The last of the day’s light played on the water in ribbons of gold and burning orange, turning the white-capped Glass Sea into a churning ocean of molten metal.

Another glowing pool of liquid ore filled my mind—silver that danced with self-satisfied mischief.

I shivered, more from the thought than from autumn’s chill, strong on the south-facing balcony of my tower room.

Fingers gripped around the iron rail, my hands had long gone numb from the magic-nulling metal, but my ears strained, searching over the noise of the sea for any distant sound from the twilit city beyond—anything that might give me some clue as to the outcome of the Third Trial.

The waves crashed on the cliffs below, gulls cried as they dipped toward the sea, but the winds brought me no hint of Aidon.

I’d spent hours pacing before the balcony door. Heedless of the chilly breeze that buffeted around the tower room, I’d spent the entire day listening to the city. The arena, only a few streets from where my prison stood, had been alive with the sounds of a crowd since the morning, but the distant rumble of voices changed to a thunderous roar as the sun reached its apex. At noon, the Trial had begun.

For hours, it seemed, the crowd reacted with boos and cheers, heckles and cries of both victory and dismay. Then came a strange, heavy silence.

I’d listened in vain all afternoon, all evening, but the Trial was long over.

The waiting was torture. Everyone in the city knew my fate but me. Knew what had happened to Aidon—whether he had fallen or won or escaped like I’d begged him to. Every moment they kept me in the dark was doubtless deliberate. Yet another punishment for the intractable Korai.

But then the Ether shifted, like the tightening in the air before lightning strikes.

The heavy iron door swung open and the taint of her oily darkness—heavy and hungry, angry and cruel—rolled down the bond and into my mind. Heels clicked against stone, her steps filling the silence.

Elysa stopped a few steps away from the balcony doors, her icy gaze digging into my spine.

I released my grip on the rail and flexed my fingers. Magic rushed back into my veins.

“It’s a long way down, sister,” she said. Her tongue clicked in mock concern. “And look at the jagged rocks at the bottom . . . Not thinking of jumping, are we?”

My eyes still on the gloaming horizon, I chuckled. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? It would make your own ambitions easier to reach.”

“It makes little difference to me,” she answered, voice flat. “Once Varian holds your leash, you’ll be malleable enough. And when you’ve outlived your usefulness?” A long beat of silence. “Well, I can be patient.”

That certainly rang true. The Crone had poured poison into her ears for years. They’d planned this since she was little more than a child, though what Elysa truly hoped to gain, I couldn’t guess. Surely, Varian was not all she wanted. And the Crone had waited millennia for this chance. I doubted she’d be satisfied with Elysa’s plans.

I turned back into the room to find Elysa lazily moving about, touching things at random—the rough wall, a simple gown hanging from a dressing screen, a silver candlestick. The previous day’s destruction was nothing but a memory. After Varian left me, a platoon of slaves came to clean up the mess.

Elysa bent and picked something up off the floor. When she straightened, she opened her palm. A sliver of wood lay against her pale skin. The table—a piece of the table Varian had shattered in his rage. I swallowed thickly. Elysa watched the movement. “You thought Varian would be sweet and gentle with you?” She laughed. “He doesn’t have it in him. Even for you.”

“What do you want, Elysa?”

“I came to tell you the news.”

My heart sped to a hammering gallop. Knees suddenly liquid, I reached out a hand to steady myself against the wall. “He isn’t dead. I’d know if he was dead.”

Elysa’s silvered head angled, considering. “Yes,” she said, drawing out the word. “I think you would.” Her thin arms folded across the gray satin of her gown. “I should congratulate you on that particular bit of magic. I never imagined you’d be able to stop a god-killer. And you covered your tracks so well. Half the nobles housed in our wing of the palace still swear you were in your room all night, throwing a tantrum fit to wake the dead. But when my magic touched him today . . .” A shudder ran through her. “He reeked of light. You must have spent a great deal of energy on him. I’m impressed. Between the barrier and your healing of the Eleutherian, it should have been impossible. You shouldn’t have been able to access that much power.” Her pale hand rose to the angry red marks that still marred her cheek—that my healer’s senses told me would scar. “You have entirely too much of it for anyone’s good.”

“What do you mean, your magic touched him? What did you do?” I demanded, cold filling me like a weight.

She just smiled, a cat toying with a mouse.

“He is still alive,” I said. “So, how did it end? Aidon would’ve claimed me by now if he could.”

“He wouldn’t be alive if you hadn’t healed him. He had just enough power, even with the iron, to weaken Varian. Otherwise, it would have been a faster, cleaner end to things.” She sighed, genuine disappointment in the sound. “I underestimated him. And . . . others.” She shook her head, as if clearing unpleasant thoughts. “Don’t you want to hear how it ended? How Aidon has thanked you for keeping him alive?”

“He got out of the city, didn’t he? He Shadow Walked.”

“Instead of finishing what he started, instead of fighting to the end to win you, he vanished at the first opportunity.” A pale, manicured hand waved through the air between us. “He fled in a cloud of mist and shadow.”

The weight I’d carried for days lifted. I sagged against the stone wall, hands shaking with the relief that flooded through me.

Misreading it for hopelessness, she grinned. “He ran away like a coward. He abandoned you, Aurora.”

No. He did what I wanted. What I had asked. I was relieved, happy that he was alive and safe. And yet . . . something within me cracked like brittle glass; a hope shattered.

I closed my eyes against the first tear.

“Oh, there, there,” Elysa tutted. “A bride shouldn’t weep on the eve of her wedding. It’s your last night of maidenhood, sister.” She shot me a knowing look, brow raised. “Oh, perhaps not. Varian already broke that barrier, didn’t he? Nevertheless, at dawn, he will make you his mate. You will belong to him and to Doria.”

Her eyes gleamed, glowing like moonstone as she grinned that sword-slash smile. “Your Myridian is gone. Even your little handmaiden has fled the city. You are alone and you have lost.”

She turned toward the door. I watched through the veil of my tears as she rapped against it once, hissing at the metal’s touch. The guard opened the door, and she turned to me, more beautiful than I’d ever seen her. “You know,” she said, “it isn’t too late to jump.”