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Beyond her, I catch sight of a retreating figure. Des’s father, trying to get away, that snake.

“Galleghar, stop,” I command.

He pauses midstride.

“Come back to me.”

Robotically, he returns, his steps halting as he fights my glamour.

They never figure out it’s useless.

I tilt my head when he stops in front of me. “Did you really think I’d let you leave?”

He snarls something incoherent.

“That’s cute,” I comment. My heart pangs when I realize it’s something Des would’ve said. “When I told you you’d be my guide, I meant you were leading meallthe way down.”

He glares at me but obediently steps up to the edge of the Pit.

I follow after him, aware of the curious gazes of dozens of different fae, all of them watching what we’ll do next.

Des’s father stares down into the inky blackness.

“Go ahead,” I say. “Lead the way to the Thief’s kingdom.”

“You’re going to die for this,” he vows.

Before I can respond, Galleghar’s wings manifest. I feel something lodge in my throat at the sight of them. They’re dark and talon-tipped.

So similar to Des’s.

Galleghar steps off the ledge then, diving into the darkness.

I spare a final glance at Temper, whose skin is continuing to spark, her power barely under control. She looks devastated at being left behind.

I lift a hand to her, and then I step off the ledge.

My wings unfurl behind me, spreading out to control my fall as I spiral downwards.

I made a mistake, thinking Galleghar could lead the way. The darkness here seems to swalloweverythingup, including him. I’m the only thing illuminating this trench in the earth, and the glow from my skin is shedding light on the frightening fae that live here.

Hairless, naked creatures cling to the walls, their forms emaciated, the wings at their backs shriveled with disuse. One of them snarls at me as I pass, another sniffs the air, its mouth gaping open.

Truly, these fae are the things of nightmares.

Winged, pixie-like creatures with snapping teeth zip through the air, battering into me like bugs against a windshield, their forms drawn in by my light and my glamour.

“You are to let me pass unharmed,” I command. I have to repeat the order over and over again as I descend so that fae who were once out of earshot can hear my words and obey.

Down and down I descend, and there’s seemingly no end in sight. By all logic, the bottom of this pit should either bring me to the heart of the floating island … or it should cut straight through the island and empty out into the night sky below. Instead, this trench is supposedly going to spit us out in the Thief’s kingdom.

I’ll believe it when I see it.

The temperature dips, getting increasingly cold. The fae that live this far down are strange, sightless things, their bodies pale and fleshy, their eyes clouded over from disuse.

Eventually, the air grows still and I stop seeing fae at all. Every now and then I’ll hear a yowl or a piercing cry, but then those, too, die off.

This, this feels like death. Silent like the grave, the air stagnant. Even the dust motes caught in my light seem frozen in place, glittering in the air.