38. Nora

38

NORA

" I need you to promise me right now that you won't leave Imogen's side tonight."

Leo and Imogen walk a few paces ahead of us, laughing and oh-so-oblivious to the looming threat that we head towards.

"Why?" Josie asks, quietly, as we curl down the spiral staircase.

"I met with Benevolence last night," I say.

Our eyes lock, and her magic pokes at my mental shields. I let her in, and she shifts through my memories, replaying the conversation with Benevolence.

It's faster—and safer—than me explaining everything out loud.

"Shit," she says when she's done. Her magic pulls away from me, and I shiver; she's rummaged through my mind a thousand times, but it never gets any more comfortable to feel the slimy prongs probing my mind. "Are you okay?"

"I've heard that question too many times this morning already."

"It's a valid one for me to ask."

"Yeah, well. I'm compartmentalizing," I huff.

"Not well," Josie says.

"Not at all," I concur. "But better than last night."

Josie is quiet as we step onto the ground floor, exiting the stairwell and filing into the grand hall. Her features are pinched, pensive, as we walk shoulder to shoulder.

"I'll protect her," she says, finally.

"Thank you."

Josie scoffs, betraying her carefully concealed frustration with me. "You don't need to thank me, Nor. I care about her too."

"Yes, I do," I double down.

Another tense beat passes between us.

"Are you sure you still want to do this?"

This. Killing Patience. Walking into that ballroom knowing every single pair of Seelie eyes sees right through my facade.

"I had my moment of weakness. It's passed," I say, steeling my shoulders. "I refuse to back down."

"Okay," Josie says. "Then I'm behind you."

I stop, Josie's steps stalling a moment after. Imogen and Leo continue down the hall, but we'll only be a minute behind. We'll catch up to them. I need to do this first because I don't know what will come after we walk through those double doors.

Rushing forward, I tug Josie into a tight hug. She hesitates, shocked at the overt affection, before her arms quickly wrap around me. My heart aches in my chest as our fingers dig into each other's flesh through layers of fabric.

"Thank you," I say, and I hope she understands that it's for more than just today.

"It's going to be okay," Josie whispers into my ear.

"You don't know that."

"I do. In the end, it will be." She somehow squeezes me tighter. "We always said the pain will be worth the reward. Why stop believing that now?"

The words soothe a part of me that I too often ignore.

The pain will be worth it in the end.

They're words I've muttered to myself a thousand times before. And a thousand times over to Josie.

Every time Pride lashed me with a belt.

When he sheared our wings.

Every time we cried into each other's arms over whatever fucked-up thing he had us do. Until the tears dried up, and there were no more left to cry.

She's right.

There's no reason to stop believing that now.

I release Josie, step back, and take a deep breath.

The sprites either have magic of their own, or they worked all night to transform the banquet hall into a winter dreamscape.

Icy blue drapes line the windows and bundles of evergreen zigzag across the ceiling, filling the room with the scent of the forest. Two long wooden farm tables bracket each side of the room, draped with gauzy white runners and pine garland. Fine crystal-white dishware, topped with a knotted forest-green napkin, make up the place settings for each of us.

Sprites of both Unseelie and Seelie nature flutter about the room carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres and drinks, though they've traded glasses of bubbly for festive cocktails. I grab one off a tray and sniff, cranberry filling my nose. I pass it off to Leo, who guzzles it down without a thought.

"Delicious," Leo says, smacking his lips.

He offers it to Imogen, who takes a tentative sip. Her eyes light up.

"Oh! That's not too different from…" they go back and forth about drink recipes, while my attention shifts to the stage at the center of the room.

Sprites pluck at a host of string instruments; a mix of iridescent green and leathery black wings blur with unnatural speed around the harp, violin, viola, and cello. A few Seelie already move at the stage's edge, swaying together in a graceful waltz that differs from the dancing done on our side of Faerie.

I tilt my head, studying a Seelie pair—who both have their translucent gold wings out—as they twirl at the center of the dancers.

I picture Imogen and me waltzing together, with one of my hands on her low back and one of hers on the nape of my neck. I'd pull her close and murmur inappropriate things in her ear that would have her giving in to my whims with ease.

"Do you want to dance?" she asks, curling around my arm and lacing our fingers together.

I smile down at her, softly. "I'd love that."

A rush of air flows through the room when the massive double doors behind us open.

Silas saunters through the archway, and my head snaps with a double take at the sight of his wings cresting over the back of his charcoal-gray suit. Pure white feathers bristle at his back, his wings flexing.

