“We’re going to the Forgotten,” I said firmly. “Both of us.”
Alastor’s smile widened. “Are you now?”
“Make the bargain,” Thorne demanded. “If we return with Irri from the Forgotten, Paesha’s binding to you ends as does any bargain I’ve ever made with you.”
NoSylvie warned.Make him be specific. Think of the terms.
“Just Irri’s return,” I clarified. “No conditions on who brings her back. No tricks. No games.”
Thorne’s hand tightened on mine. “Agreed.”
“Agreed,” Alastor echoed, and power crackled through the air as the bargain took hold.
I looked up at Thorne, and for a moment, just a moment, I let myself remember how it felt to trust him. To maybe love him. His fingers intertwined with mine, and electricity shot through my veins, making my knees weak. A flicker of heat warmed me at his touch, a reminder of everything we could have been if not for lies and games and ancient prophecies.
Focus, Sylvie commanded.Remember why we’re here.
I squeezed his hand, pushing away the ache in my chest. This wasn’t about love or trust or redemption. This was about freedom. About vengeance.
Thorne pulled me through the office, eager to escape Alastor’s domain, no doubt. But before we could flee, the door exploded inward. The robed figure from the hall filled the frame, bow drawn and aimed at my heart. As he released the arrow, his hood fell back, revealing Ezra’s coldly beautiful face. Ezra. Not Themis but Ezra. The murderer. Time slowed. I could see the arrow’s fletching, dark as night against the shaft, could trace its path through the air with perfect clarity.
“No!” Thorne’s roar shook the walls as he moved to shield me.
But the arrow never reached either of us. Alastor’s Remnants snatched it from the air only inches from Thorne’s back, crushing it to dust. The rage emanating from the God of Lost things was a physical thing, turning the air thick and heavy.
Alastor’s voice held centuries of fury as his shadows surged forward, engulfing Ezra in writhing darkness. “You dare come into my domain and threaten what’s mine?”
Ezra struggled against the Remnants, his own power flaring gold against the darkness. “You’re a fool if you think?—”
“Run!” Alastor commanded, never taking his eyes off Ezra. “Both of you, get out. Now!”
Thorne grabbed my arm, but then suddenly went rigid. His eyes flashed brilliant gold, distant and unseeing, as if caught in a vision. The moment stretched, endless and terrible, before he snapped back to himself with a sharp intake of breath.
Without a word, he yanked me toward the door. Behind us, the sounds of clashing power shook the foundations of the Vale. Dust fell from the ceiling as the floor rumbled. Ezra’s shout of rage followed us down the corridor, but Thorne didn’t slow, didn’t look back.
He ran, pulling me with him, toward whatever fate awaited us in the Forgotten.
29
Paesha
Death had a new name today, and it was Ezra. The tip of his arrow was a whisper away from taking my life and his eyes, once full of love, burned with the resolve to end me. My hands trembled, and I pressed them against my chest where the arrow should have been. Mortality had brushed against me like an icy wind, and somehow I was still breathing.
Before I could process what had happened, golden light poured from Thorne’s skin, weaving magic through the air like threads through silk. With a sound like tearing fabric, he ripped a hole in the world that echoed across the empty streets of Stirling. Power rippled outward in waves, distorting the air until it split open, revealing absolute darkness beyond. I didn’t know if he’d been to the Forgotten before, whatever that place was, but he’d certainly known how to open the door, when Alastor didn’t. Which told me only one thing. The Forgotten was a prison, and Reverius Hawthorne Noctus was the warden.
In books I’d read, the protagonist would claim the void between worlds tasted like lightning and smelled of broken promises. As Thorne’s power tore reality apart before me, I discovered they were wrong. It tasted like vengeance andsmelled like everything that had ever been lost. My own fear gave name to those new scents.
“You can stay,” Thorne whispered, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. His eyes found mine, no longer the hard, calculating gaze he showed the world, but something vulnerable, almost pleading. His fingers reached for mine, but he hesitated. “Last chance. Once we cross that threshold, everything changes. I believe the Forgotten is a place that consumes. We could lose ourselves entirely. Lose each other. Lose every memory that makes us who we are.”
He’s lying. He can never forget and we won’t let you either.
“Ezra…” I said, my voice hollow, unable to let go of those past moments. “He just…”
“Yes.” Thorne’s eyes darkened. “And he failed.”
“But he tried to kill me. I could be dead right now.” My voice broke, the reality of it washing over me again.
“This is the cycle,” Thorne said, his hand finally closing the distance to mine, his touch warm and solid against my trembling fingers. For a moment, the mask fell completely, and I saw raw fear in his eyes, fearforme orofme, I wasn’t sure.
