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A flash in the night caught my eye through the gap in the thick, black shades. I skillfully maneuvered free of his arm, a chill struck my skin at once, but I wrapped one of the furs over my shoulders and went to the window.

My stomach lurched.

Beyond the gates, Tor’s pyre was not as vibrant, not as tall. Along the shores, into the docks, even a few of the outer towers of the fortress that butted to the sea, tents and shanties lined our shores.

Mammoth ships filled every bend in the shore, every distant tide. Sea fae were everywhere. Soon enough, they’d rise against us. The dawn would still be tolls away, and a new pressure gathered in my chest, like an omen, heavy and fierce.

This day was when new fates would be written.

This day, something would change.

I cast a lingering glance to Silas in the bed, then slid into a simple pair of trousers and one of his oversized tunics. With my belt, I tightened the fabric and secured my knives. There was little time, and if this was my last approaching sunrise, words needed to be said.

I placed a blood rose beneath their names and sat back on my knees, staring at the symbols carved in stone.

“I wish you were somehow, I don’t know,hereagain,” I said, voice rough. I closed my eyes, imagining their faces, from both memory and from those moments I saw in the fae sleep.

Since learning the truth of my bloodline, I often imagined Riot Ode laughing. I imagined Anneli being the one who brought it out.

In my heart, I knew they were a love that would live on. A love meant for sagas and dreamy tales.

Still, I wished they were here.

“I wanted you both to know,” I said, a thick rasp to my voice. “That . . . that I’m grateful to you. I know all that you did to keep me breathing.” I chuckled softly. “Rather creative, a little horrific, but still quite the sacrifice.”

Tears burned behind my eyes. I traced my mother’s name in the stone. “I remember you loved to laugh and loved sweet things over the savory. Always with the berries and cream before the meat. I remember you let me braid my own hair because I wanted to try when other majs would’ve been horrified knowing their little, precious girls were running about with manes on their heads.”

I let my forehead drop to her name. “I remember you taught me how to be afraid and fierce, all at once.”

I pressed a kiss to her name, then looked to my father’s. A tear fell onto my cheek. “And you, King. I remember the tales beneath the stars. The way you taught me the kingdoms, the lore, the magicks through starlight. I remember you were gentle when some fathers were not. Proof of it was when I first heard you bark an order at the Rave and I nearly pissed myself.” I laughed and used the back of my wrist to wipe away another tear.

Always with the tears.

“I didn’t know you could get so loud because you never did—not with me.” I flattened a palm against his name. “The point is, I . . . love you both. Part of me feels like I always remembered you, like I always remembered all of it, just hid it away. But your sacrifice, for me, for our people, hasn’t been forgotten. Who knows, maybe I will see you soon and we can talk about this life together.” Thick, knotted emotion burdened my words. “I hope I’ve made you proud.”

“You have, Little Rose.”

I spun around toward the front of the mausoleum. Silas had the misfortune of being fully clothed, but he looked at me with those dark, glassy eyes.

I grinned sheepishly, and wiped more tears. “Wanted a few words. In case they’re the last.”

He shook his head. “You’re rather morbid.”

“Realistic, I think you mean.”

I kissed the petals of their roses once more, then went to the entrance. My chest butted up with Silas’s as I strode past. “You should be sleeping.”

“Your tiny form brings a great deal of surprising heat. It was cold.”

“I’m not tiny.” I shoved his shoulder gently.

“Like a twig on a tree.”

“You should talk. You try to move like a phantom, yet you’re ridiculously thick around the shoulders and your feet might as well be the paddles of two oars.”

Silas’s teeth flashed white and bright when he laughed. “That is not even close to the best you can do, Little Rose.”

“Yes, well. I’m tired.”