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“They are one prophecy, split into two by simple-minded fools.” Parys’ voice was brittle. “I found the original text, recorded by Nimue herself.”

I didn’t know much about the elemental kingdom, but I knew my battle-history. I was a commander. Nimue was one of the Ancestors. She’d fought in the Great War, commanded an army of elemental fae and become the first High Queen of Annwyn.

Veyka stilled, her hand on the back of a chair. “My Ancestor had her own motives. As does every queen.” She gave Parys a pointed look. “If you have nothing else, I’m going to bed.”

Based on her tone, I doubted I’d be invited to share it. My beast grumbled his disappointment.

Parys caught her arm.

My beast roared.

I didn’t shift, but he was fully in command as I leapt forward, that string I’d felt a few times before pulling at my chest. I ripped his arm away from her, twisting it back. Parys was on his knees, swallowing back a strangled cry of pain at the angle of his arm.

Veyka didn’t intervene. She stared down at Parys, then slowly up at me, as if seeing things clearly for the first time.

Her expression shattered mine. I released Parys, stumbling back.

Fuck. Shit. Ancestors.

I hadn’t lost control like that… not in years.

Parys was herfriend, and my beast couldn’t handle seeing him lay a hand on her. Even in passing, entreaty. She’d wanted to go to bed. He’d tried to stop her, and my beast took that as enough of a reason to punish and maim.

Slowly, Parys climbed back onto the chaise. He didn’t reach for Veyka again, but he didn’t hold his tongue either. “This is something, Veyka, I can feel it.”

She cut her eyes back to him. I wished I could see inside her mind as she contemplated.

“I will consider it,” she finally said, turning for the bedroom doors.

Parys’ sharp intake of breath froze her once again.

“What else could you possibly have to keep me from my bed?” she hissed.

“I will keep searching the library,” Parys said. “But that is not the only place we should be looking. One of the books mentioned the carvings. Those predate the Great War, just like the rifts.”

“What carvings?” Veyka’s back said, each syllable wearier than the one before.

Parys stared at the ground. Again, that rising unease in my stomach. “In the water gardens. They are the oldest part of the goldstone palace, originally built on a natural spring.”

Veyka went still.

She’d been standing before, her muscles twitching, a stretch here or there as she waited for Parys’ last bit of information.

But now, she was truly still. Unmoving. As if she’d turned to stone, a lovely glowing white statue, unable to move. Not even the quiver of breath in her body.

She’d spent most of her life in the water gardens, in seclusion. I’d learned as much in my first weeks in the goldstone palace.

I learned more from the pain etched in every line of her body than I had in all my weeks of questioning.

“I am going to bed.”

She didn’t wait for a response from either of us. As the bedroom doors closed behind her, I turned to look at Parys. But he was staring down at the floor, still, his own body tight. I stared at him, knowing he could feel the weight of my black glare.

But still he didn’t lift his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he finally said, unmoved. “But it was bad.”

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