I awoke, alone and disoriented, with a pounding headache. It took a long moment of pained grimacing for me to manage to open even one eye, but a single glance around the round chamber I found myself in and my heart lurched into a speeding gallop. I immediately knew where I was. And I knew nothing good could come from my being there.

The prison tower stood at the southeastern edge of the city, close enough to the arena for easy transport of slaves and convicts. The lower levels were full of cells, but the top room of the tower held a near-legendary status. Built with iron-rich stones—iron mixed into the very mortar between them—It was the same room that once held Syrsee and Mydia. And though comfortably appointed, it was as much a prison cell as the ones I knew stood below me. The only true difference was that this cell was designed to hold strong wielders of magic—a prison built to contain a Korai.

A breath of frightened, dreadful silence passed as I looked around me. A bed, a wardrobe, a table, and two simple chairs. And two doors. I jumped up, bare feet landing on the frigid, rough stone, and ran to the larger of the two, built of thick, gray iron. I beat against the terrible, magic-draining metal until my hands grew cold and numb. When no one answered, I rushed to the opposite wall, where another door opened upon a balcony hundreds of feet above the churning gray of the angry Glass Sea.

I stared down at the waves pummeling the jagged rocks below as dread crawled up my spine and sank clawed fingers into my mind. Shaking so violently that I could hardly walk a straight line, I stumbled back into the tower room and collapsed onto the floor.

I was trapped. Trapped. Trapped. Trapped. The thought rang through me, over and over. Locked in. Again. But this was so much worse than being confined to my chambers in the palace. This was a prison, and there would be no escape.

My mind emptied of everything but raw, piercing panic. And, no longer caged, my magic ran wild.

Helios’ flame ignited and heat flooded the room. Flames breathed at my fingertips and spread. Within a few heartbeats, an uncontrollable fire filled the room.

The inferno licked at the sparse furnishings, eating up the linen sheets and devouring the wooden bed frame. The fire raged, leaving me untouched, evaporating the tears that fell from my eyes before they could roll down my cheeks.

Then, when I’d finally exhausted myself, when thick drops of blood ran from my nose, the flames calmed and died.

Numb, I lowered my heated cheek to the floor and curled up into a tight ball.

For minutes or hours, perhaps even a day, I lay there, staring at the iron door. At the blackened soot that circled it, but eventually, it opened.

The face that peered in from the dim hall beyond was the last I’d expected. Fine satin slippers, the color of fresh cream, stepped over the threshold and onto the blackened stone. Corn silk curls hung limper than usual around her pale cheeks as she looked wide-eyed at the destruction.

“Solara,” I said, voice rough. I stood, wincing as my legs prickled with the return of blood flow.

Warily, she moved further into the room. “Aurora . . . What happened?”

For the first time, I truly took in the destruction I’d wrought. The bed was nothing but a still-smoking pile of blackened beams. The corner table was nothing but ash. My hands twisted in the folds of my simple dress. “I lost control.”

Solara shook her head, face crumpling as her eyes lined with silver. “So it’s true. They said your power had finally overwhelmed you, but I didn’t want to believe it.”

“Oh?” I asked bitterly. “And what else did they say?”

She looked me over and backed away a step. “That you aren’t yourself. Sibyl’s warned you for years that you have too much power, that you’re dangerous. But I never thought you’d do . . .” she waved a hand towards the bed, “all this.”

I crossed to her in a few quick steps and grabbed her by the shoulders, leaving smudges of ash on her fine cream gown. She yelped. “Don’t believe a word anyone tells you. They are all lies. Carefully worded and hidden in truth, but lies nonetheless.”

Seeing the fear in her eyes, I released her. But she had to know, had to hear this. “Solara, they’ve done something to us. Probably when we were small, too young to remember. The priestesses have hidden our magic deep inside us, locking it up so we can’t access it. But I found it. I broke through the barrier and I found it.”

