Page 110 of Prince of the Sun

The elves shift in stance, readying themselves for battle. The army on the mountain draws their weapons. Daerios and Berendir step in front of Cara, Michael, and me, ushering us far behind them, out of the line of battle. As subtly as possible, I inch further away from Cara and my brother. I need to be far enough away that no one can stop me from what I’m about to do.

Because I know a solution that will solve everything. What will drive the Shadow Elves away, save Elaërion, and spare Daerios his punishment.

I draw the Shadow Sword.

Cara glances over at me. Believing I’m preparing myself to fight, she nods once, then turns back to face the opposition, drawing her bow and arrow. Her blind trust makes me ache. I know I’m about to cause my best friend an immense amount of pain, and it’s the last thing I want to do. But if it saves her life…

I will do whatever it takes to save the people I love.

Which is why, when the tension finally breaks—when the Shadow Elves rush toward the mountain army, when battle cries echo into the night, and the skria sweep downward, and the urrath race forward with maws open and claws swinging, and the first clash of metal on metal breaks through the air, signaling the start of a bloodbath—

When everyone’s attention is on anything but me, I hold out the Shadow Sword, flip it around so that its end points toward my chest, and plunge it into my heart.

Pain.

Searing, blinding, electric pain.

Chest exploding. Chest on fire.

No sight. No sound. Crumpled bones andpain, pain, pain, pain…

It could be seconds. It could be hours. At some point, I think to open my eyes.

I look for the gore of war. I look for bodies on the ground, urrath gnawing on elves, the people I love dead on the ground. I see nothing. The air around me is a blinding white.

I look down at my body.

I have no body.

I have become pure sunlight.

“Quinn.”

His voice rips through the pain, the black. It’s the only shard of reality that can slice through to me. His voice. His panic. His grief.

“No,” says that voice. “No, no, no.”

Strong arms slip around my body.

I have a body? I exist outside pain?

His voice turns to raw, strangled screams. “NO. QUINN. PLEASE, NO.”

The black takes me once more.

Pain.

A different kind, this time. Muted. Aching.

“Quinn?”

There it is again. The voice. His voice. The last one I heard before the world disappeared. My lips tug upward of their own accord at the warmth, the comfort I feel just from the sound ofhim.

“She’s smiling,” says a different voice. A higher one. Familiar, and just as comforting—but in a different way. It’s a voice I haven’t heard in some time. “I think she’s smiling. That’s a good sign, right?”

My lips crack open. My voice, when it comes out, is like cracking egg shells. “Mom?”

“Oh, my God.” A small, warm hand closes around my fingers. “Quinn?”