I curled my fingers into my palms, nails biting into the tender flesh, and struggled to contain my shock. After Astreia's story about the king who started the war with Araphel and Estrellum, I was certain King Brinley's body now belonged to that king, and that he wanted to relight the portals for some evil intention. But this...

This almost made me feel compassion toward him. Almost, but not quite. The scattered souls and stillborn children had been an issue in Edresh for years, and he hadn't been concerned about it until it affected him. Either way, I felt a measure of relief to know that I wouldn't be unleashing some unknown hell by assisting him.

Except...Did I truly trust that this was his only reason? That it wasn't a convenient cover to convince me to go along with his plan without causing trouble. Only, it didn't really matter because I had to go into Araphel no matter what if we didn't want to everything in existence to be destroyed.

"She's speechless," Queen Thera said with a hum around a pudding filled spoon.

"A rather unusual state for her," Tievel muttered.

"I'm confused," I blurted out.

The chair creaked as King Brinley leaned back in it, the thumb and pointer finger of his left hand twisting a strand of his silver hair into a tight coil. His brows flattened over his gray eyes, and his lips softened into a neutral position in his square face. If that was all I saw when I looked at him, I might say he looked like a father with infinite patience waiting for his child to speak, but splotches of red and purple mottled his fair skin. It was an unfortunate tell of temper for many who carried fire magic.

"Perhaps I was a bit too hasty with my compliments. What is confusing about this situation? My child will come into this world soulless unless you relight the portals."

"That," I bit out so harshly it earned a cough of reprimand from Kuga, "I do understand. As we established earlier. But Dycidium is the portal in Araphel. The entrance to the world beyond what some call the Shroud. There, you will be led to the fires of judgment. Souls found lacking will be burned in the flames, and those who are granted rebirth will walk the path to Vyta."

Shock whipped through me, and I bit down on my bottom lip hard enough to draw tears. Those details came from some dark recess of my mind. Knowledge I didn't know I possessed. From the way the others had talked, I thought the portal and the flames of judgment were one thing, but I could see it clearly now. A world beyond ours. In the center of all worlds.

"Interesting," Kuga whispered.

King Brinley snapped forward, folding his arms over the table and leaning toward me. "You don't sound very confused at all."

Blood burned my tongue as I swiped it over my bottom lip, and I swallowed hard before continuing, "I only meant that it's how souls enter. If you need to make sure that your child receives a soul, then would it not be better to relight Vyta first? Surely, there are souls trapped there that would seek new hosts once the fires are relit?"

"And how," the king seethed, "do you propose I relight those fires? Since you helped the only elf who can relight them to escape?"

Tievel squirmed in his chair. "Father, enough."

He struck like a vyper. Between one breath and the next, King Brinley shot out of his chair, struck Tievel across the face with the back of his hand, and returned to his seat without a hair out of place. The blow was so hard, the prince's chair pitched backward, dropping him onto the wooden floors with a thud so loud it was as if the earth moved.

"Brinley," Thera gasped, holding her stomach as she stood. "Why would you do that?"

I tuned out their bickering, focusing on the ground's tremble and the distance clanging sounds. The earth had moved, and from the rising panic on Tievel and King Brinley's faces, it was not because of either of their magics.

A scream ripped through the night. Others quickly joined it, each one punctuated by clanging metal or thunderous booms. Magic hung heavy in the air, sweetly acrid and bitter on my tongue.

"What is going on?" I demanded, inching toward the tent's entrance to peel back the flap and peer out into the darkness.

"We're under attack," Tievel hissed, pulling me back as everyone else in the room hurried to the opposite end of the tent and disappeared through a door I hadn't noticed before.

I frowned. Where were they going? There was nothing behind the royal tents but a cliff and sea. Easily defensible during an attack like this one. Why would they risk leaving? And why didn't the king or the prince rush out to join the fight and protect their people? Between the two of them, they wielded enough power to level an army.

"Morana, come on." Tievel tugged on my arm.

"What is through that door?"

"It's a pocket."

"A pocket?"

His nostrils flared. "Part illusion, part air magic. The light has been bent around it to render the space invisible, and the air creates a shield to protect those inside from any stray attacks like arrows or fireballs. We will be safe in there."

The small, not yet silent voice of the girl I used to be screamed at me to go. To rush toward safety. I chewed on my lip. That kind of safety came at a cost. The kind of cost Kuga told me about. Blinding yourself to the truth of the world around you and protecting yourself with the monsters others were afraid of, and I couldn't do it. I had opened my eyes to the truth, and there was no closing them against it.

"I can't."

I pulled free and ran toward the door, well aware that most of the elves in the camp would happily slit my throat, and maybe that made them my enemy. But there were elves out there like Cassia, who had no choice but to remain in the thick of danger and serve the king. For the ones like her, I had to help.

"Morana," Tievel screamed as I bolted into the darkness. The raw, ragged intensity of it startled me, but now was not the time to analyze his feelings about me. Especially as tomorrow they might be different, or I might be dead.

The worst of the fighting hadn't made it to us yet, and the few campfires that had lit up the camp earlier had been doused, plunging everything into blackness. My chest seized with memories of Friedesh, and I stumbled to a sudden stop. If the curse on that city had escaped, there would be no hope for any of us.

To my right, leaves on a bush rattled, and when I spun to face the threat, my heavy skirts tangled about my ankles, pitching me toward the ground. Air whooshed out of my mouth as I landed hard, bruising my ribs. Wheezing, I rested a hand between my breasts, stared into the starry skies, and prayed none of my friends found out I'd fallen this fast in battle. Gods, I hoped Remiel found my soul before it wandered too long, even if it meant dealing with his prickly attitude for the rest of eternity.

