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This.This was what she had been running from. While I had been marching toward a heroic death, Ayla had been running from a grave.

She pressed her hand to the dirt. The forest didn’t shift; there was nothing else to face. To pass this trial, she had to face the past. Yet she hesitated, clearly needing support.

I sat beside her. “What happened?” I asked.

She sighed irritably and spoke to the forest. “Am I supposed to tell Zayne what happened?”

The rain lifted, becoming a patter instead of a downpour.

“Fine,” Ayla gritted.

Speaking slowly, she began, “It was the night of my sister’s coronation ball, the afterparty of a coronation rite. Mariana had just been formally recognized as the Princess Heir. Mariana and I… well, we weren’t exactly close.”

As she spoke, droplets of water coalesced, and two figures appeared, as tall as my hand. They formed like watery ghosts, two girls. The taller one formed with red hair,Ayla.

Their performance began, enacting the past on the stage of a grave. Voices rose from the aqueous actors. I watched as Little Mariana tried to trick Little Ayla into making a fae oath, but the Firewolf warned Ayla away. Ayla watched the performance with knees to her chest, nodding along with the exchange.

The girls aged, and the watery play continued. Young Ayla hid behind a corner of the palace, listening while Young Mariana told their sisters wicked tales of Ayla. She said Ayla was only capable on the training field because of herabominationof a father.

With a swirl, the figures became young women. Together, they attended a party. Teenage Mariana goaded a young lord into sharing lewd poetry about Ayla’s antlers, pressuring him to repeat it until Teenage Ayla started a brawl. Mariana blamed everything on Ayla’swildfae heritage.

The play stopped and the figures paused. They looked at the real Ayla, like they needed her permission to continue.

Ayla obliged, continuing with her story. “Your dedication to your sister, it confuses me. It wasn’t like that with Mariana. Though that did change, for a time, after I saved Mariana’s life.”

The specters grew older, became women. Adult Mariana slept soundly, ignorant of the assassin in her room and the dagger inches from her heart. The Firewolf led Adult Ayla into the room, and Ayla fought, defending her sister. When it was over, Mariana thanked Ayla with tearful gratitude.

“That was about a year ago,” Ayla added. “Afterward, she was kinder to me. I was hungry for affection, and I trusted her—I trusted too fast.”

The scene swirled, water gathering to form a more elaborate scene—a large ballroom. Mariana stood front and center, wearing an ornate gown. Ayla stood against the back wall, presented with her other half sisters. She stood a hand taller than the rest.

The figures froze, unable to progress until Ayla gave her next direction. The rain became a whisper, and her breath hitched. She struggled to speak.

This part of the narrative had just happened to her. This experience remained raw.

“I couldn’t even tell Rhett what happened,” she gasped. “All I had to do was say, ‘I’m coming to the Isles,’ and he was ready to help.” She glanced at the spectral ballroom. “It still doesn’t feel real.”

“How did Mariana betray you?” I asked. “Let’s start there.”

Ayla swallowed, nodding as she focused on my question. “I think it started with something in my drink—later that night, I found a vial of an inhibitory drug. The effect was subtle, if that was the case. Sometimes I wonder if I made that part up, hoping drugs were the only reason I’d been so naïve…”

The figures shifted. Now that the rite was done, a celebration began. Soon Mariana was introducing Ayla to a handsome man.“This is Carson, a lord of the southern kingdoms. My half sister is a wonderful dancer, especially if you’re interested in the fae dances.”

“He wasn’t really a lord,” Ayla explained.

We watched as the evening ensued, the ghosts of the past dancing outside of time. Over the course of the night, Carson rarely left Ayla’s side. Flirting and dancing, he kept pace with her. Watching them together, dancing on the grave, my jealousy tasted like acid.

“Maybe I was just easy to trick,” Ayla mused. “Usually nobody pays me attention at balls. Maybe Carson, or whatever his name truly was, succeeded because I was weak to flattery.”

The ballroom emptied as the night drew long, and Carson tugged Ayla’s hand, goading her to leave with him.

“I have rooms outside the city,” he said. Together, they stepped into his coach, leaving the palace behind.

Ayla clenched her fist. “I can’t believe I trusted him—that I trusted Mariana to have my best interests at heart, introducing him to me.”

The coach approached a forest.

“He brought me here,” Ayla said, looking around the forest clearing. There was a road, not far away and hidden behind trees.