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Skye felt it like a silent wave washing over him. An invisible force surged from inside the tower.

Cori froze mid-step.

There was no thunderous boom or crackling energy. She just…stopped, like someone pushed a button.

On her shoulder, Calcifer had—unsurprisingly—vanished. It probably wasn’t the right time forI-told-you-so’s, but it did make Skye feel marginally better knowing that he’d been right.

He reached for his dagger—too slow. From the dark beyond the door, a whip lashed around his throat.

No, not a whip. It was a-arope, a… tentacle.

It writhed with ghastly fluidity, made of dark, viscous liquid. Blood, it smelled like. The reek of it rolled through the door, coating the air, clinging to the back of his throat.

Skye’s hands shot up, clawing at the thing constricting his windpipe. His fingers slipped against the wet, pulsing surface.

No traction. No breath. Black spots bloomed in his vision.

The thing jerked.

He stumbled forward, heels dragging.

Then another lash. Then another.

Two more tentacles caught his ankles and yanked.

He fell. One palm slapped the stone floor.

And it slid with him, slick with blood, dragging a red line into the dark.

Chapter 29

Skye was ten years old when he fell into the hole of destiny.

To this day, he couldn’t say that he wasn’t pushed. By Fate, or maybe a certain time mage. He wasn’t making any accusations, but he also wasn’t denying the possibility.

He was sent to live on Tempris after an assassin got too close. One night, Skye woke up alone in his room. Alone save for the man in black standing over him.

It wasn’t the first time he had ever killed. He’d been handed a knife as soon as he could grip one properly. Hunting trips were lessons in survival, so he would know what it felt like to sink steel into flesh. So he wouldn’t be surprised by the spray of blood, how hot it would feel bubbling around his hand as he pressed the blade in deeper. So he wouldn’t loosen his grip, even when the hilt grew slick, and the thing on the other end of it thrashed to get free.

It was, however, the first time that the thing he killed could look him in the eye, speak his name, and curse it with a final, rattling breath.

His mother had already been in contact with Ivain, who told her in no uncertain terms that he was officiallyretired. After the incident, however, she redoubled her efforts, escalating from writing letters that he could too easily turn down to stalking him across the countryside on a rare vacation to the mainland.

Living on Tempris was different than Skye expected. First, they had running water. And even though aircars wouldn’t work in the low-aether environment, he didn’t mind the horses so much. They were fun to ride.

There were no guards at Harbor Manor. And no nannies. Instead, Sarina took care of him. A noblewoman. He’d barelyseen his mother at home, at breakfast sometimes and maybe once in the evenings as she dressed for supper. He’d always assumed that ladies with households to run didn’t have time for their children.

And it wasn’t just Sarina. Ivain confused him too. For one, he knew everything. There was no need for any other teachers. And he never became angry or impatient when Skye asked too many questions.

Instead of a stuffy classroom, most of their lessons were conducted outside during long walks of the property. Sometimes, they got caught up in what they were doing and talked straight through dinner. On those nights, Sarina would track them to whatever corner of the estate they’d settled into, scold them—always gently—and usher them inside.

It was the most settled he’d ever felt in his life. And it made it hard not to get attached. Even in the backwaters of Tempris, it was only a matter of time before his family’s rivals found them. He couldn’t protect the Castaros from the inevitable, kind as they were. The loneliness that had followed him ever since Orin’s death ached more and more with each passing day.

He wanted a friend. Just one. And he prayed—not to the Shards; they’d been little help so far—but to theUniverseto send him someone strong enough for him to love.

Then Vale happened. For three days, Skye watched the smoke pluming from his window. The fire of the century, they called it. Ivain went to oversee the cleanup.

And that’s how Skye found himself wandering down to the end of a scorched dirt road on the day his life changed forever. Curiosity led him to the center of the large mound of blackened debris at the end of it. He still remembered the suddencrackof wood right before the ruined cottage floor gave out beneath him.