Page 55

“What are we doing here?”Calista asked outside the changed tenement building where she’d lived time and time again.

Old wooden walls were now packed in clay and stone, part of a fortress near the sea. Still, the door was marked with the same runes as the old door, the last sign this was where she’d lived her lifetimes.

I took her hand and led her inside. She cast a sorrowful glance at the cot where Annon had spent his nights; there was an emptiness with his absence. He could not speak with me, but he knew I was there.

The captain had his ways of offering little comforts, as though he could sense I was fighting to cling onto reality, as if he knew all I desperately wanted was to fall into the shadows of a world where she did not die.

I missed him but recalled better than Calista how desperately Annon wanted to sup in the hall of the gods with King Riot. He took an oath to defend the heir, to see her to her true power, but he wanted to die as a Rave and join his men in the Otherworld.

True, I missed him, but was pleased for him.

Over the sagging mantle of the tiny fireplace, I moved a panel of the wall, then another, and another, until a damp, musty corridor opened.

“What the hells?” Calista poked her head inside. A cool breeze rippled her hair around her face. “How . . . how long has this been here?”

“Always,” I said, voice rough. “I-I was bound to the palace grounds, but needed some connection where Annon could pass through to . . . ensure I hadn’t slipped into total madness.”

“Bound to the palace?” Calista closed her eyes for a breath and flexed her fingers once, twice, then looked to me. “Bound to me. You have been the greatest captive of us all, Silas.”

The hair lifted on the back of my neck. Her distress was . . . distressing. I did not want her to think I resented it—how could I? She had always been, even before the world shattered, my friend, my safe one, my heart. The hells had consumed me, no mistake, all these turns. But now, even with the fear in her eyes, it was worth it.

“Part of the curse,” I said with a shrug. “The soul bond to the cursed princess was damned to become a spectral, a forgotten piece of the past. Doubtless, the Norns had a bit of fun with that piece of vengeance for the manipulation of the fated paths. It was my idea, after all.”

“Your idea saved Saga. It was the boldest idea, Silas.”

I faced the corridor, uneasy. “Every kingdom, every crown, had to claw their way through their tale. This is ours, why should we have had it any easier?”

“Our tale.” Calista gnawed on her bottom lip. “A first bond.”

“Yes. A connected vein of seidr. Unusual, but . . . some would say fated to be.” I glanced at the floor. “Youarethe words of my songs. Without your existence, it is nothing more than a tune.”

“And you are the spirit behind my words.”

I could not sing alone the way King Riot could sing. Somehow our talents, our seidr, bonded into one—her words, my voice became a new vein of fate magic.

Calista cleared her throat and grinned. “Tell me why you’ve been sneaking around my rooms, Silas. I’m considering slapping you for peeping on me. What have you seen?”

Heat flooded my face. “I never did. As I said, this was for Annon to help bring my presence to you.”

“Wait, the roses.” She folded her arms over her chest. “That’s how he always brought your damn roses.”

“You once loved the roses.”

“I never stopped,” she said softly. “Merely let fear cloud the pull toward them.”

No more fears. The games we’d played until now would end.

The corridor wove around new towers, new walls, but soon the damp soil of Hus Rose filled my lungs. A heavy door opened into the mausoleum. A bloody tint to the moon cast scattered shadows around the tomb.

Calista dragged her fingertips over the names of the king and queen. Her chin quivered. “I remember them so well now. It’s like a sieve of the past is breaking through the barriers. What age was I when the worlds broke apart? My Raven Queen could never recall. I suppose it’s all a little hazy for the lot of us.”

“It feels so long ago, but you were nearing your ninth turn.”

“And you?”

“I am five turns your senior.”

“Hmm, but if I was a soul living numerous lifetimes . . . how many turns am I now?” She arched a brow, almost playfully.