My thorns wither to the earth. Briars I dug deep into the earth, raised up through the bones of Castletree to protect Kel, to protect this place I love…
I can’t feel them anymore.
They shrivel, curling in on themselves. My beautiful briars. The only good magic I’ve ever had.
Gone.
Castletree groans, the structure shaking without the support of my briars. The ground quakes, and I nearly lose my footing.
Sira’s scream splits the air. I lift my head, breath ragged, every bone in my body aching. And my own scream echoes inside me.
Anya’s spell stopped before she completed it.
I’m still fae. Still me.
At least most of me is. My briars are gone, and my bargain with Kel. My heart aches.
But there’s still magic running through my veins. I’m weak. What magic I have left feels like an empty well, and I don’t know how long until it refills.
Kel’s got his hands on my shoulders, his voice frantic as he pushes my hair out of my face. I want to tell him I’m fine. But I’m not. Not even close.
My mother still has Rosalina at knifepoint.
The shadow blade presses to her neck, kissing her skin. Sira’s hand trembles, not from fear but from fury.
She lost control over meandAnya.
And the only reason she still lives is because she’s using Rosalina as a shield.
I glance toward the others. Farron, Ezryn, Dayton, Justus—they’re all frozen in place, rage burning in their eyes but held in place by that one command: if you move, she bleeds.
Anya lies motionless in George’s arms. A queen made mortal. And Castletree groans, more of my thorns withering.
I’ve failed them.
Sira bends close to Rosalina, and I catch the wild shine in my mother’s eyes. “You stole my bow,” she snarls. “You banished my god. You turned my queen into a mortal. But I still have you, child of the Above.”
I meet Rosalina’s gaze across the wreckage.
Even now, with blood on her throat and shadows at her heels, she looks at me like I’m something worth saving.
“She’s not yours, Mother,” I rasp. “She’s mine.”
Sira sneers. “Then choose. Come with your mother and this girl, or die in this collapsing castle, weak and magicless.” She leans in closer. “My horde is coming. They will not stop until every last one of you is dead.”
Shadows rise around us, licking at the stones, hungering.
“What can you do?” she croons. “Your little thorns are gone, Prince of Nothing. You have no choice but to return to me.”
The choice she’s always offered me. And the one I’ve always taken. Back to her, back to the Below.
Maybe I would follow again…if a beautiful human girl hadn’t crawled through a rosebush to reach me.
If a wild Winter boy hadn’t shown me the path beyond the thorns.
If a stoic knight hadn’t shown me how to use cleverness in a game.
If I hadn’t laughed, truly laughed, at the sun-haired gladiator’s ridiculous jokes.