She backed away again until she was only a step from the doorway. Her lips trembled. “Elysa said you’d say that. She said you were raving last night, that you tried to turn her against the priestesses and the Emperor. You became angry when she reasoned with you and you . . . you attacked her.”

I laughed, the sound half-mad. “Gods, what a story. And what else did she say?” I asked, smile growing sharp and thin. “Did she tell you why she’s grown so strong, so beautiful these past weeks? Did she tell you who really killed Leda and Soren and—” My voice cracked. I swallowed. “And Aphaea.”

She frowned, pity filling her blue eyes. “Oh, Aurora . . . Aphaea is fine. She left word. She closed the temple until another Hearthkeeper could take her place. She sent the High Priestess a note explaining that she wanted to give birth at home with her mother. She’s gone back to their village in the Narrows.”

“No. I saw her. I was with her as she took her last breath. Her baby . . .” Fear spread cold fingers through my chest. “Oh, gods, her baby. Hestia . . . I hope she’s safe.” My eyes lifted to Solara’s, beseeching. “But you can sense the truth. You know I’m telling you the truth.”

Her brow furrowed, distorting the gold mark painted there. She laid a calming hand on my arm. “Elysa said that you’d say things that feel like the truth because you believe them. But that doesn’t make them true, Aurora. It only means that you’re confused.”

“That’s what madness is,” called a cool voice from behind Solara. “Belief in the lies your mind tells you.”

My eyes shot to the open doorway. Elysa stood on the threshold, her silvery hair pulled back to highlight the sharp angles of her high cheekbones. Once, they were unflattering features that made her look too severe. Now, they only added to her strange, stark beauty. A beauty marred only by the ugly, still weeping burns dotting her cheeks and chin. Burns that I had given her trying to drive the Crone away.

Madness . . . my whole life, the priestesses had worried it would be me. Never cool, unemotional, less-talented Elysa.

My teeth flashed, fire raging beneath my skin. “Come here, sister. Your cheek looks like it hurts. Let me heal it for you.”

Her eyes narrowed, fear flitting there. “As if I’d trust you.”

“Did you come here to gloat over your victory, then? I can’t see why else you’d be here if you don’t want my help.” I met her eyes, all pretense gone. “And I can help you, Elysa. If you’ll let me.”

The Crone hated my light. Perhaps it could keep her at bay for a time until we found a way to drive her from my sister’s body completely.

Elysa’s colorless eyes burned into my own. Perhaps it was my imagination, but in that moment, I recognized something of the girl I’d known as a child—the one who was cool and detached, but desperate for love. Then her pale gaze hardened into sharpest ice. “I pity you,” she said. “These delusions are dangerous. But I’ve come to forgive you. You weren’t yourself last night.”

I laughed. But then, over Elysa’s shoulder, another figure appeared.

My heart was suddenly held in a squeezing vise.

Varian followed Elysa into the room, eyes watching me carefully as if I were a frightened doe and he the hunter, afraid I would bolt before he could aim for my heart.

My gaze fell to the blackened stone floor. His handsome face had been impossible to live without only weeks before. Now, I couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“How are you feeling?” Varian asked.

“I’d feel much better if you’d let me out of this cage,” I answered.

His lips thinned. Beside him, Elysa tutted her tongue. “Don’t worry, Aurora. The Trials will be over tomorrow. Then everything will be as it should.”

My blood chilled. “Tomorrow.” I turned pleading eyes to Solara. Please, I begged down the bond. Tell Sibyl that Elysa lies. Help me get out of here.

She only stared at me, unhearing and uncomprehending. I reached for her mind again and found . . . nothing. The bridge between us was suddenly cold, slippery. A bare brush, then gone, falling through my fingers like water through a sieve.

I turned to Elysa, cold fear transforming into blazing anger. “What have you done to her? Why can’t I reach her?”

Elysa’s lips lifted. She hooked an arm around Solara’s waist and drew her towards the door. “We’ll pray for you, sister.”