He's the only Unseelie with them out—a fact that does not go unnoticed. A wave of whispers roll through the room. With his matching white hair and dark eyes, he's a creature stepping out of a myth.

He is a man on a mission, the sea of fae parting for him without a word as he strides to Oonagh, the Seelie Queen. They exchange a few words, and she nods, grabbing a fork from a random place setting. Twisting the silver metal in her palm, she uses the dull end to tap against her cocktail glass. The sharp and repeated pings slice through the air, cutting off the band and any whispers of conversation.

The queen hands her drink and fork to a member of her entourage, stepping onto the stage and pushing the musician sprites out of the way. Her dress is similar to the one she wore at the luncheon, all opalescent beading, but today, it falls all the way to the floor and strands dangle off her shoulders. Silas follows her onto the raised platform, though he looks less than ecstatic to be there.

"Ah, thank you, thank you!" Oonagh beams as the Seelie applaud her. Just as the applause subsides, the room darkens. Beyond the windowpanes, dark gray clouds cover the sun as they journey across the sky, casting stormy shadows into the room. The queen scoffs. "We can't have that, even if it is the Winter Solstice!"

She throws her hands out and faerie lights burst from her fingertips; the orbs float to the vaulted ceilings and send sparkling rays of light across the room. Though her magic brings a visual warmth to the room, it cannot mask the tell-tale pitter-patter of rain beginning to pelt the glass windows.

Oonagh forces a smile and claps her hands.

"Much better!" Her entourage of fae laugh as if she told the best joke of the century; she shushes them and the room quiets. "Now, it's been fifty long years of celebration without the Unseelie. But I am so happy that our sister Court from across the river has found it in their hearts to embrace tradition again."

She pauses, and a beat passes before the Seelie get the hint and clap. Her smile is taut, not reaching her eyes, when she continues.

"Now, Silas, if you'll have a few words," she drawls, waving Silas forward.

He raises a drink-clad hand.

"Happy Solstice," he says. Then throws back the entirety of his drink.

The queen's lips curl over her teeth in what I would describe as more of a grimace than a smile as Silas stalks off the platform.

"Dinner will be served shortly!" She laughs nervously and snaps her fingers at the band. They start an upbeat tune, and she steps off the stage, swallowed by the throngs of Seelie on the dance floor.

All of them have their wings out; the fae-light filled room glitters with every flutter of their wings. Some are opalescent, like dragonflies, and others are more akin to butterflies and moths, with opaque patterns that mimic monarchs and swallowtails.

"That was… interesting," Josie says tentatively.

"Fucking awkward is what it is," I say, watching Silas stalk our way.

"It is the fiftieth anniversary of his parents' deaths. Maybe he isn't feeling chatty today?" Imogen offers.

"The man loves to hear himself talk," I say. "No. He's just being smart."

"Well, smart is headed right for us," Leo says over the rim of his glass.

Silas stops before our group, and the five of us stare at each other, unblinking.

"Happy Solstice?" Leo asks, breaking the silence.

Silas ignores Leo and raises a quizzical brow at me.

"Can we chat?" he asks.

"Sure." I give Imogen's hand a squeeze before letting it go. I lean into Imogen's ear. "Don't leave Josie's side, please."

She reads the seriousness in my tone and nods, pulling Josie and Leo away to go find some hors d'oeuvres.

I turn to Silas, finding his gaze locked on Imogen; there's a sadness that lingers there, but it's quickly shaken away as his kingly mask falls back into place.

"You're wearing your gloves," he says.

I tug at one, pulling it further up my arm, the silky shadow fibers slipping between my fingers.

"They are vital to our plan, no?"

"Yes, but it shocks me every time you listen to directions without putting up a fight."

"Funny," I deadpan.

He turns and we're shoulder to shoulder; the coarse fabric of his suit scratches the bare stretch of my upper arm. We watch the rest of the room like two hawks, ready to swoop down for our prey.

"Wrath is on standby in case anything goes sideways. He'll pull people out as fast as he can." Silas sips his drink. "I would have us develop some kind of signal, but a good shout will work just the same."

"Good to know."

I know Josie is watching Imogen, but it's an extra comfort knowing that Silas has an evacuation plan.

"What are the odds everything goes as planned?" I ask.

"They were never very good to begin with."

"But we're here anyway."

"We are here anyway."

