Yet he found himself returning to the harpsichord. His fingers drifted to the keys, playing a melody he had not played in centuries. A song from his youth, before his imprisonment. Before his world had turned to ash and pain.
The music flowed from him, soft and yearning. It spoke of things he could not allow himself to name. Of longing. Of hope.
Of futures he had never permitted himself to imagine.
As the final notes faded into silence, Serrik straightened his back. Smoothed his features back into their customary mask of cold indifference.
He would control this weakness. Master it. Use it if necessary.
The butterfly would fulfill her purpose in his grand design. She would help him destroy his kin. Help him end the threat they posed to her world and all others.
And when it was done—when the Web lay in tatters and his vengeance was complete—perhaps then…
No.
There would be no “then” for him. His path ended with destruction. With the final fulfillment of his vow.
The loneliness would end only with oblivion.
Oblivion…for themboth.
Ava jerked awake with a gasp,her heart pounding. The dream clung to her like cobwebs—Serrik’s face inches from hers, his golden eyes blazing with an intensity that made her stomach flip. His fingers had traced her jaw, tilted her chin up. Those perfect, cruel lips had hovered just above hers…
And then he’d stopped. Pulled back. His expression shifting to something unreadable before he’d just sent her away. Like flicking a light switch.
“Dammit,” she muttered, pressing her palms against her eyes. She was not supposed to be having those kinds of dreams about the genocidal spider fae who’d dragged her into this mess. That was just…psychological trauma. Stockholm syndrome. Something like that.
She hadn’t really paid much attention in psych class.
Either way, it definitely wasn’t attraction. Not real attraction, anyway.
“Ava?” Ibin’s voice came from somewhere nearby. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”
Ava blinked, her surroundings coming into focus. She was sitting on grass at the edge of the garden. The sisters’ cottage was visible in the distance, smoke curling from its chimney.
Nos stood a few paces away, his back to them, seemingly keeping watch. Or brooding. Fifty-fifty shot.
The morning light—if it even was morning in this impossible place—caught on the stitches that held his mismatched parts together, highlighting them. It reminded her of the fact that she really knew shockingly little about her two companions.
He was also missing his coat. Looking around, she realized she had been using it as a pillow. Aw.
“I feel vaguely like someone used my brain as a punching bag,” Ava finally replied. Her head throbbed, but not just from the crone’s intrusion. The space where Serrik had been in her dream felt raw, an almost physical ache.
“I expect that wasn’t a comfortable experience.” Ibin handed Ava a flask. “Drink. It will help.”
The liquid inside was cool and tasted faintly of mint and honey. It did ease the pounding in her head, though nothing could fill the strange emptiness she felt.
“What did she take?” Ibin asked, her green eyes searching Ava’s face.
Looking down, she saw Book lying in the grass. And next to it, a mirror shard. The memory of what had actually happened was crystal clear—the crone had been about to extract all the memories of her mother, when she’d managed to summon Serrik in an act of desperation. And he had traded the memory ofhismother—well, one of them—instead.
The crone had been dubious, but agreed. And—Ava didn’t understandhow—Serrik had offered up one of his own memories in exchange. A sacrifice that had left Ava untouched but shaken to her core.
Why would he do that? She still didn’t get it.
“I don’t remember,” she lied, not meeting Ibin’s eyes. “Just…something from childhood, I think. Must not have been anything important?”
Nos turned, his mismatched eyes narrowing. “The crone does not take unimportant things.”
