary reserve, finding hidden advantages I didn't know I had.

When I think I have had enough, more comes. The lightning seems never-ending, and the storm that accompanies it spirals just as strong. Were the constriction in my head not so tight, I might stop to appreciate it. Then another power brushes against my own, twisting its fingers around mine and gripping tight. I recognize it without having to know I should stop.

She does it for me. The Void Queen eases my power into contentment and the storm disperses to leave behind shattered remnants of courtyard grass, snow, and frozen stone. I broke nothing, my power kept a tight leash on the one thing it could control in such chaos, but a new lock has unlatched inside my heart. Another ability, another strength—discovered.

I laugh without knowing the joke. If there is one. The Void Queen stands before me, her close-lipped smile revealing every shred of appreciation. My mother used to look at me the same way. "I think I may have a new favorite power," I pant, wiping non-existent blood from my nose. My senses have loosened.

Her laugh slackens the remaining tightness in my muscles. The joy in it is enough to bring flowers back to life, to repair a damaged heart. She steps forward and places her hands on my shoulders, and I welcome the warmth. For the first time, I want to embrace this woman instead of slapping her for giving me what I didn't know I needed. "Prepare for departure, little elf," she says, brushing back a strand of hair off my neck. "We'll head for refuge in a few days."

I study her face close to mine, the deep groove of her honey bronze cheekbone, interrupted by the soft, peaceful curve of blueish-pink lips. As much as I hate to admit it, she's nothing like I thought she would be. Beautiful without trying, kind without stabbing victims in the back. Wyetta doesn't have as many layers as I imagined her to.

The figment of a mother's love hangs over her shoulders, granting her a spark she doesn't realize she has. These Luminaries are her children, me included. A possibly insane part of me isn't ready to leave her; I feel I should know her more than I already do. But I have uncovered all the layers I must.

Wyetta walks me back into the palace and departs once we're underneath the cover of warm hallways. Her magic helps keep the palace warm, even in its darkest corners, so my body defrosts moments after stepping within the safe confines of magic. Prepare for departure. How must I prepare for something I'm not ready to face?

Fidibi and Edire...how will I leave them? How will I sleep at night knowing Edire is here? That is, if I make it out alive.

When I shut the door to my chambers, pressing my back against the wood, silence creeps up from the depths and grips hold. Nerves pool in my gut and I swallow a sudden lump that has risen into my throat without warning. I don't mean to be emotional, but this time of the month isn't exactly the best to undergo something such as this. Perhaps I'll cleanse myself for longer this time, and Fidibi can dump a large bucket over my head. Cold water to shock my worries.

I take one step into the room, meaning to collapse on the bed when something moves out of the corner of my eye. Mutes shoots up from the other side of the settee, grinning wide as I gasp, slapping a hand against my chest. At least I won't need that bucket of cold water anymore. How did I not detect his presence?

I clear the shock from my lungs with a heaving sigh. "What are you doing here?"

"I was just waiting for you to come back," he says, slinging his legs off the settee to stand. "And there's something I want to talk to you about."

Opening the doors to my armoire, I peer around the corner. "Well, make it quick. The Void Queen told me to prepare for departure. We're heading back to the capital." I stretch my smile, clutching on tight to my favorite jacket, and Mutes's eyes drop to the floor.

He rocks back and forth on his heels, a soft, forced smile on his face. "That's what I came to talk to you about." As if in pain, he closes one of his eyes. But it's only awkward nature coming to light.

"Oh." Exasperation leaves me in a single breath. "Come sit; we'll talk."

I lead him over to the bed and sit on the edge, clutching my jacket tight in my lap. Did he hear that we're not heading back, that the Void Queen was lying about what she told me? Does he wish to protect me from something inevitable?

Mutes clears his throat at my side, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. I watch him cautiously, and when he finally meets my eye, a breathy, frightened laugh squeezes from his lungs. "Mutes, are you okay?" I ask softly.