However, the blow I expected never came, and when my breathing returned to normal, I stood slowly and reassessed my surroundings. First things first, this dress had to go. It was going to get me killed.

Not trusting myself with fire enough to burn off the skirt, I fashioned a knife out of ice and sawed the outer layer to just above my knees. Satisfied, I shimmied out of the thick, tulle underlay and tossed it aside. I immediately became aware of how cold it was, and if the wind blew at all... well, I was just grateful for the darkness because I hadn't worn any undergarments.

"Nothing but trousers ever again," I muttered, slinking through the night with much more confidence.

A fireball arced across the sky, momentarily offering a view of my surroundings, and I caught sight of two Edreshian soldiers fighting what looked like a shadow. Somehow, even in the bright orange glow of the fire, this thing was pure gloom, and I wondered if when the light faded, if it might be even darker than the night.

I clenched my makeshift knife, fueling magic into the blade to make it sharp and hard. The cold burned the flesh of my palm, but I willed away the pain as I circled the fighters, looking for a way to help the soldiers. A stick cracked beneath my foot, drawing attention to me, and just before the firelight faded from the sky, the shadow seemed to still and look at me. Then all was dark again.

"It's gone. Did you kill it?"

"No. I think it fled."

I cocked my head to the side to listen to the soldiers argue softly about what to do next, all the while tensing for an attack from the shadow. "Are you two okay? Do you know what is happening?"

The men stopped talking, but I had the vaguest sense they had turned toward the sound of my voice. If only I had Astreia's starlight, or was brave enough to reach for my fire again. Then again, either of those things might make a target right now.

"That was her?"

"Yeah. Pretty sure. The Deathsinger bitch."

"If we kill her now, no one will know. They'll think these monsters did it."

"Or," I began, backing away from the men. "You remember we're fighting on the same side?"

For today, at least. I crouched low and held out my blade. Metal whistled through the air and came down hard on the ice, shattering it. The impact made my arm vibrate, and my fingers felt numb as I held them against my chest.

Slits of green blinked at me. Shit. A Nightstalker. I hadn't noticed his race earlier because everything had happened so fast, and he hadn't been facing me. Not only could he see better at night than in the daylight, but he could also spit acid.

"The king will–"

"I don't give a blooming fuck about the king," one soldier said. "I'm not in his army because I want to be."

"Naw, it's because we had the choice between losing a hand for thieving or joining the army. I would've never agreed if I'd known we'd be forced to work with the likes of you."

"I never did anything to you."

I squinted as if that would help me see. Bursts of light flashed behind them every few seconds, just long enough to give me a glimpse of their bulky outlines. Why couldn't the Puca have been exceptionally fast? That was the only way I could hope to get around these two.

"Your kind killed my father." It was the first speaker again. "And I'm going to enjoy killing you slowly. Cutting you apart limb by limb while my friend here pours acid down your throat."

So the Nightstalker was the soldier to my right if I had judged the direction of their voices correctly, which meant my best shot at running would be to go left. I flung my hand out in front of me, sending a blast of ice shards into the air. The moment I heard the soldiers cry out, I ran.

Only, I didn't get far. Maybe five steps before I heard footsteps behind me.

"You little bitch."

Thick fingers wrapped around my ankle and jerked hard. My chin slammed into the earth, driving my teeth through my lip. No amount of kicking or flailing loosened his grip, and with a single tug, he loomed over me. I couldn't see him, but I could feel his presence. Hear the jingle of his armor. Smell his hot breath as he leaned low to grab my face.

"Better wait for your friend."

"You hit him in the throat with that nasty ice business."

"Shame that I'm going to miss out on his particular set of skills."

I bucked against him, but that only made him grip my face harder. "Don't worry. I'll make up for it, sweetheart."

My fists were useless against his iron strength, and when I tried to freeze him, he only laughed as the frost spread over his skin.

"Oh, that tickled. Don't you know? Ogres adore the cold."

An ogre. They were rarer than Pucas and twice as mean. When he said he planned to take me apart limb by limb, he hadn't meant with a sword. He could do it with his hands.

"Ah, where's all the fight gone? It's not as much fun this way."

He grabbed my arm and tugged, enough to make the ligaments strain but not tear, and I fought back a sob as pain radiated down my arm. A delighted chuckle escaped him as he dropped that arm and reached for the other.

Do something, you idiot. Use your voice. No one is immune to that.

No.

Then die.

Two voices. Both belonged to me. I had to choose. Right now.

Gritting my teeth against the pain, I raised my wounded arm and wrenched the silver hair comb out of my hair. Beautiful and small though it was, the fingers of the comb were sharp enough to draw blood, and that's exactly what they did as I drove it into the ogre's neck.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Warm blood gushed between my fingers as I sank the comb into his throat for the last time, and by the time he fell to his back, I was on my feet again, fingertips flickering with fire. There was no need for it, though. I felt the moment his soul separated from his body, and my mouth went dry as its power pulsed.

Perhaps... Just one more. To have that strength. No one could ever hold me down again. My fingers trembled as I reached out. It would be a waste not to take it, for surely if this ogre faced the fires of judgment, he would be destroyed?

I nodded. It would be a favor to save him from that fate.

Then an arched silver blade scythed through the air, sliding right through the ogre's glowing soul, and he vanished. The absence of temptation drove me to my knees, and I covered my mouth as the urge to vomit overtook me.

The cool touch of metal against my chin drove my gaze upward. I could not see what held the weapon, but I shivered at the power on the other end.

"What have you done?"