Rage crashed through me like a tidal wave. I struck out, lunging for Elysa, hands clawing for her face.

My fire, now untethered, was too big, too wild a thing. I’d never been given the chance to learn to control it. The endless pool of light and flame and life ebbed and flowed with my emotions, and now it flooded through me as it had when I’d awoken trapped in this room.

The hand reaching for Elysa was incandescent. Flame flared to life, dancing white-hot between my fingertips.

Solara whimpered, drawing back to the hall, eyes round, silvered pools.

Elysa’s triumphant smirk faltered. Darkness filled her eyes.

Varian grabbed me. Fingers dug into the flesh of my arms with bruising strength. He lifted me off the ground and I kicked and screamed like the mad creature they all thought me to be as both my sisters scurried from the tower room.

The iron door closed behind them with a deep, resounding thud.

Despite the fire still raging at my fingertips, Varian pulled me tight against him. The smell of singed cloth and hair filled the room. “Aurora,” he groaned. “Aurora. Stop!”

I was hurting him, burning him. As if a bucket of water had been thrown over me, the flames died. The rage and heat subsided with a suddenness that left me sagging against his solid chest like a rag doll.

I let him hold me, let him whisper soothing, meaningless words against my hair, too tired and heart heavy to do much else.

After I’d proven myself calm, Varian released me. His tunic sleeves were scorched, holes burned clean through to his red, blistered skin beneath. I took a shaking breath and encircled his thick forearms with my hands. A different light filtered through my fingers, rosy and warm. He hissed at the healing pain, but when my hands fell away, the skin was a new, healthy pink.

Varian looked around the room, taking in the destroyed furniture, and frowned. He sighed, a hand moving over his shorn hair. “Well, this at least, we can do something about.”

Varian had exchanged low words with the guards outside the door and sometime later, slaves had come to carry away the destroyed furniture and bring replacements. Others had followed, these bearing food and wine.

Varian gestured to the freshly set table. “Sit,” he ordered, eyes cold. “From what I’ve heard . . . and seen, you’ve used a great deal of power. You need to eat.”

I considered refusing, but the yeasty scent of the fresh bread wafted through the air and my stomach twisted in an aching, hungry knot. I sank into the chair, not looking at him, and took a hesitant bite. Then I took another and another.

Varian watched me. Silently, he filled two glasses with wine.

I devoured my half of the meal and a healthy portion of his own. When I was done, he pushed the glass toward me. The ruby liquid swirled, dark as blood. I folded my hands in my lap.

His icy eyes held me. “Not thirsty?”

Truly, I was. The back of my head was sore where Elysa had slammed me into the marble of the temple floor. I craved the burn of wine to dull the pain, but I didn’t dare.

Varian drained his glass. “It’s true, then. My father . . .”

“You expect me to believe that you didn’t know?”

As soon as the words were out, guilt rushed in. I knew him better than that. If Varian had known, he would have done something.

Varian’s breath came a bit harder. One hand rested on the table. I watched as it clenched, knuckles going white. “Of course, I didn’t,” he said through a tight jaw. “The priestesses insisted that your power was maturing, that it was too much for your body to safely control.” His hand relaxed then, and he let out a hissing sigh. “But I should have known. I should have recognized the signs.”

And just by the look of him, I understood. “Your mother.”

He nodded. Eyes tight, he refilled his glass. “When she displeased him, she would often fall ill. She’d sleep for days, wouldn’t be herself. Until—”

Until the Emperor had killed her. Siphoned every last drop of the magic that was as much her life force as the blood in her veins.

Again, Varian nudged the glass towards me. “Drink it, Aurora. It’s not tainted, and you look like you need it.”

I reached for the wine and took a small sip, relaxing a bit as the pleasant warmth filled my belly.

