My heart hammers, and I fight to keep a grimace from surfacing.
What about Nick?
Does he know about him, too?
If my mother told Ethan everything, then he would know she had twins. He knows there was a second child.
“My son’s wife has become the most dangerous revolutionary since the first Red Queen chased your kind from the Red Forest. My son’s magic runs in her veins, and she’s found ways to use it to push her powers beyond comprehension. I’m afraid she’s become quite unstoppable.”
He swirls the wine in his goblet.
“She’s already killed three Fae monarchs this year alone and destroyed the Eternal Chalice, sending Faerie into chaos and teetering dangerously close to civil war.”
He lets that news simmer, but I’m still caught up in his confidence that my mother shared all her secrets with him. I need to know if that’s true.
“Speaking of the Reds. You are their ally, yes?”
He takes a measured sip of wine.
“The Red Queen is no friend of mine, but I had to defend my borders against the rebels. The Summer King isuseless.”
He sounds almost defensive, as though he doesn't want me judging him for his dealings with the Reds, and that gives me the opening I need.
“When we crossed paths with them, a friend of mine was mistaken for a Tidecaller,” I say carefully. “They brought him with them, and I was hoping to ask for your help arranging his safe return.”
“Anything for you, my dear.”
His answer comes without hesitation, but is almost dismissive, as though this is hardly the time to discuss such trivial things as my brother’s life.
“Now, as I was saying, Willow needs to be stopped.”
He’s not talking to his son, but staring directly at me.
“She is too powerful for me to vanquish alone. She’s harnessed dangerous, outlawed Mist Fae technology, and I suspect she can’t be killed by traditional means.”
My stomach knots.
“But you, Maxine…” He leans forward. “You’re special.”
E grips my hand even tighter.
“Magic. Swords. Even end-all blades are instruments meant to follow patterns already set, and enact what the Gods decided long ago.” His ice-blue eyes lock onto mine. “But to change the very fabric of fate, you need fire.”
My pulse pounds at my temple.Fire.
“A fire born not to create comfort, but to cauterize. To change destiny itself. To free tangled threads, repair the pattern, andseal the frayed edges. A fire meant to permanently erase the Gods’ mistakes.”
A chill races down my spine.
“Most kings and queens think of immortality as the ultimate prize, but it’s such a puerile endeavor. Everyone craves it, but even the Mist King always lacked the power to truly alter his fate.”
A flicker of greed gleams in his ice-blue eyes as he tips back his wine glass and drains it. “The Gods spin their yarns carelessly. They knot lives together, tear them apart, leave loose ends trailing through centuries, then walk away from the damage. When the weave grows unstable, when respect and tradition are abandoned, and the pattern threatens to unravel entirely, something must be done to restore order.”
His voice hardens. “There are things even an end-all blade cannot kill, like Death itself. That task falls to the Flame of Fate.”
My stomach twists.
“It isn’t a fire that can be summoned or forged. It cannot be taught, shared, or passed on.”
