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“And so we come full circle. Why should I care about the accords anymore? Why should I care about protecting a people who did nothing to protect my—” He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “They did not protect Dentarius.”

“But Dentarius did protect them, Uncle. He protected her.” Kit’s voice was barely more than a whisper, though she knew the king could hear her perfectly clearly. Her gaze went to her hands, and she tried not to think about how they had looked, covered in Dentarius’s blood after he took the lethal blow that had been meant for Elyria. After already having spent his power saving the human king’s life on the night of the attack. “If we do not find Elyria, his death will have been for nothing. Is that what you want?”

Lachlandris inhaled through his nose, pausing for a moment . . . then collapsed back onto his throne as though the effort of remaining upright was simply too great. With a low grunt, he gestured for Kit to continue—a sign of begrudging acceptance that had hope sparking in her chest. He may have been angry, may have been grieving, but he was not so far gone as to completely refuse logic, and Kit was grateful for that.

“And because my uncle is not a stupid king, despite what you might wish to believe about him,” Kit had said to Elyria that morning, so many months ago now, as the two of them had griped about waiting for their diplomatic delegation to finally be dispatched to Havensreach.

“Not stupid, maybe. But not the smartest either,” Elyria had replied, and Kit didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry at the memory. Maybe both.

Kit’s breath hitched, the reminder of Elyria’s melodic voice hitting her like a bolt to the chest. She choked back the sound that threatened to burst from her, steadying herself as she addressed King Lachlandris once more.

“Will you lend your support, Your Majesty? Will you help me fight Malakar’s darkness for all Arcanis?”

The king sat up. Brushed his thick twisted braids back from his shoulders. Picked at the embroidered cuff of his sleeve. “I will take it under consideration,” he said dismissively, and Kit’s heart plummeted into her stomach.

Several moments of tense silence followed. Well, for Kit, they were tense. For her uncle, who had apparently given up any interest in the conversation, they were simply silent. And Kit realized that his earlier gesture, which she had interpreted as a sort of acceptance of her plea, had instead been the moment he shut her out.

Kit’s hands trembled. She didn’t trust herself to speak again—or at least, didn’t trust herself not to push past the bounds of whatever small protections being the king’s niece provided—so she turned on her heel and stormed out of the throne room, the echo of her boots timed perfectly with the thudding beat of her heart.

She didn’t get far though. No, the instant she rounded the corner at the end of the hall, she skidded to a stop. And all her righteous anger at her uncle’s inaction, at his foolish, misplaced rage, dissipated.

Because there, leaning against a tall marble pillar, the portrait of indifference, was . . .

“Finally,” said Sephone, stretching both arms over her half-shaven, lightning-tattooed head. “It’s about stars-damned time.”

9

LIFELINE

ELYRIA

She should have gone.

Should have immediately run.

Should have taken that unlocked door, whether purposefully left as such or simply the result of Petra’s carelessness, as a sign.

But Elyria Lightbreaker, as it turned out, was at least a little bit stupid now.

Because when she found herself staring down a long, dark, empty corridor, she did none of those things.

She wasn’t entirely sure if it was the sheer surprise that had her hesitating. Perhaps it was the fact that she lacked any sort of plan—and any sort of power—that had her quietly shutting the door almost as quickly as she’d opened it.

It certainly couldn’t have been fear.

Fear that it was a trap, specifically designed to see what she would do.

Fear that she would only make it six steps outside her door before some other sanguinagi guard caught and punished her.

Fear that it was indeed an honest mistake, and silly, sweet, fragile, human Petra would actually be the one punished for making it.

No, no. Elyria didn’t care about that.

She couldn’t care about that.

Except, stars damn it all, she did.

Elyria pressed her back against the closed door and slid down until she was sitting on the floor, knees drawn to her chest. “Noble coward,” she muttered to herself. “You don’t owe her anything.” But even as she said it, she brushed the backs of her fingers down the length of her forearm, against the smooth skin there that Petra had just recently finished treating. It turned out the girl had some talent as a saint, actually. So much so that Elyria was left wondering why she hadn’t been the one treating her wounds from the very beginning.