Tykon had not stopped scowling since his run-in with Maksim, and only now, when he was sure he was alone, did he finally relax. He had come back outside to where his mother still lay, now with a protective dome surrounding her lifeless body so that Tykon had to look past his own reflection to see her.

The sun was setting and the sky filling with a million different shades of orange and pink. The field was covered with elongated shadows as the light fell behind the trees, reaching Tykon only in slivers of golden rays like fingers trying to clasp him. His mother used to watch such sunsets every night from her bedroom window. Now, here she was, watching it again from the window she would never escape. Soon she would be moved to the cemetery, where her body would be better kept than outside, and Tykon found himself wondering if this would be the last sunset she would be a part of.

He placed his hands gently on the glass, feeling the warmth of the preservation spell buzzing gently beneath his fingertips. "I miss you," he whispered, looking down at his mother. She was lying as if asleep, her expression peaceful and arms by her sides on the cushioned coffin. Her eyelashes cast shadows on her high cheekbones, which no longer held their usual blush, and her hair fell around her like a bath of moonlight. Tykon had always found himself wishing that he had inherited his mother's silver hair rather than his father's bright blue, but such a desire seemed meaningless now. It would be far better to simply have his mother here again than have any other wish granted.

"I have been looking for you." The high-pitched voice could be no one else's but Annika's. He could feel her eyes on his back, but did not turn around. Instead, the scowl returned to his face and he pursed his lips to keep from saying something he might regret.

If you wish to continue to place blame, that is fine, but you may wish to start with the monster whose hand you are holding at present. She had far more to do with all of this than I. Maksim's words had been on a constant loop in Tykon's mind since he had said them before the funeral, and he had been avoiding the witch ever since.

He sighed finally and turned around. Annika's eyes were wide and watery, a deep amber in the glow of the setting sun, and her cheeks were flushed as though she had over-exerted herself in some way—perhaps by crossing the field in her heavy robes.

"I think it is you who disappeared," Tykon responded, raising an eyebrow. "I saw you slip out of the wake."

Annika lowered her eyes, a flash of guilt masking itself quickly by her usual look of innocence.  Tykon might not have noticed it before, but now he saw something new and unrecognisable in her. "I needed fresh air. Funerals always remind me of my mother's death. I hope you did not think it was rude of me."

"Not rude, no: more suspicious." Tykon stepped away from the coffin, raising his chin in a contempt that he had not allowed himself to feel until now. "Then again, I grew tired of the wake myself. People do insist on giving the same condolences over and over, trying to tell me that my mother was a great woman who did not deserve to die as though that is something I do not already know, as though I did not know her better than anyone else. More than that, though, I grew quite tired of you trying to hold my hand as though you had not just been accused of being involved in her death."

It was clear that Annika had not expected Tykon to be so outright—after all, he had spent the whole funeral and wake pretending that Maksim had not said what he had said, trying to figure out if he trusted Annika enough to ignore it or not. He still had not made up his mind, though the way that Annika reacted with a blush to her cheeks and her eyes darkening suggested that he should not ignore something as serious as this. There were cracks beginning to show in her mask, now; flickers of mischief and secrecy that he had not noticed before, for he had been too angry with the Opals.

"Tykon ..." Annika began, and then appeared to realise that she had nothing to say to defend herself. "What Maksim said—"

He interrupted her without listening to whatever excuse it was that she was about to conjure up. "It occurred to me that I never asked you what it was you had done to land yourself into such trouble with your father. I assumed you had taken your infatuation with Maksim or your jealousy of Remy too far, or that you had done a spell that was more dark than light. I did not want to pry. I trusted you, and trusted that you would tell me in time."

Tears began to swim in her eyes and then slipped slowly down her cheeks. Tykon shook his head in disgust. This was all the confirmation that he needed—why else would she react in such a way?

"Well?" he asked impatiently, taking a step towards her and away from the coffin. He felt uncomfortable interrogating her here, when his dead mother lay only a few feet away from him. What would she think of him and his anger now? She probably would not recognise him. Still, he could not help it. His mother had been stolen from him and the only thing he could cling onto was making sure that whoever harmed her was held responsible. "Am I not owed the truth now, Annika? Have I not been a good enough friend to you that you trust me with it? What did Maksim mean when he said you were more to blame than him?"

"I do not know," she answered, unable to disguise the tremor in her voice. "Maksim has been through a lot. He has been betrayed. Perhaps he no longer knows who to trust."

"Do not lie to me!" he shouted, loudly enough that birds in a nearby tree fluttered away with desperate wings. "I underestimated you once, but not anymore, and you cannot take advantage of my naivety. What did you do, Annika? Why is your father punishing you? Tell me the truth."

She hesitated, letting out a quiet sob. Her lips were trembling like a child's and for a fleeting moment, Tykon felt guilty for raising his voice. Then he turned and looked down at his mother's coffin. The anger returned and the guilt was gone. His skin and bones flooded with the aching desire for answers.

"I aided Ackmard," she whispered finally, looking down at her shoes again. "I attacked Maksim's mother when she found out that I was practicing dark magic."

Tykon could do nothing but grimace disdainfully, bile rising in his throat. This was the witch whom he had trusted, the witch whom he had talked to about everything whilst enduring the hardest thing he had ever been through. He had never thought she would turn out like Ackmard and hurt him in all of the same ways that he had.