Silas sighs at my side, shifting on his feet. His wings bristle with the movement, feathers brushing against my back. Immediately, I stiffen, all joints in my body locking as the soft plumes graze against the exposed tops of my scars.

"You seem calmer than last night," Silas murmurs softly, ignoring the way my body reacts to his.

"I—"

Any retort I might have uttered back to the Unseelie King is cut short by fanfare, a line of sprites carrying our first course to the dinner tables.

"That's our cue," Silas says. "Dance with me after dinner, yeah? Patience will take the bait."

He stalks off to the table, leaving me staring after him with phantom pains running down my scars.

Whoever made the seating chart was an idiot.

I glare at the sprites that flitter between each of us, making sure our drinks are topped off as we take our seats.

Benevolence shoots me a kind smile as he takes the seat across from me; the mousy woman to his right must be his second. To his left sits the Seelie Queen and across from her—meaning right next to me—is Silas.

Relief washes over me when his wings dissipate into shadow, revealing the smooth expanse of his suit jacket.

Magic works in strange ways, our fabrics enchanted to work around our wings when we wish—if we have wings.

My scars still haven't stopped itching.

To my left is Imogen, and I place a hand on her thigh. I squeeze it, the sensation of my fingers digging into her flesh is a lifeline, mooring me to shore. Josie and Leo are to her left, and the rest of the Sins spread out evenly on either side of Silas and I. On the other side of the table sit all the Seelie, at least, the important ones. The queen's courtiers are sat at the table on the other side of the room. Though, two important players are noticeably missing: Patience and Alexander.

A thrumming kind of energy shakes my leg, my heel tapping repeatedly against the marble floor. My magic perks, anticipating what's to come.

I just have to get through dinner.

The Seelie double doors finally swing open.

"Late," Silas scoffs to himself, but I'm close enough to hear it.

My thought exactly .

He had to make a dramatic entrance.

Patience is followed by his other son—my younger cousin—and they take the two empty seats directly to the left of the queen.

"Ah! Great, now we can start." Oonagh claps, the Seelie all digging into their plates after she stabs a piece of salad with her fork. "Patience, dear, this must be so nice for you. Your first Solstice with all your family in years."

My stomach instantly sours, any bit of appetite I had gone.

Patience laughs. "Yes, it's nice to have both of my sons here with me."

His cold eyes cut my way; a shark-like grin spreads across his cheeks that sets a storm rolling in my belly.

Benevolence clears his throat, addressing Silas. "This is my brother's first Solstice as Patience's Second."

"Is it?" Silas's brows flick to his forehead, vacant eyes landing on my younger cousin. His tone is unamused, lacking any actual interest.

An awkward beat passes, the only sound the scraping of forks and knives against the ceramic plates. The air is tense, most eyes are firmly set on their food. But I know each set of ears is tuned to the conversation between the center seats.

"So sad about the late Pride," Oonagh croons my way. She speaks as she cuts, her knife scraping back and forth through a chunk of near-rare meat. Lifting one piece, her lips wrap around the fork and she hums, chewing and swallowing before continuing. "But he wasn't really your father."

Her lips curve into a devious smile, her questions spearing right through any pretense we were keeping between us; twice now, she's made jabs at my real heritage.

The queen thinks she's a cat and I'm a mouse.

She'll soon find out I'm a wolf in disguise.

"No." I clear my throat, dabbing the edge of my mouth with my napkin. "He took me in when I was a youngling."

Imogen's knee bumps mine under the table, the contact a steady comfort.

"Very kind of him," Oonagh says. "I don't remember him being a kind man."

"He wasn't."

"Yet he still took an orphan in to carry on his legacy?" The queen laughs, causing the rest of the Seelie at the table to chuckle. Patience joins in, a smug smile plastered across his face. "Seems like a silly thing to do."

"You could say I offered him more than a child born of his own blood would have," I say.

"She is quite talented," Silas quips.

"As we've heard," the queen croons. "We thought it would be good entertainment for tonight."

Silas's knife pauses halfway through his piece of chicken.

"Oh?" he says, putting both utensils down. Now they've hooked him.

The queen is absolutely delighted, having his attention. She leans across the table, spearing us both with a conspiratorial look.

"I want to see it in person, if you will humor me," Oonagh says. Then she turns her head towards her Virtues. "Charity, dear, will you bring in our sacrifice for the night?"

"Sacrifice?" Imogen whispers at my side. Her hand has meandered to my knee, where her nails dig into my flesh through the fabric.

