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As we leave the impossible parlor, I catch a glimpse of Amarantha through the crystal windows, watching my retreat with violet eyes that track my movement like a predator calculating distance to prey.

The walk back through Seelie territory feels different now—longer, more oppressive. Corridors that shift and change around us, forcing me to see the Court’s power from every angle. Citizens who pause in their perfect routines to stare at the human carrying a silk-wrapped bundle, their expressions mixing curiosity with pity. Like they know exactly what I’m holding and what it means.

By the time the guards escort me back to my chamber, my arms ache from carrying the bone sword and my head throbs with the effort of processing everything Amarantha planted there. The door closes behind me with finality that sounds like a tomb sealing.

I set the wrapped weapon on the bed and stare at it, my hands still trembling from contact with whatever dark magic it contains. The silk wrapping looks innocent enough, but corruption seeps through the fabric like poison through bandages, making the air around it feel thick and wrong.

Davis has gone quiet in the bathroom—either unconscious again or listening, waiting to see what new psychological ammunition he can gather from my return.

The bone sword sits between us like a challenge, wrapped in silk but radiating malevolence. Amarantha’s voice echoes in my mind:Insurance. Quick end. Merciful.

But underneath her polished manipulation, I heard something else.

Fear bleeding through her perfect composure like cracks in porcelain.

She’s terrified of what I might accomplish. Terrified enough to spend this much effort ensuring I either fail or surrender before I even attempt the trial. The wounded predator trying to consume what she can never have.

Heat climbs my spine, burning away confusion until my vision sharpens like a blade coming into focus. My rage burns through the doubt like acid through silk.

Tomorrow evening, I’ll face the Trial of Power. I have a choice to make: Trust the people who’ve kept secrets, or accept the guidance of someone who sees love as ownership.

I think of Davis locked in the bathroom, still nursing his cracked skull. Of Amarantha’s memory manipulation that tastes sweet but rots in the mouth. Of the bone sword that’s supposedly mercy but feels like threat.

And I make my decision with the fury of someone who’s survived too much manipulation to fall for more.

I’m going to attempt the trial. I’m going to call for the treasures with everything I have.

And if it destroys me, at least I’ll die as myself—not as someone else’s perfectly controlled creation.

The warrior doesn’t surrender.

She reclaims.

Outside the chamber’s pearl windows, dawn breaks like a promise of war.

39

ORION

The crystal barrierdoesn’t just resist my magic—it devours it.

I slam my burning palms against the Academy’s pristine walls for the hundredth time, pouring every ounce of guardian fire I possess into ancient ward-work that swallows my power like a starving beast. The backlash rips through my nervous system, molten agony that whites out my vision completely.

Blood streams down my arms where skin has peeled back to bone. Guardian tattoos spread across my chest in real time, black ink writing the story of my failure while my magic turns against itself.

Four hours. Four fucking hours of this.

And the walls don’t even have scorch marks.

“Orion.” Kieran’s voice cuts through the haze of pain, sharp with exhaustion. “You’re going to kill yourself.”

“Good,” I snarl, gathering flame around my fists until the air shimmers with heat that should melt stone. The Cauldron burns against my ribs like molten silver, pulsing with desperate need that drives me past rational thought. “Maybe dying will finally get me through these fucking barriers.”

I can feel her. That’s the worst part. Through the guardian bond, Ash pulses at the edge of my consciousness—alive, breathing, twenty feet away and completely unreachable.

She should be terrified. Should be screaming for help, begging for rescue, radiating the kind of desperate fear that makes guardian magic tear reality apart to reach its charge.

Instead, she feels... calm.