“Calm yourself, Queen Veloria,” a voice soothes. “Breathe.”
A long, shuddering sob. Another scream, more ragged, more broken.
I lift my gaze, and my breath leaves me in a sharp, brutal exhale.
There she is.
My mother.
Lying upon a stone altar, her body wracked with pain, the same gown I remember from her portrait now soaked in blood.
Cloaked figures surround her. They do not move to help her.
They only watch.
I step forward with urgency, only to slam into an invisible wall. The force of it knocks me back, a blinding snap of magic striking my forehead. I stagger, cursing, my vision swimming. My fingers press against my skin where the unseen barrier struck me.
But the discomfort vanishes when my mother screams again and a blade arcs through the air.
I slam my fists against the barrier as it comes down upon her.
I have seen war. I have seen the ruin left in its wake, human and Fae alike, bleeding out upon the battlefield, their bodies torn, their souls unmade.
Butthis… thisI cannot watch.
I do not want this memory.
I wrench my gaze away, my breath ragged, my throat tight with something dangerously close to a sob. The chanting stops, and so does the screaming. For a long, terrible moment, there is only silence.
Then, a sound cuts through it.
Not my mother’s voice.
Not a cry of pain.
But the sharp, trembling wail of a newborn.
My heart slams against my ribs. My hands tremble as I force myself to look.
My mother’s arms dangle limply over the edge of the altar, fingers pale, lifeless. Her chest does not rise. Does not fall. And in the arms of the cloaked figures, not one child, buttwo.
I do not have time to comprehend it.
Because above them, a darkness swirls. Slow at first, then faster, hungrier.
The void.
The figures retreat, their reverence turning to fear, and within the churning abyss, a pair of burning white eyes lock onto mine.
It is no longer a vision. It isreal. As real as the rain. As real as the pain.
No.
What have I done?
Heseesme.
And if he sees me… he canfindme.
