“Can I trust you to stay here with her?” I ask, rising to my feet. Nyx’s attention snaps from the window to me.
“Where are you going?” he demands.
“Can I trust you?” I repeat, holding his stare firmly.
“You’d know if I moved her. We’re bound by this tether until someone can undo it,” he says with resignation as he kicks off his boots and moves closer to the bed.
I let out a heavy sigh. Deep down, I know Nyx will look after her. I think he might actually love her, which is something new for him. But the thought of him touching her, being close to her, is unsettling. I pull the door open, and before stepping out I cast one last look back. Nyx is tucking Lyra into his side, pulling her close on the bed. I shake my head and slam the door behind me to drown out the image, to prevent myself from doing something I’ll regret.
The possibility of Lyra choosing Nyx is something I have to face, and it’s a thought that’s hard to swallow. Running a hand through my hair, I push that worry aside. I can’t dwell on it now. My immediate task is to figure out why this palace feels so deserted and find out where Athalda and Anika are.
I decide to methodically search the palace, starting with the halls closest to Lyra and gradually working my way toward the more decrepit side. I sweep through every room and corridor, the lava channels carved into the walls illuminating my path.
As I approach the side of the palace that’s rotting, the once sparkling walls darken, and the rugs underfoot become dilapidated. This is Athalda’s domain, her dark spells seeping into the very stones, decaying the walls themselves.
“I wondered when we would meet again, although I can’t say I expected you to come alone.” Athalda’s voice reaches me before my hand even touches her door. Her old, raspy tone more than unsettles me—it ignites a deep-seated loathing.
The door swings open, and I step into the dimly lit room, finding the old woman with tangled hair ensconced in a wooden chair in the far corner,rocking gently.
“You’re lucky I’m alone. After what Lyra did to Euric, I can’t say she’d be as... accommodating,” I say, my voice steady as I close the distance between us, until those pitch-black eyes snap into focus on me.
“So it’s true then. Lyra has killed her father? I felt his death but wasn’t certain who delivered the final blow,” she says, her tone eerily nonchalant, as if the outcome was something she had foreseen.
“You knew this would happen?” I challenge, noting how she absently taps her long nails against the wooden armrest.
“Euric was becoming restless. I warned him that Lyra wasn’t prepared. The dark magic needed more time to corrupt her essence, but his arrogance clouded his judgment,” she reveals with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“Corrupt her essence? What are you talking about?” I ask.
Lyra had confided that Euric sought greater power, expecting her to accept the demise of Eguina, to let its heart—and with it, everyone—perish. But Lyra, even touched by darkness, would never entertain such madness. Euric’s faith in this was sheer delusion.
“The shadows within her grow, already reshaping her. You’ve felt it, though denial seems to cloud your sight. A boy blinded by love,” she taunts, her laughter grating on my nerves.
A low growl forms at the back of my throat, the urge to end Athalda feeling nearly overwhelming as I recall how she exploited Lyra, shaping her into a tool for Euric’s ambition. It revolts me.
“Easy, boy, did I strike a nerve?” she adds, her expression flickering with what looks like concern for a fleeting moment. And that’s when the air shifts, when I sense her presence.
The door bursts open, torn from its hinges, as Lyra steps into the room. Her gaze finds mine. “Colton,” she breathes, and the sound of my nameon her lips unravels me.
She wraps her arms around my neck, holding me as if we’ve been apart for ages. I inhale her familiar scent, trying to ignore Nyx’s disapproving glance as he saunters in behind her, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed.
“You were supposed to look after her,” I accuse Nyx, unable to hide my irritation.
“She insisted on coming,” he retorts with an eye roll. “Said she felt you were in distress.”
It seems I wasn’t as adept at masking my emotions or controlling our connection as I thought. Despite knowing she was resting, I hadn’t sensed her awakening, nor her approach, until her magic brushed against mine. She’s honing her ability to shield herself from me, a development that leaves me unsettled.
She releases me too soon and turns to face Athalda, who’s masked her expression again with that typical indifferent facade.
“You,” Lyra says, pointing at the old hag, her voice carrying a mix of accusation and defiance.
“Don’t you point your finger at me, girl,” Athalda retorts, her nails beginning that infuriating tap again.
I’m overwhelmed with the urge to step in front of Lyra, to whisk her away from this venomous presence, to shield her from the woman before us. Every so-called family member Lyra has ever known has used her and abused her, but I swear it ends today.
“This isn’t going to go how it usually does,” Lyra says, her voice dropping an octave, heavy with something dark and powerful. I steal a glance at her and notice wisps of shadows threading through the whites of her eyes—a sight that I may never get used to seeing.
Before I can fully grasp the situation, the wooden rocker beneath Athalda splinters, collapses, and darkens. Somethinglike spilt ink pours from Lyra. Shadowy tendrils, like branches in a twisted forest, wrap around Athalda, pinning her against the wall.