"Oh, don't worry, darling. We don't make it a habit of sacrificing people on Solstice." Oonagh waves away our worry. "You don't mind, do you, Pride?"

I think loud and clear for Josie to calm Imogen down, as all eyes are on me and I can't do it myself. Out of my periphery I see Josie lean in, whispering in Imogen's ear, and I feel Imogen's nails retreat from my leg. All the while, I shoot Oonagh a smile.

"Of course not," I say.

"See? She doesn't mind," Oonagh says to Silas, who is pitting her with a glare.

Then the Seelie doors burst open again, two guards dragging a disgruntled fae between them. His wrists are chained in iron, not unlike how we had our prisoners restrained at Mt. Bramble. The only difference being that this one is Seelie, and we don't know if his crimes justify the punishment.

I look to Silas for guidance.

He doesn't seem happy about it, but he nods anyway. Approval to play along.

The Seelie guards stop at the center of the dance floor, forcing the prisoner to his knees. His sobs fill the room, a somber sight for a day that's supposed to be a celebration.

I stand, pushing in my chair after myself. I make a show of pulling off my gloves, placing them in Silas's outstretched hand. I hope he can read the thank you in my eyes before I turn and walk to the prisoner. My heels are a rhythmic beat behind the melody of his sobs.

I don't waste any time.

My magic is already waiting and hungry at my fingertips.

I simply graze his forehead, his clammy skin brushing against mine. My magic rushes forward, clogging his veins and overloading his heart.

The Seelie crumbles to the ground and silence echoes in the space.

I pivot and hold my hands out, mimicking a magician who has performed a trick.

"There," I say, my own cunning grin plastered across my face. "Not very climactic, is it?"

That knocks people from their entranced stupor. The queen claps, her people following suit enthusiastically.

"That is unreal," she laughs. "Quite a talent indeed."

I take my seat, and Silas hands me my gloves. I pull them on carefully and quietly as the table assumes a state close to normalcy—however normal our two Courts can act with each other.

It's not until dinner is cleared and the sprites are playing a slow, somber tune that the energy shifts.

It's time .

Silas stands, offering me his hand.

"Dance?"

I hesitate; I know Patience won't approach me if I'm dancing with Silas. No, my uncle will wait until I'm dancing with the person who I care about most in the room. The one he knows I want to protect.

I push past the twinge of fear in my heart—he won't hurt her right now; I'll hand her off to Josie when he comes, and then it'll be okay.

And selfishly, I want this dance with her.

I grab her hand.

"Ask me again after I'm done with this one," I say to Silas, pulling Imogen from her seat.

"Dance with me?" I ask, mocking the question she would ask me every night I frequented the Den just to see her.

"Don't I always?" she chides, quoting my usual response.

She giggles as I draw her close to me on the dance floor; her arms circle around my neck, and my hands sit low on her back. We sway among the Seelie, no others from our Court having taken the opportunity to dance.

Too many eyes burn holes in my back, but I ignore them, my focus set wholly on Imogen. Resting my forehead against hers, I bask in her warmth.

"You're acting strange today," she whispers.

" Shhh , I want to enjoy a dance with you."

Imogen hums suspiciously. "Okay."

I twirl her; she laughs.

We sway, wrapped around each other.

We don't talk, at least not with our mouths. I hope my eyes communicate all that I want to say.

Something heavy passes between us.

Her blond brows scrunch over those molten amber eyes. I graze my thumb over her freckled cheek.

It feels like a goodbye.

I hope that it isn't—that it's all in my head—but it's hard to ignore the all too familiar sinking of my gut.

"Nor—"

There's a tap on Imogen's shoulder. She pulls back, startled, breaking the intimate moment.

"Sorry, but could I have the next dance?" Benevolence stands there with an impish grin, his hand scratching the back of his neck.

Imogen looks like she wants to refuse, but I reassure her. "It's okay. Go to Josie."

Imogen's soft gaze flits between me and Benevolence before she nods, scurrying over to our friends who stand by the Unseelie doors.

Josie's smart , staying close to the exits.

My gaze lands on Silas next, who sits in his assigned chair next to Wrath, nursing another glass of liquor. He's not looking at me though—his glare is trained on Benevolence.

Benevolence clears his throat, brows shooting to the top of his forehead in question.

I sigh, holding back an eye roll as I offer my hands to my cousin.

He pulls me into a waltz, the sprites playing the room into more formal dances.

"Are you having a good night?" Benevolence asks.

This time I don't hold back my eye roll. "Yes, I loved being the queen's entertainment for tonight."