“You don’t need to fear my father,” he said, staring into the depths of his wine. “I made you a promise, Aurora, and I’m going to do everything I can to keep it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I finally said, letting a flicker of my mother’s light warm my hand. I watched it turn my fingers an incandescent pink. It was so much easier to call now that the barrier was gone. It was like breathing. The magic danced between my fingers and for the first time in a long time I felt some semblance of freedom. This was mine and I wasn’t going to let anyone take it from me. “Your father doesn’t scare me anymore.”

I surprised myself with my last words, though I realized as soon as I’d spoken that they were true.

Varian watched my hands, the fine, hard planes of his face softened in the pink glow. “But your sister does, doesn’t she?” He took another drink of wine. “And maybe I do too.”

My hand fell to my lap, the light gone.

“You don’t need to fear Elysa,” he said, staring down into the depths of his glass. “Or me.”

Despite the warmth already spreading through me from the wine, a chill settled in my chest. His words felt unsure, the taste of them a bitter mixture of hopes and half-truths. “You asked Elysa for help. Why? What she’s done . . .” My voice cracked, Aphaea’s skeletal features flashing through my mind.

He frowned, his gaze dropping. “I . . . I didn’t realize what she’d done. Not until the Second Trial, when I finally tracked down Aidoneus in Arachne’s lair. I was going to kill him, but his words gave me pause. He suggested my father had something to do with Soren’s death. I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted Aidon to be the killer. It would have evened the score between us—it would have dulled some hard truths I’ve had to live with if he had been guilty. But of course, he wasn’t. But I knew that—all along, I think.

“After that, it didn’t take me long to realize that Elysa must also be involved. They’ve both grown too strong—have changed too much in the last few months.” He laughed then, the sound hollow and bitter. “Aidon has always thought me blind and stupid. Well, perhaps I once was, but no longer.”

That took me aback. Varian had always seemed sharp as a whetted blade to me. “Why would he think that?”

He flashed me a wolfish grin, his eyes hard. “You forget, darling. I’ve known him since I was a boy—since I was an angry child who’d just lost his mother. When my father sent me to train with the Myridians, I was a loose cannon. I let my rage and hurt control my power and my mind. Aidon taught me differently.

“The signs were there, all out in the open. As soon as I knew what to look for, I understood. They aren’t really trying to hide what they’re doing—not anymore. Not now that they are so close to getting what they want.” His smile tightened. “But my father might soon find that he can still be surprised after all these long centuries.”

The blood drained from my face. “What are you talking about?”

He threw back the contents of his glass in one long swallow, then placed it on the table between us, his hand clenching and unclenching around the stem. “As you clearly already know, my darling, I approached Elysa. We’ve come to an agreement.”

I set my own glass on the table beside his, afraid that it would tumble from my trembling hands. “When?” I breathed.

He grimaced, looking away. “You know when.”

Of course, I did. After I’d tried to barter with him for Aidon’s life. One of his men saved for the chance to save Aidon. I closed my eyes, swallowing thickly. “You did this to punish me.”

I heard him stand—felt the air move as he came to kneel before me. He took my chin in his hands and I opened my eyes. “No,” he said when I finally met his desperate, earnest gaze. “Not to punish you. To protect you. He only wants you so he can use you against Doria. Against your own people—against me.”

“And what was the bargain you struck?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice even.

His eyes hardened, a shadow crossing his features. “That isn’t important. What is important is that you’ll be safe. You’ll be mine.”

You’ll be mine.

I pushed his hand away, knocking over my chair in my haste to get up—to get away from him. “You’ve no idea what you’ve done. It isn’t just Elysa you’ve bargained with. That creature inside her will want something too. And whatever it is, I don’t think it’s a price that will be easily paid.”

He stood, following me. “The Crone, you mean. Her demands were actually the easiest to meet. It was Elysa who drove a hard bargain. But that is for me to worry about. You need to rest. Let your mind and body heal and prepare yourself for the move to Hyperion. The Third Trial is tomorrow. I’ll face Aidoneus in the arena at noon, then he will trouble us no longer. We’ll be wed at dawn the following morning.”