"I'm fine, I just—" he wipes at his nose with the back of his finger "—stay with me."

I lean back to grant myself a better look at his face. "What?"

"Stay with me, Marie. Don't go back to Exole. I don't...want you to leave."

I search his face for the smallest hint of sanity and find nothing. His eyes are wide, cheeks flushing red the longer I stare at him to ensure I'm actually hearing what he's speaking. He can't ask this of me; Mutes knows I have a life outside of what I have been forced to endure here. This...it's not negotiable.

"Mutes, I can't stay here. This isn't my home," I say, trying to laugh even if my chest is aching. Fleeting hope of this being a joke lights to flame then dies out.

"We can make this your home." He quickly turns, taking my hand in both of his, clutching tight enough that his pulse ricochets into mine. The desperation in his tight jaw and expectant smile is not what I had hoped for. This conversation shouldn't happen; this isn't the way I want to end things with Mutes as he has no choice but to stay here. The Raven Queen will kill him otherwise.

"Mutes, I—"

"Please." He closes his eyes. Pleading. "Please don't leave."

"I have a family at home, people that need me. I can't stay here; you should know that more than anyone," I whisper.

He scoots closer, enough that his knee knocks against mine. "I'll give you anything you want. Anything in this palace, you can have it. It's yours."

After all the nights we have spent together, this isn't the same man.

I let out a nervous, harsh bark of laughter and swallow hard. My hand slides through his when I tug it away, leaving his shaking fingers to fall helplessly back into his lap. The drawing in of his brows might suggest that I slapped him instead of inadvertently asked for some distance. "I can't, and I won't do that, Mutes. I'm sorry," I say.

Like stone, his face hardens. Mouth thinning into a tight line, eyes turning cold and disinterested, Mutes looks at the floor instead of the woman breaking his heart. "Did these last few weeks mean anything to you?" he asks coldly.

"You helped me through a tough time, there is no mistaking that." I rest my hand on his knee and he flinches away, shifting farther down to the bottom of the bed. "That doesn't change the fact that...you lied to me. I think it's best we head our separate ways. You'll be happier here, by yourself."

He scoffs and lunges off the bed, moving quicker than I have ever seen him. "Fine," he growls over his shoulder. My fingers curl back towards me from where they reached out to pull him back. I have never heard that tone of voice leave his lips; it sounds enough like Cloak that a shock wave of recognition soars through my chest but halts when I remember he's not here. "If I never meant anything to you, then it's best you leave."

He stomps towards the door with that final piece shared.

"Mutes, wait," I attempt, rushing after him. He swings the door open. "I'm sorry, I just—"

The door slams shut in my face, a cold wind brushing white hair off my neck. I can't do anything about this, not when my departure is imminent. He'll come back to me, he has to, Mutes wouldn't leave something like this open for hatred. I didn't think he could convey that emotion until this moment; he has always behaved so carefree and lovingly. Even betrayal cannot be forgiven in the soul of those that have deceived.

I back away from the door and decide it's best to not follow him. I won't grant him the satisfaction of comfort if he's trying to forget me while I'm still here. It'll be easier that way—for both of us. I'm not prepared to leave Mutes, I never will be, but this is for the best. Sacrificing one friendship for every person I have left behind is a deal I must make, even if the ache in my chest carries me back to the armoire.

Heaving a deep sigh and blowing out my cheeks, I fan my hands in front of my eyes to dry the tears. I'll see Mutes again, someday, but in a different context. Not to share a bed or hide each other away in enemy palaces; I'll see Mutes when we're past that. When both of us have matured and the world doesn't have anything to forgive nor pay for.

I glance back at the door, hoping it'll open and I'll see his face again. For as long as I take to gather my favorite clothes and hand them over to Fidibi for safe packing back to the capital, hoping that I'll receive the chance to wear them, Mutes doesn't return. I don't hear from him and part of me hopes I won't have to.