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‘No,youfirst.’ I scowled as he opened his mouth to argue. ‘You started this whole thing, Your Highness. You get to be the brave one. I’m sure whatever you’re about to say is not nearly as outrageous as you think it is.’

‘Not outrageous. Just …’ He averted his face, avoiding my eyes, drawing in a breath for courage. ‘Remember when we’d just arrived in the Underground and I was refusing to leave my room because of the demon trouble going on?’

‘Vaguely,’ I said dryly.

His chuckle was half-hearted at best. ‘This thing you did, one of those days – when you sat before my door and just …felt…’

‘Oh.’ At once I knew where he was going. ‘I never did that again, did I? Do you want me to do that again?’

He hesitated. ‘If you don’t mind …’

‘Why would Imind, you dramatic creature?’ I nestled my head more tightly against his chest, closing my eyes. ‘You’ll be glad to know my request is much more shameless and worth being minded. Makes you look perfectly humble in comparison.’

‘I’m overjoyed,’ he muttered, but the hint of relief in his voice was unmistakable. ‘And bracing myself.’

‘It’s … it’s something Lyn once said.’ An eternity ago, it seemed, that morning we’d spent between the twisted trunks of the Faewood trees, sharing sweets, looking out over the pearly beach of the Crimson Court. ‘That she used to hear you sing sometimes, before you lost your voice. When you thought no one would be listening.’

He tensed beneath me.

‘So …’ His silence was alarming. ‘So I was wondering …’

‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘Of course.’

Of course I’d wondered? Or of course he’d oblige the unspoken request?

Did it matter at all?

I curled up in his lap, face buried in his chest, his heartbeat a strong, just-too-rapid pulse against my cheek. His arms wrapped around me. So did his scent, that musky, summer-sweet fragrance of hazelnuts and sun-streaked forests, carrying the memory of every heated touch between us, every burst of laughter, every tear shed in his arms …

His fingers combed through my hair. Feathery caresses, soothing like a lullaby.

I thought of the light in his eyes when he smiled.

I thought of the motions of his fingers in a crowded Underground hall.Love you.

And just like that, the shreds of memories began flooding me, as if that slightest nudge was all the encouragement they needed … Velvet wings, folding over me as I slept. Ink-stained fingers, browsing nimbly through piles of parchment. The wry quirk of a scarred eyebrow, the melody of his laughter, the warmth of his lips on mine. The rasp of his voice just as I drifted into dreams –my love…

There was too much of him for a single heart to contain. I felt like I was swelling with it, with everything he was, everything he had ever been, everything he would always be to me … until it came spilling over the edges of me, the intensity of the feeling flooding the world around me and drowning out all the rest. Until I no longer felt my own skin and bones, my body held together by nothing but that fierce, all-consuming devotion.

Creon held me without a word in the starry darkness. Held me, felt with me, soaking up every surge of love that poured from me.

And finally, on what might be the last night of our lives, he sang for me – a quiet ballad of hope and heartbreak, courage and despair, and a world that would never be the same again.

Chapter 33

Dawn arrived with deceptivelypeaceful radiance.

I woke at the first glimmer of that golden light touching the tent above me – woke with one hand wrapped around Creon’s and the other clenched around the hilt of the unnamed alf sword beside me, as if even my dreams had been bracing for battle.

Neither of us spoke as we rose and dressed in black from head to toe, arming ourselves to the teeth. A brief glance was all we shared before we left our tent, the only acknowledgement I dared to give of whatever had shifted between us last night; I feared that if I lingered on it for even a second, I’d find myself running for the hills, dragging Creon as far away from the city as I could manage. Away from the violence. Away, most of all, from the mother whose voice he still couldn’t help but hear, who satwaiting for us on her grisly throne like a spider hovering at the heart of its web.

Ready for us to come and find her.

Ready for us to die.

It was impossible not to think of it as I buckled my sword to my back, as I slipped the mother-of-pearl bracelet onto my wrist, as I opened the tent and let the vibrant glow of the sunrise wash over me –this might be the last time.

I strode on all the same.