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“The Sorrows.” The words slip free as the memory does, breaking from some long-forgotten chamber of my mind.
“They are guarded secrets,” Lyxander says. “Capable of moving an individual from one gate to another—with conditions.”
Shivering, I step closer to the gate. “And those are?”
“Only members of the royal bloodlines can activate the gates. And only escorts accompanied directly can step safely out,” Lyxander says. He pauses, then adds, “I didn’t think you knew of them.”
“My brother and I stumbled onto the one in the Sorrows once, when we were young. We were playing hide-and-seek.”
I reach out toward the only familiar mark.
Blood.
“I recognize this one.” My voice pitches lower, edged with curiosity now as my gaze lifts to take in the others. All unfamiliar, like the strange marks that Keres had carved throughout the Vilean Court. “But I’ve never seen the others.”
“The Anemoi and Harpaurai weren’t the only things to disappear after the war.” His voice drops too. “Many marks were destroyed. The ones that were too dangerous to remain common knowledge.”
“How does it work?” I ask.
“Like any other goiteía, it functions through intent. The gates can only be activated by blood, and the passage claims a fragment of your soul magic as payment.”
“But how do you make sure you arrive at the right place?”
“You envision the place you wish to be. Hold it firmly in your mind, then step through.”
“A demonstration might make it clearer,” Silas says as he steps up to the gate.
Silas produces a small blade, its edge gleaming with fresh polish in the low light of the chamber. He pricks his finger, and a single bead of blood wells against his pale skin.
I hold my breath as he presses it to the blood mark on the gate. The crimson smear shimmers as it coats the intricate etching, which then lights up in threads of gold that spiral outward like veins of molten metal.
The air hums, faintly at first and then stronger, vibrating with a power that seems to sink into my bones.
The gate seems to sigh as it opens. Not like a door swinging on hinges, but as if the fabric of reality itself parts within its arch, revealing a swirling veil of air and pale light. The chamber beyond is still visible, and as Silas steps into the archway, I expect to see him simply walk through to the other side.
But in the space of a heartbeat, he’s gone.
All the air in my lungs rushes out of me. The shimmering veil fades, the glow bleeding from the marks etched in the stone, until the only light left in the chamber is from the moon shining above.
Though I’ve always harbored a dislike for it, I know goiteía are capable of incredible things—impossible things—if one is willing to pay the price. And yet, even with that knowledge, I had never imagined something like this. A gateway carved from stone and magic, capable of bending time and space.
Before me is a doorway that could take me back to Kallias and Nyssa.
A doorway that could take me home.
Part Three
Chapter 39
Aella
The sun has set on Aethernight.
My gaze traces my reflection in the polished surface of the mirror, sweeping over the braid woven around my head like a crown, securing the soft, loose waves left to cascade down my back. The shimmering white fabric of the tunic and pants ripples with each careful breath, and my lashes are darkened with a smudge of kohl.
But I can’t ignore the hollowness beneath, nor the empty space where wings should be.
Behind me, Titaia adjusts a stray curl and smooths the line of the tunic at my shoulder, her touch gentle. She insisted on helping me prepare for tonight, even though she’ll be staying in the tower. But she’s grown more pensive as the time passes, as though something darker is dimming the light playfulness I’ve come to appreciate her for. We meet each other’s eyes in the glass, and she tilts her head, studying me in return. “Are you all right?”
