“Wife,” I whisper.
Her eyes flicker open, and her lips tremble, curving into a soft, fragile smile, her tears pooling on the curve of her mouth.
“Husband,” she breathes.
But nothing is ever simple for Amara and me.
I tear my eyes from her long enough to see the wound in the fabric of this realm. A portal barely holding itself open, and through that shrinking gap, I see him.
Emranth.
The servant of the Father Below grins at me, his mouth a wicked curve, his eyes brimming with malice.
“Prince Daedalus,” he croons, voice slick as oil. “What a wondrous day this is! Delivering us both a feast and an heir at once.”
My grip on Amara tightens. Over my dead body.
But Emranth’s smirk doesn’t have time to settle before his face twists with hunger. He lunges, teeth bared, claws swiping through the portal’s shrinking space, his nails raking against the edges, sending sparks of dark energy scattering. When he realizes he cannot reach us, his mouth splits, a cavernous, yawning maw that stretches too wide, too deep, endless.
And from its depths, I hear them.
Screeches like shattered glass, a chorus of shrill, keening hunger. Then they come. A legion of winged horrors, bursting from his throat like he is regurgitating the void itself, their bodies sleek, their eyes burning with void-light. They dive toward us, talons outstretched, their cries slicing through my skull like daggers.
No time.
I seize Ashen’s mane in one hand, cup Amara’s jaw in the other, and with a single thought—go—the void rips open around us.
The world implodes in sound, Emranth’s screech of rage swallowed in the rupture, the beasts howling as the darkness folds over them, sealing them away.
And then we are gone.
***
It is the squawks of the seabirds that pull me from unconsciousness. My eyes flicker open, and for a brief, weightless moment, my mind is blank. A slate wiped clean by salt air and sun. The world is nothing but the rhythmic crash of waves, the burn of heat on my skin.
Then Amara screams.
The sound cracks through me, and everything comes rushing back.
I bolt upright, twisting toward her voice, my body moving before thought can catch up. I scramble across the wooden deck, hands slipping on the damp boards, heart hammering as she screams again.
She is on her back, legs splayed wide, her full, heavy belly rising and falling with shuddered breaths. The silk of her dress fans around her like the petals of a wilting flower, once a delicate shade of teal, now soaked in deep crimson.
Blood. So much blood.
Solena kneels between Amara’s legs, her hands slick with it, working quickly, her face a mask of grim concentration.
“Breathe, Amara,” Solena instructs, her voice steady, but I hear the tight edge of concern beneath it. “Youmustbreathe.”
Ashen paces at her side, restless and low to the ground. A soft whimper escapes him as he leans down, nudging Amara’s shoulder with his nose, smoke curling faintly from his mane. The worry in his eyes is almost human. Aching, helpless. But now is not the time for sentiment. I will spare him the sight of her suffering. With a flick of my wrist, he growls, a sound of protest more than defiance, before dissolving into a plume of smoke, leaving only the echo of his sorrow behind.
Orios and Reon hover nearby, their gazes dark with worry, while Zyphoro kneels at Amara’s side, clutching her trembling hand. My sister looks up at me, and I see it in her eyes before she even speaks.
This iswrong.
Not how it should be.
I can feel it too, the unnatural energy thrumming in the air, thick as storm clouds. Amara’s belly istoo full, her body straining under the weight of a pregnancy that should not be this far along. The days apart have felt endless, but this…this is not right.