"It was unnerving to see death up close, if I'm honest." His body shivers against mine.

We spin on light feet, following the couple next to us as we circle the center stage.

"Have you not killed anyone before?" I ask.

"Does indirectly count?"

"If you have to ask, then you already know it doesn't."

"So, how will the murdering go, with these things on?" Benevolence wiggles his fingers against the back of my hand, pressing into my gloves.

"Who said I was going to act on your favor tonight?"

"If you don't, I may have to retract my assumption of you being smart," he mutters. "If you aren't, then you should never have come tonight."

The music comes to a slow end, Benevolence hinging forward at his waist in a formal bow to end our dance. He doesn't say another word before he walks away, leaving me partnerless on the dance floor.

"You are quite the commodity tonight," the deep voice that haunts my memory calls from behind me.

I turn, unsurprised. He did take his time, though.

"Can you blame them for liking me?"

Patience smiles, and it has the hair standing up on my arms. "I can, though I do understand the allure."

He holds out a hand. I take it.

My magic giggles under my skin, giddy for its next victim. It quickly passes between me and my gloves, seeping into Patience's skin.

Satisfaction rolls through me as the tether of my magic take root.

And then, we dance.

"You look very much like your mother," Patience says after a few steps.

"From what I can remember of her, I'd agree."

"Though you inherited your father's dark hair."

"You say that as if it's a bad thing."

Patience's nostrils flare with displeasure. Our movements are stiff as we spin between the couples on the dance floor.

"She wasn't supposed to fall in love with him," he seethes.

"Clearly."

There's a pause, a strange and awkward beat where our words, the music, and our feet gliding along the ballroom floor lose their synchronicity.

"Do you not have questions about them?" he asks.

"Who? My parents?" I huff. "Not for you. I know their story well enough."

My uncle spins me, and I'm caught by another Seelie man's arms. We step for eight counts before he spins me back to Patience.

"You got upset because my mother didn't play her part as spy to your liking. She didn't get close enough to the right people . And then, she made the mistake of falling in love with her mark and falling pregnant with me," I recall with venom. "You exiled her. Then you chased us across the Human Realm when you learned what I could do. As if you had any right to claim me as family after how you treated her." I scoff. "I may have been a child, but she told me everything in so many words."

"You might resemble your parents in looks, but your personality is much closer to mine." Patience chuckles. "I always wanted a daughter, you know."

Bile curls in my throat.

I focus on the tether of magic between us, the reminder that I have my reward at my fingertips. All I have to do is pull the trigger when it's time.

"I'm surprised you didn't shoot me on-sight yesterday," he adds.

"I'm not planning on killing you today."

"Oh?"

"I want to savor it," I say. And for the first time as we dance, I meet his gaze.

We have the same eyes. A green so bright and clear, it's a wonder no one has called out the similarity.

Patience hums. "Even so, I got what I wanted in the end, didn't I?"

"How so?"

Our feet hop along with the music, the beat shifting to something faster, more primal, all plucky string and scaling notes.

"You're all here, the Unseelie Court's isolation broken. And I got my spy."

"I'm not a spy for you," I seethe.

Patience chuckles again, and the embers of rage stoke in my stomach.

"No, you're not. You're my unknowing Trojan horse," he surmises. "But that doesn't mean I don't also have a spy. How else would I have known where your little lover was going to be weeks ago?"

Those sparking embers roar into full flames at the mention of Imogen. And a spy who knew where she'd be? Only Josie and Wes knew before the attack… The fire in my veins is doused, frozen over with realization.

Josie would never. Which means he got Wes to talk. How the fuck did he get Wes to talk?

"How?" is all I ask.

"You shouldn't be bringing such fresh blood into the field without them properly marking their loyalty, Pride," Patience says. He makes a mockery of my title every time he says it with those sneering lips. "He was shocked to learn that daddy-dearest was slain by the people he's supposed to trust most. And that you're a half-breed? The poor boy was beside himself."

I burrow into my rage, breathing deeply and trying to keep it from exploding around us. Focusing on the tether, the boon of my pain, I keep it firm and strong between us.

I can't lose this.

"And what do you think is going to happen when your king learns who you are? What about your lover? Will lust be enough to keep you together after this?"

Patience drones on, and I attempt to tune him out.

Just make it to the end of the song. Why is this song so fucking long?

I glare at the sprites plucking away at their instruments over Patience's shoulder. The music is building, louder and louder. We have to be coming to the end soon.

