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But there was nothing out of place.

It’s probably just the wind,he told himself, though it did little to banish the trickle of dread that had managed to push its way in.

Still, there was no going back now. Chanting a silent prayer to anyone that might be listening, Skye followed the simulacrum deeper into the palace.

The palace was a twisting labyrinth of marble and gold hallways, and Skye’s heart began to beat just a little faster as the simulacrum led him not up, not out, not into the forest—butdown.

Downanddownanddown. Until the air turned musty and the sound of running water began to pound against the walls.

Downanddownanddown. Until he knew that he was underground. How far, he couldn’t be sure. The wide hallways lined with mirrors and tapestries and paintings had given way to tight corridors made from rough-hewn rock. This was likely some sort of old tunnel system built so that in the event of an attack, the Crystal Guard would be able to smuggle the Time Shard to safety.

The scent of aether began to permeate the air, faint at first but growing stronger the farther he descended. It stung his nose and made his skin feel clammy. It even began collecting on the backs of his hands, shimmering like someone had soaked him with violet paint.

A light shone up ahead. After what felt like hours of walking in darkness with only the glitter of aether and the dim glow of that tiny rabbit toshow the way, the blazing halo was almost blinding.

At last, Skye stepped through the arched doorway, and he felt his breath catch as he glimpsed the room beyond. The chamber was round, with high ceilings and crisscrossing bridges, each one terminating in a carved, stone doorway identical to the one in which he stood. Below him, the ground dropped away, disappearing into infinity. There were no lamps or torches, only a ridge set into the wall that glowed with a soft, unwavering golden light. And in the center of the room, elevated on its own platform—

Skye’s eyes went wide, and he took a step into the room, holding tightly to the railing and trying not to think about that steep drop. Even with a shadow mage’s senses, he couldn’t discern the bottom.

It was smaller than any he’d seen on the island, and the control panel looked strange, flickering with a set of runes he didn’t recognize. But there was no mistaking those smooth, flat planes of crystal.

Skye took another step, dazed. Because there in the center of this strange cavern, surrounded by columns of violet and gold-crystal stood—

“A gate.”

But not just that.

Shards, not just that.

Between the two pillars of hyaline flanking the portal stood a room lined with giant screens and flickering control panels and long tables stacked with tools and papers and crystals.

It was aroom.With doors and windows that showed a land of rolling hills and colorful gardens and impossibly blue skies.

Not underground. Not a cavern.

The gate was open.

And that little rabbit that had become Skye’s lifeline in the dark continued to hop ahead of him, across the bridge and up the steps of the dais.

As it approached that shimmering wall of magic, it paused, looking over its shoulder and twitching its nose before disappearing through the portal.

Chapter 29

-From the personal diary of Talya Caro

I’ve had the same dream for almost a week now, and even though it’s been months since I had a vision that made me feel like that first night, this one—this one I can’t seem to shake.

Not because of the dream itself—this isn’t the first time I’ve dreamed of Skye at the palace. It’s more because of howrigidit feels. I’ve never had a dream that felt quite like this. Where no matter what I do, how many variables I change, it always ends the same. It’s like I’m marching through a set of events that have already been decided—set into immovable stone and immune to alteration.

It haunts me now, even in my waking hours. I blink, and I see Skye lying in a pool of his own blood. I’ll turn a corner, and the air will suddenly reek of pain and death.

“See the timelines and choose your path.”

That’s what the Queen is always saying. If time is a tapestry, then I am the weaver. I control my dreams.

But what do I do when there are no more threads to cut? What do I do when Skye is already dead, and there’s blood on my hands?

For one moment—one single breathless moment—Skye allowed himself to doubt.