I stood, silent, hands clenched so tightly at my sides that my nails pierced the skin of my palms. He spoke as if I needed to refresh myself before an important dinner, not recover from the weeks of lies and deaths since the Trials began and the horrors of the previous night. And Aidon? I prayed that he would do as I asked—that he would find a way to be gone from the city before dawn found him.

But still, after everything that Varian had admitted, still I could not believe he grasped the truth of Elysa’s sins.

I turned to him, my voice near a whisper when I asked, “Do you know what she did last night? Your father was there. He brought her a sacrifice, but do you truly know all of it?”

Color rose high on his cheeks and he did not meet my gaze, looking instead toward the balcony door and the dusky sea beyond. “It had to be done. She needs power to fulfill her end of the bargain. These deaths were an unfortunate necessity. But you saved the child, my darling. She’s been given over to a wet nurse and I will ensure she wants for nothing. Find comfort in that.”

“Find comfort in that?” I repeated hollowly, barely registering that he’d just assuaged my fears about the child. My mind ran wild, unable to focus in my shock until one piece of the puzzle suddenly fell into place with startling clarity. The knowledge struck me like a physical blow.

“You don’t need her help in securing my hand,” I breathed, backing away from him, circling around the table so it stood as a barrier between us. “Not really. You already hold a strong advantage over Aidon and there are other ways you could ensure your victory. He is an enemy of Doria, after all, what Dorian would denounce you for unfair play against him? She promised you something else. Something more. She promised you the emp—”

Before the words could pass my lips, Varian exploded.

One mighty swing of his arm and the table flew, banging against the wall and breaking into splinters. The carafe and wine glasses crashed to the floor, shattering.

Then he was there, nothing more between us. His body pressed against mine, backing me into the rough stone wall. One hand was pressed across my mouth, and the other loosely circled my throat, keeping me in place. His eyes raged like the blue hearts of the hottest flame.

“Enough!” he hissed through gritted teeth. A vein throbbed at his temple. He turned a nervous eye toward the closed door, where a guard waited outside. After a moment of tense silence as he listened for any sign that we’d been overheard, he turned back to me. “You’ve proven yourself a fool with the Myridian, but surely even you, my darling, are wise enough to know that some words cannot be spoken aloud!”

I blinked up at him, shocked, though he must have taken the movement for understanding. His gaze moved from mine to the hand around my throat. Though his grip was loose enough not to hurt, still, the way he held me promised violence. The color drained from his face. He removed his hand from my mouth and lowered the one at my throat to rest on my waist, though he kept me pinned to the wall with his body.

His eyes moved over me, and one hand gently probed the place where the back of my head met the wall. “You’re not hurt,” he said, more to comfort himself than me. “You’re alright. We’re alright. I didn’t hurt you.”

His forehead drifted down to rest against mine. His breath was warm on my cheek as he said over and over and over again, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’re alright. I didn’t hurt you.”

I stood motionless, allowing him to cradle my cheek, to press a gentle kiss to my mouth, though my own lips were carved ice. He moved away from me, releasing me from the prison of his body only to take my hand and pull me down onto the single wooden chair that still stood upright. Then he fell to his knees before me, embracing me, kissing my hair, whispering words I was too numb to hear.

I gazed over his shoulder at what remained of the table. Strawberries lay on the floor, covered in shimmering shards of glass as if sprinkled with sugar. The bread, dyed crimson, lay in a puddle of spilled wine that pooled across the uneven stone like blood.

Like Aphaea's blood had spilled from her wrists to the carved moons on the floor of the undercroft.

That was the price Varian had paid. He’d bartered the blood of innocents, not for me, but for a crown. For an empire. For the strength to kill his own father and take it all for himself.

And I decided, then and there, that I would die before I let him claim it.