"You were a Dark One, a spy for Ackmard; someone that he knew we all trusted and would never suspect." It wasn't a question. "Why? What was worth risking everything—including your own morality—for?"

"I was unhinged. I was in love with Maksim, and he would not love me back, not even when I tried so hard. When the mortal girl arrived in Astracia, it only got worse."

"And instead of handling it like a normal person, you lashed out?" he spat bitterly. "I don't understand what could be gained."

"Ackmard told me that he had a plan," she explained as though it was the most reasonable thing in the world. "He wanted Maksim to join him and his sister."

"His sister?" Tykon frowned, bewildered. His red robes scratched against his skin as he moved, the Refilyn sun too hot even when half-covered. Everything felt wrong, uncomfortable, and he wanted nothing more than to escape. He longed for his mother now more than ever.

"Yes. Hilda's firstborn. She was born a Dark One, so Hilda gave her away. Ackmard found her and she is the reason why he wants the key. She is the puppet master, not him." She paused, gaging Tykon's reaction. When she saw he was speechless, she continued. "Ackmard wanted nothing more than to get the key and enter the darkness with his brother and sister. He wanted them to turn against his mother. He told me that if I helped him achieve all he desired, he would allow me to marry Maksim and join them, too.

"I know it is silly now. I know that Maksim will never love me. Still, that sort of darkness and power is appealing. I have spent my life as the innocent, naïve, stupid Principle Warlock's daughter and when I saw the opportunity to change, I wanted to take it. Then Hilda saw me practising dark magic, and I had no choice but to keep her from telling anyone."

There was something dangerous in the way Annika moved and spoke now that had not been there before. She was elegant, proud even. Her hair floated around her face in brown waves with the power she must have felt. Her tears had dried on her cheeks.

"You had no choice?" Tykon repeated in disbelief.

"I was so desperate, Tykon." Her voice was strained with the effort of trying to make him understand, but it made no difference to him. He would never understand the desire to cause harm. "I wanted Maksim, and I wanted power. I wanted to be a part of something. Hilda threatened to ruin it all."

"That something that you wanted so desperately to be a part of killed my mother!" He pointed at the coffin with a forceful jab of his finger, feeling heat ripple through him threateningly. He had never felt this before; he had always been calm, kind. Not now. Grief had changed him, and he was not in the business of denying himself the anger he felt for the people who had stolen his mother from him. It was not just anger, though, for Annika had betrayed him in a way that Maksim never had. "How could you bear to look at me every day? When I came to you, when I cried and shouted and allowed you to comfort me, how could you bear the guilt? How could you look me in the eye while I scorned Maksim and his family, knowing that what you did was just as bad—if not worse?"

"I wanted to redeem myself. I wanted to help you, Tykon." Her voice softened, and she made an attempt to step closer to him. He stepped back, his upper lip curling in hatred. "You were so kind to me. You were the reason I no longer wanted to harm. You helped me to find myself again, and I owed you the same. You were my friend—more than that. Where I had to imagine Maksim loving me, you gave me something real. I never wanted your mother to be hurt. I was not even in the battle—"

"Nothing you say is believable now," he snarled, shaking his head and looking away from the witch in front of him. It felt now as though she was a stranger. "You were a monster. You aided Ackmard, and thus you had a part to play in the battle that killed my mother, whether you were there or not. Whatever we had is gone."

"No. Tykon, please. Just let me prove to you—"

"There is nothing left to prove!"

Annika jumped at the volume of his voice, and tears began to stream again until her makeup ran with them, causing streaks of black to pool below her chin. The only other time he had seen her so unlike herself was the day he had found her in the tavern. Then, he had told her he did not believe in monsters. Now, all he saw was the darkness surrounding her like a cloud of ash, the black freckles that merged with her golden irises, the way her fingertips shook with the magic that could harm him if she wanted it to. How very wrong he had been that day.

"I trusted you. I saw only good in you. All of it was just some silly illusion, for you are a monster. Whether directly or indirectly, you were a part of my mother's death, and for that I will never forgive you."

He inched towards Annika until he was towering over her, his whole body tensed as though he was preparing for battle. He wondered if this was how his mother used to feel when she fought as a warrior, if this strength that fuelled him now had also fuelled her once upon a time. He hoped so—he hoped he could be half the warrior she was.

"You are a monster." He spoke steadily now, ignoring Annika's cries of protest and the sobs heaving through her. Her chest rose and fell erratically, her whole body shrinking. He expected to feel shame, guilt, fear, but instead he felt nothing at all. "Stay away from me, Annika. I never want to lay eyes on you again. Your father can find some other poor soul to take care of you, and with any luck he will give you the punishment you so greatly deserve."

"No. I can fix this." She reached out for Tykon, standing on her tiptoes and snaking her arms around her neck as though preparing herself to kiss him. "I will be better for you."

Tykon recoiled, pushing her away so that she staggered across the grass without direction. And then, through gritted teeth, he muttered one final time, "Just stay away from me."

He did not look back as he left the field, not even to say goodbye to his mother's lifeless corpse. He was glad when he was far enough away that he could no longer hear Annika's breathless pleas.