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His angry eyes narrowed. Behind him billowed a dark cloud, some force unseen.

Damn battle lord was here, unknown to everyone.

“Is this some sort of manipulative threat?” The Ice King leaned forward, attention on the Night Folk queen.

“Not at all, King Jon.” She didn’t falter and held up one of the axes. “She has the power of the Norns, of prophecy. We do not wish unease between us, so will you take peace? Or do you keep our tensions while your people freeze?”

He slammed a hand on the table. The small, dark-haired fae boy jumped in surprise, the same as the pale boy beside his icy father. King Jon glowered. “Keep your blade. Perhaps in time you will need it. Send your ambassadors for future trade. We are done here.”

I watched him and his pale-haired guards storm from the room. Heart racing, I let the tale of war and pain ignite.

“Those blades will bring about a new Etta,” I told the queen, voice low and soft.

She tilted her head. “AnewEtta?”

I said nothing and smiled at the small prince near his mother. “And you, young Arvad, you will be part of it.” I leaned over my knees, meeting his dark eyes. “I urge you to keep your heart and mind open to your neighbors in the North.”

His nose wrinkled. “I hate Timorans.”

“Perhaps there will come a day when you do not.”

By the time the final piece of scorched parchment landed on the table, I was all at once in a corridor with Stefan at my side.

“Our time is out, little one,” Stefan whispered. “Listen to your heart, listen to the voice you cannot explain.” He squeezed my hand. “Until the next tale.”

Swift footsteps came up behind us. I screamed as a short blade rammed through Stefan’s chest. No, no, no. I couldn’t lose him again, I couldn’t. I reached for him, but rough hands yanked at my arms and slammed me onto my knees. From the shadows, the Ice King materialized.

A dagger was in his hand. Slowly, he tapped it against his palm. “I do not trust Night Folk fury. But I certainly do not trust the magic of witches.”

“Offensive,” I spat through my teeth.

The same melodic hum built in my mind. It burned in my heart.

I’ll find you, I promised. Why I thought such a thing, I didn’t know, but my heart jolted when a voice answered. A broken voice, one that was young and thick with emotion.

Our song here is finished. Sing with me again, Little Rose.

King Jon lifted the dagger. I closed my eyes. A sharp burn filled my throat when the point of a blade rammed through.

I snapped up, gasping. My hands padded over my body. Alive. I was alive. “Silas?”

He was hunched over, a hand to his chest, heavy breaths coming through his nose. He blinked to me, eyes wet. “Do you know what it’s like?”

“I don’t . . .” My hand covered his over the frantic pace of his heart. Gods, he was trembling. “Silas. What . . . what was that? Did that happen? I-I died.”

He winced. “Until the next song. Until the next song.”

Silas cupped one side of my face, holding it for a pause, then shoved me back into a dark oblivion.

Brilliant stars were overhead.

“You’re certain this must be?”

I sat up, disoriented, and accompanied by Stefan once more. He was dressed differently. A high-collared tunic, wilder hair braided off his bearded face, but that damn smoke was still lit, still puffing around his head.

“Whisper, you’re certain this must be?” A woman, thin and pale with fiery hair like my Shadow Queen was looking at me. She shivered in the cold, swollen pillows of skin were under her eyes from exhaustion and bruises, and battle scars covered her skin.

Whisper? I was now called Whisper?