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Alora hitched a breath and backed into a solid icy wall—into Garrik.

He was in his armor, a bloodthirsty sword sheathed in the scabbard strapped to his broad back.

“Where are we?”

Garrik’s hand rested on her shoulder, calming her instantly. “I call this the Dawnspace. Where my shadows can erect any memory or simply a place to be surrounded by darkness. To simply just … be.” His footsteps echoed as he stepped from behind her and crossed puddles atop bloodstained graystones.

“You travel through here when you dawn?”

“Yes. Most of the time, it is empty. A blackened night sky. No moon, no stars. Nothingness.”

But they weren’t in nothingness now.

Alora looked down her body, her night clothing had been traded for battle leathers, black boots rippled a darkened puddle beneath her feet.

Garrik’s eyes darkened. Swirling smoke cascaded across his pupils when he dragged a finger down the hanging iron chains fastened high up the wall beside them. “I understand why you said the things you did in the tavern, as I, too, have seen visions of those that haunt me. I will not say that it is acceptable to have said them, as I have spoken many regrettable words myself and must bear the shame of them. I made mistakes, and you will also. And we will learn from them. We can only move forward and strive to be better than who we were before.”

Alora narrowed her eyes on the chain swinging from Garrik’s touch. “Will you ever be able to look at me the same again?”

“If you are asking for forgiveness,thatI will give you. Just as I plead for those I have wronged to grant me the same.” His darkened eyes drifted to her, raking up her form, slowly,cautiously. His mouth tightened in a line. “But, I will not lethimconsume you any longer. That is why I brought you to this terrible place.” Garrik raised his arm over his shoulder. Metal slid against leather and glistened in the dancing light of the torches. In a simple, precise movement, Garrik’s sword twisted before the blade’s edge was gripped tight in his hand. The muscles in his forearms shifted as he outstretched the pommel to her.

“Take my sword.”

Her eyes widened as she beheld it. A sword so mighty and magnificent. Its size twice the size of the sword she had learned to wield. Alora gripped the hilt with both hands, and whereas Garrik’s hand perfectly engulfed the entire leather grip, hers left plenty of space. He let the blade fall and the immense weight of it had her almost dropping its point to the stones.

Struggling, Alora lifted it. “The sword is heavy.”

“As is our worst fears and battles. Given to the strongest of warriors. Those worthy to fight.”

She willed herself not to swallow, stiffened her spine, and lifted her chin.

Garrik inhaled a deep breath, filling his entire body before he turned away and prowled along the blood-splattered walls. His steps were measured, careful, precise as they touched each stone like he was counting each laid in the floor. Amber light danced across his leathers, casting shadows in the swells and dips and scales cladding his body. Until he stood in the center of another open chamber. A massive circle had been carved deep into the stone and a lonely wooden chair waited.

With one lazy wave of his hand, three figures appeared in front of him.

A long red-haired older High Fae male stood. A gruesome scar went from above his eyebrow down over one whited-outeye, stopping just above his cheek. His red beard drifted straight to a point above silver armor and a purple cape.

Beside him stood a lean High Fae male with short night-dark hair and a dragon-scaled, onyx coat that fell low behind his knees. Needle-like spikes jutted from his wrists and shoulders, dripping with crimson, as searing blue flames tricked across his fingers.

And the last, a devastatingly beautiful female with long, raven-colored hair, adorned in a black gown of lace and silk that hugged every curve and swelled her breasts. Long black ombré fingernails extended up to her knuckles, accentuating fully black, serpentine eyes and onyx lips.

Alora found herself stepping forward, eyes narrowed on Garrik as she closed the distance, watching as he pivoted from one to the other.

“Kill the memory,” was all he said before Smokeshadows wrapped around each of their throats. “You do what you have to do to the memory?—”

The first male, in Raven’s armor, gurgled as he choked. Garrik dropped his open palm to his side, curling his fingers inward until his fist shook. The tighter his fist squeezed, the more Smokeshadows constricted around the male’s throat until he dropped to the stones blue-faced.

“—until they no longer grip you in fear.”

When Garrik opened his palm, shadows whirled around a torch raging with flames. With one idle flick of his arm, the torch collided into the dark-haired male’s black boots, consuming him entirely.

Fire viciously crawled up his form until blackened ash dusted across the bloodstained stones.

Garrik’s steps shook the floor. He stopped without a single glance at the female before him. His entirely consumed silver eyes were lost to the blackened abyss when he turned backto Alora. “Until every last part of their worthless existence no longer lives in your mind and plagues you.”

It was then, Alora realized. The same female standing before her was the female at the wall.

The female, with vacant eyes, extended her hand.