“I cannot open the portal.”
Silence falls so thick it smothers. For a heartbeat, I think she’s gone. But when I look up again, she’s still there. Her eyes pinned to mine, her jaw tight enough to crack.
“If you have something to say, say it,” I bite out, sharper than I intend.
“You won’t like it.” Her voice is quiet, edged with a sigh.
“When has that ever stopped you?”
She straightens, shoulders rolling back. Nervous. That is never a good sign.
“If Anethesis was right… then Amara can open portals.”
I laugh, harsh, mirthlessly. Born of exhaustion, frustration, and a grief that has long since rotted into something uglier.
“Amara barely breathes, yet you think she could open a portal to An’kel?”
“I can think of no other way.”
I shove to my feet, raking a hand through my hair.
“Even if she could, you know the price. Blood. Every last drop.” My heart thunders painfully. “If I haven’t already lost her, opening a portal would take her from me for certain.”
“But it could save your child.”
My eyes snap to hers. “You would have me choose between one and the other?”
Her composure does not falter.
“Amara risked her life to protect your daughter. She didn’t expect to survive. She was willing to pay the price. I have no doubt she would lay down her life again if it meant her child lived.”
My jaw aches with the force of my clenched teeth. “That is not your decision to make. And what if…”
The words wedge in my throat. They burn like fire, tear like claws.
“What if?” Zyphoro presses, her voice low.
When I meet my sister’s gaze, the sting of tears betrays me.
“What if my daughter is already dead? What if I lose them both?”
The warmth comes from the last place I expect. Her hand on my shoulder, firm and steady.
“Then at least we’ll be in his temple,” she says, her grip tightening. “Where Gygarth waits and we will kill him, brother. End him, once and for all.”
“I dream of nothing more, sister. But he is no different from Emranth. He cannot be killed. He is not flesh and blood.”
Her head tilts, moonlight catching the sharp line of her jaw. “But you destroyed Emranth.”
My hand presses to my chest, deeper than fabric, deeper than flesh, seeking the shadowed place where that truth festers. “Not truly. Only contained him… in here.”
“Yes,” Zyphoro says, voice calm though her eyes storm. “And now he is your prisoner. You control him. There cannot be one without the other, but there can only be one master, Daedalus.”
Her hand falls away, and then her wings burst from her back in a sweep of darkness, catching the wind.
I watch her silhouette rise against the moon, gliding into the crow’s nest. She folds her wings, settling into the shadows, the wind whispering through her feathers as she bathes in silver light.
I watch her for a long moment, her words seeping into me like ink through cloth, sinking past skin, finding some quiet, dangerous place of reason.
