Maksim had his head in his hands when Hilda knocked timidly on the open door of his bedroom, stepping over the threshold without waiting for permission to enter. His back was turned, his face reflected in the glass of the window as twilight dissipated into darkness outside.

"Before you do this, I would like you to ask yourself whether it can wait until tomorrow," he said, his voice muffled by his palms.

"I asked myself the same thing when I had to fix the carpet in my office," Hilda said, gentle despite the subject matter. She needed him to know that she was not angry with him.

Finally, Maksim looked up and turned to her, wearing a guilty expression on his face. "I am sorry."

Hilda walked to the bed and sat down so that she had to look up at him. "I do not want you to be sorry. I want you to tell me what is happening."

"I wish I knew."

"When did it begin?"

He sat down beside her, causing the mattress to dip under his weight. He was all elbows and knees, as Alastair always had been when curled up in his reading chair—but she couldn't think of that now. "When Remy left. I ... I find myself getting angry ... sad ... and it just happens. I am like them. I am like my brother and sister, aren't I? The darkness is in all of us."

"No." Hilda placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling an ache in her chest as she looked at her son. He had always been good, if not slightly temperamental. She couldn't bear to think of him struggling with the same battles she had fought, not when she knew it was her fault. "You are nothing like the rest of us, Maksim. This is just a phase. You have been through a lot, lost a lot. It is bound to have an impact."

"I hurt Remy today," he whispered, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

Hilda remained silent for a moment, trying to piece together his words. "Is she alright?"

He nodded, biting his bottom lip so hard Hilda thought it might draw blood. "I suppose."

"Remy loves you. I am sure she will forgive you."

"She had forgiven me before I had even asked for her forgiveness, but that is not the point." His voice rose in frustration, and he stood up again, beginning to pace. Hilda would have to watch out for more holes in her carpets, if not because of magic then because of Maksim's shoes. "I hurt her, Mother. What if it was worse? What if I did something that could not be forgiven or taken back? If I cannot control my magic, if I am a danger to the one person that I—"

He broke off, his chest heaving with breaths and his fists clenched. Hilda stood, placing her hands on his shoulders to stop his movements. He looked at her with a desperation she had never seen in him before.

"I am turning into a monster, Mother."

"No," Hilda said again, bringing his head to her shoulder and wrapping her arms around him. "No, you are not. You would never let that happen. I know you too well."

"But I am changing," he replied into her shoulder. "My magic is changing."

"We'll fix it, you and I." She closed her eyes, rocking on her heels slightly as though she was comforting a child. Maksim was no longer the adult she argued with regularly; he was the little boy she remembered him being, afraid and confused when his father had left without telling him why. And for the first time in a very long time, she felt like a mother again. Because of that, she knew her words were correct. A mother would do anything for her child, and she would do anything for Maksim.

"We'll fix it," she said again as though confirming it to herself. They stayed like that, the two of them in the dim golden light, in the thick silence of night, until their muscles ached from standing. When Maksim finally pulled away, Hilda led him to his bed as though he could not find it on his own, waiting until he had arranged his pillows and curled up beneath the thin blankets to tuck him in and leave a kiss on his forehead.

"We'll fix it," she said into the darkness.

* * *

Maksim stands at the edge of Nil Lake, where the tide had once dragged his and Remy's bodies to shore. Even though he has been here before, the icy grey and black of his surroundings still crawls under his skin and leaves him trembling. He looks up, spotting movement on one of the cliffs. It is his brother, recognisable from this distance only by his long black coat and arrogant stance. Somehow, Maksim knows he is smiling down at him. The hair on the back of his neck prickles.

He turns around and finds Remy lying across the rocks, bloody and bruised, her tears mixing with dirt as they roll down her cheeks. He runs to her, his heart stuck in his throat as he takes her in. Her golden hair is singed with black, her clothes ripped and tattered. "Remy," he breathes, reaching to touch her, to take her away.

She flinches, trying to draw away from him. "Don't touch me."

"Remy, please," he frowns. She is too slow to escape him, too weak, and he wraps his fingers around her wrist. She screams.

He feels it, too. The burning. The flames. They are black. They sting. They are coming from him. He pulls away, but it's too late. Her skin turns to ash, and then her bones, too, until she is nothing but sand on the shore.

"No," he whispers, kneeling to touch what remains of her. He stops when he realises his fingers are still producing sparks. His skin is turning to soot.

"Maksim," a voice behind him calls. He turns, tears slipping from his eyes. They are no longer blue, but black.

His mother stands before him, her red hair whipping across her face in the breeze. He only meets her eyes for a moment, and then she turns to ash, too. Behind her stands Erika, pride gleaming in her green eyes.

"You're a monster," she says, her voice caught by the wind. "Just like me."