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The paths around the castle grounds were patrolled with more soldiers than ever before. The guard had been tripled, and so had Hel’s wards on this place. With the pale ones locked in the Void, it freed up the elven army to guard the city wall rather than be spread out.

The castle doors were pulled inward as they approached. Thane was quiet as they entered and then stopped under the chandelier in the foyer. His voice was low when he said, “And your plan is just to have your cursed army come up against a force that will outnumber us fifty to one? Can you even control them enough to not attackusright alongside the council’s forces?”

Hel glared at one of the guards and he quickly shut the front doors, leaving him and Thane alone. There were outliers among the pale ones of course, but the majority of them followed his command. They were drawn to him in a way Hel couldn’t even explain. “Of course I’ll control them. And that’s my plan but what the fuck are you bringing to this fight? Your Ravens won’t be enough. We need dragons.”

Thane sighed and ran his hand over the top of his hair. He slowly shook his head, and his face twisted into frustration. “If King Zale is still the dragon king in Ryvengaard, which is unlikely, it would be nearly impossible to convince him to fight with me against the council again. He lost more than half his people in that war and then I was captured and never heard from again. If he’s still alive, he probably hates me.”

“Well, thankfully you have an entire army of dragons up north who have no memory of that time because they weren’t there, and one pretty redheaded soldier who I hear has the heart of their prince.”

“They won’t fight with us because of your curse. They are terrified of becoming infected. It’s us and your pale ones.”

He started up the wide staircase, leaving Thane behind. “You never used to give up so easily. Use that diplomatic mind and charm I know you have and that handsome mug.” He smiled over his shoulder at him. “You really don’t want me to do it because I’ll start by killing the king and work my way down theroyal line until one of the heirs agrees to fight and place a crown on his head.”

Chapter 9

KATANA

Sweat covered Katana’s brow and dampened her hairline. She gasped, clutching her chest and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Another terrible dream sent her heart racing. She couldn’t shake the image even now as the sun shone through her window. It had been the same nightmare for two days in a row—Katana had been on her knees, pressing her palms over the wound as if it would stop the blood gushing down her body, staining her white silk dress. She was screaming and screaming, her throat raw from it. Synick stood in the corner laughing. Atlanta had sat in his chair watching her suffer, sipping on a drink, no emotion, no movement, as she cried for him to help her. This was her mind reliving the past; the only difference was Atlanta had not been there when she died.

She’d been alone. Synick left her dying, alone.

Trying to catch her breath, Katana rushed to the balcony doors and threw them open for fresh air. They told her she’d been gone thousands of years, but it felt like a lie. To her, it was as if she’d gone to sleep lying in a pool of her own blood and had then woken up when she stood confused in the middle of Valeen’s territory. Though she vaguely felt the gap of time andremembered being called to step through a bright portal. It was more a feeling than anything.

But the night of her death she knew vividly and had been forced to relive the sticky blood on her palms, the desperate pleas, begging Synick to help her. Asking why he would do this. They were primordials. They’d been with each other since the beginning… he was supposed to be her friend, to protect her, not harm her.

More than anything that was what plagued her the most—why? Why would he do that to her? Where had he gotten a weapon that even could? It had never existed before.

A strange sensation rose up in her throat like something was coming up and she cupped her hand over her mouth, leaning over the edge of the balcony. Was this what mortals called nausea? Taking deep inhales through the nose, breathing in crisp cool air, made the sensation slowly subside. A set of guards walked by below and she ducked.

Breathe, breathe.

She was told Synick was locked up in a dungeon. He couldn’t get to her. She’d said this over and over, but it hadn’t helped. Even with the reassurance of him being bound, too loud of a noise would make her jump. A shadow cast from a flickering candle would raise panic.

Worst of all, she was more vulnerable than before. She felt the weakness in the very marrow of her bones. An immortal body did not tire climbing stairs, did not feel exhaustion from lack of sleep. A goddess slept, but if she didn’t, she wouldn’t weaken. It was more to clear the mind, not to restore the body. Her hands trembled even now—from what, she didn’t know. Her stomach ached and made a strange gurgling sound, an entirely new sensation.

Once, she ate food for pleasure, not to survive, and being in an entirely new place with strangers and the only personshe knew asleep for days, she ignored the signs. She wanted to pretend that she was not—mortal. Mortals required food and water, and she hadn’t eaten much since she arrived. Maybe subconsciously she hadn’t eaten as a test to herself, trying to prove she wasn’t in this strange fragile body, that the weakness would go away, and that her strength would return.

She made her way back into the bedroom she’d been given, opened a desk drawer and found a silver letter opener. Gripping the handle, she jabbed the point of it into her palm. The sting sent a shock up her arm. Blood beaded up and she waited for it to close. She shouldn’t have even been able to pierce her flesh with such a flimsy thing, and the wound should close instantly, but a crimson trail slid across her skin and plopped onto the floor.

Was this a nightmare? Everything was wrong.

Had she actually come back to the realms? Or had she dreamed it all?

Valeen—she must find her. If she found her sister, she would know it was real. Panic wrapped its horrible hand around her chest, and she dashed out of the room, down the hallway, bare feet slapping against the cold stone. Strangers’ portraits on the walls passed by her in a blur. Nothing was familiar here. Not the smells, not the people. Even the sounds of the birds were different. There were no gulls. The sun wasn’t as intense.

Where were the ocean waves crashing against black sand to soothe her? Her home was on the cliffs where the sea air made her skin damp, and the salt lingered on her lips.

She bolted around a corner and slammed into someone. Her arms flailed, attempting to catch her balance before tipping backward.

Strong hands caught her around the waist and held her steady. She lifted her chin and found familiar emerald-greeneyes staring back at her. Long dark hair framed a handsome but surprised face.

Shaking, she touched his smooth cheek. His skin was supple and warm. Soft breath parted his full lips. His dark brows furrowed in confusion.

She knew him but… “Are you real?” she whispered.

The corner of his mouth lifted into a slight curve. “Yes, I am real.”

Slowly, she moved her hand down to his chest and pressed her palm flat above his heart, a steadythud, thud, thud,beat there. If it were a dream, she wouldn’t find a heartbeat so strong.