I shoot Max a curious glance, and she adds, “Iris and Lori are the same person, right?”
Elio grimaces like nothing could be further from the truth, but he finally nods. “Lori is possessed by Iris’s dark soul, and I’m too weak—too weak to take them alone.”
He grabs the mallet off the floor. “We need backup.”
Elio staggers toward the wall and braces both palms against the nearest pane of glass, freezing it solid in an instant. With a single shove, the pane shatters. The pieces crunch under hisweight, leaving bloody footprints in his wake as he crosses to the throne room.
Max and I follow him to the wall of mirrors on the other side—the only ones etched with tiny golden runes in their corners.
These are the real mirrors allowing travel to and from this castle, but they answer only to our blood. Good thing our father never managed to ward them against us.
How did I miss that before? How could I forget about my father’s torture chamber?
Elio summons an ice dagger from the ether and slices open his palm.
Blood wells immediately, and he draws a series of runes across the mirrors. The golden wards flare brightly, resisting at first, then begin to shimmer.
“Damian Morpheus Sombra, I pray to you,” he croaks.
His voice echoes through the throne room.
“Shadow King, I implore you.”
He drops to his knees, both his palms pressed against the glass, clearly winded and perilously close to passing out.
“Lori is in grave danger.” He bows his head. “I need your help, old friend. If only for one last time.”
I hold my breath, but sure enough, his prayer is answered.
A white-haired woman carrying a crossbow breaks out of the glass first, an emerald-and-white shadow mask protecting her eyes. Darkness drapes over her shoulders, and though I’ve never met her before, there’s no mistaking who she must be.
The Shadow Queen.
Then comes Devi, her masked gaze sweeping through the throne room with her usual confidence. Her bite of power is reminiscent of the time when she was Queen, and I realize she’s found her way back to her crown.
Damian is next, his onyx mask iridescent and freckled with polished glass. His hunting bow is already drawn, and the clawmarks in his uniform reinforce the notion that the sceawere has become very dangerous indeed.
And finally?—
I haven’t seen her since we faked her death, and the sight of her peels away what’s left of the veil that kept me from my memories.
I lived my life in fear. In agony.
She survived much worse.
Looking at her now, standing strong despite everything the world has taken from her, I finally understand the difference between suffering and sacrifice.
I was wrong before.
She’s the one I let down the most.
My wife.
My Willow.
Chapter 47
Home
