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I squint at one of the golden things. It blinks back at me.
Eyes. Countless golden eyes.
Casvian draws a breath through his teeth. From all around us come the sounds of beasts: low panting and snarling, the click of claws on stone, the rustling of fur. Golden-eyed monsters, hundreds of them, awake and closing in.
This is a nightmare, and I know whose it is.
“Izamal?”
A whimper. I step toward the sound before realizing it came from no human.
An admonishment comes in growls, screeches, hisses.Who does she call for? She doesn’t call for you. She knows you not.
I’d braced myself, but the condemnation isn’t meant for me.
“Izamal?” Casvian calls. “It’s me. Don’t fall for it, you hear me?”
I blink at him, at the worry in his voice.
They know not what hungers within you, the thing you have fed with every lie, every moment you set your vengeance aside. Will you show them what you are? Will you show them the writhing dark?
“Stop it!” I shout.
I hear another whimper, and this time I run toward it. “Izamal?”
A shape peels itself off the floor. A beast from storybooks: wildcat from a place I’ve never seen and a time beyond what I know. Two curved saber teeth glint and gleam from its jaw, as thick and sharp as daggers. Silver fur ripples over limbs thick with muscle. A dream creature with mournful golden eyes. Distressingly human eyes.
Casvian drops to his knees and grabs the beast’s head. “Snap out of it, Dazera.Right now.”
The fur peels back and reveals Izamal’s face, looking wild and terrified. He’s gone deeper than Cas did; he looked into himself and got lost. Casvian gasps, and the beast’s face folds back over Izamal’s.
The monsters press closer, and their beastly voices grow louder.
Never again will you turn back. Never again will you give in to your weakness.
You were born with the gift of power—now you will accept it.
You were taught rage—now you will exercise it.
The beast within you hungers—now you must let it feed.
“Don’t listen, Iz,” I say, dropping to my knees as Cas throws an arm out, keeping me from getting closer. “Please. What she offers—this power isn’t worth it.”
I reach for him, and the beast growls, its pupils narrowing to slits, snapping its fangs with enough force to break bone. I jerk away, scrambling back.
At once the creature recoils. “Stay away,” Izamal says, surfacing,his voice tapering into a rumble as he disappears once more into the animal, he and it fighting for dominance. “I can’t hold it back,” he gets out through teeth only half human. “I won’t.”
“Hold what?” I whisper.
His eyes look out at me from the beast’s face, wet with tears.
The Queen’s gift beats under my heart, and I taste the darkness within Izamal, a bitter and scorching hatred; all the small injustices he’s witnessed and holds in his heart where they crackle like embers; a cruel, oily fury that paints his insides, one that calls him a coward for doing so little; a deep chasm-like loathing for those who have power and don’t do more, who hurt those with less, who are responsible for his sister’s death. Dalca.
I taste how desperately he wants what the Storm promises, even as he fears it—he aches with yearning for the power to punish, to have his vengeance, to be stronger than the cruel. He wants to become the most fearsome thing of all.
Under all of that is the smallest flicker of something else: he doesn’t want to be hurt ever again.
I suck in a breath. “You won’t hurt me.”