Patience's hot breath spreads over my ear. "How many years have you spent wondering what would happen if they found out? You were so desperate to hide who you are that you clipped your own wings. It's a shame."

"There wasn't much of a choice in the matter," I growl.

"I could heal them, you know," he says, casually.

His hand runs up from my mid-back, brushing over the exposed tips of my scars. Prickles of pain flare along the mottled flesh, and I gasp, shoving Patience away. The music crescendos into a cacophony of sound and I stumble backwards into the Seelie dancers, not having realized how crowded the dance floor has become.

Patience laughs, a booming cackle, and dread fills my veins.

I turn, trying to push through the crowd, but they won't part for me. The prickles have turned into stabs at my back, the pain growing worse. I shove drunk Seelie down, and they harrumph at me for being rude, but I don't care.

I need to get away from this man.

I need to get out of here.

My instinct flares; alarm bells sound in the back of my mind.

I'm half tempted to start dropping Seelie right then and there to get past them. But then the double doors on our side of the castle open, letting in chaos.

The rest of my Court's backs are turned to them, because why wouldn't they be? That's supposed to be our part of the castle.

The Seelie aren't supposed to be on that side.

My throat constricts.

I had thought I could go to both sides because I was both Unseelie and Seelie—but maybe I was wrong. Maybe the castle never cared who went where. And we were supposed to trust each other.

We were fools, then.

Seelie guards enter the room, armed with semi-automatics that I'm all too familiar with.

I yell, pushing all the breath from my lungs into this one cry. Silas's name unfurls from my mouth while Josie's name screams forth from my mind.

The world moves in slow motion as I break past the last of the Seelie courtiers, who are unaware of their Virtue's plan to massacre this entire ballroom. Guns like those aren't used for accuracy, they're designed to cause the most damage as quickly as possible. As many Seelie will be caught in this crossfire as Unseelie.

White hair whips towards me, black eyes meeting mine before disappearing into shadowy wisps. My gloves dissipate too, leaving me without any barriers.

Flashes of shadow and light spark across the room. Those that can, magic away, leaving the rest of us to fend for ourselves.

The Seelie guards unleash their weapons.

It's a hailstorm of bullets and screams.

I stride forward without fear, wincing at the discomfort at my back. I whip my head from side to side, hunting for Josie, Imogen, and Leo.

Flickers of Wrath appear, pulling the Unseelie one-by-one from the room. Meanwhile, Silas is taking out Seelie guards. He's a swirling mass of shadow, a black hole sucking in the guards and spitting their lifeless bodies out with speed and accuracy.

Finally, I spot them, Josie standing in front of Imogen and Leo in the corner of the room. Josie's got her gun out, shooting at Seelie as they slowly inch their way toward the windows. The Unseelie doors now the center of the worst violence; she's smart to lead them away from?—

A hand smacks between my shoulder blades. A searing agony spears through my back.

It's all-consuming. White-hot, like being burned from the inside out.

I feel it this time, his magic, swirling beside mine; it rearranges the cells of my body, building new tissue and cutting through muscle. I fall to my knees, screaming through the pain.

My core splits open. It's a reawakening of something I had lost a decade ago.

Wings. They sprout from my back, reborn.

An ache lingers in my bones as the agony subsides and I push up from the floor. The world tilts on its axis as emerald meets amber; Imogen's face is stricken white across the room. Her hand covers her parted lips, devastation racking her features as she takes in the impossibility unfurling from my back.

And then she's gone, Wrath's shadows engulf her.

And I'm left with my rage.

I turn and unleash it on my uncle.

I don't care about plans. I don't care about Silas. All I care about is killing him. Right fucking now. In the most violent way possible.

Patience laughs as I launch at him. He laughs as I tackle him to the ground. And he laughs as I punch his stupid face bloody.

Any bit of restraint I had breaks. I grip his suit lapel, hauling his face into the air, only to punch it back into the marble floors. With all the reckoning of an avenging god, I rain down on him the violence of a hurricane.

"You're going to regret leaving me alive that day. When I'm done with you, you will wish you could die so easily." Spit flies from my mouth as I speak. My fist meets his face on every word, bone crunching under my knuckles. He laughs through the pain, his bloody teeth curled into a smile.

Bullets whiz past me. It's a miracle that I haven't been hit yet.

Patience's face heals as fast as my blows are dealt, his flesh stitching back together every time my knuckles rip it apart. I lose myself completely to my fury. My magic roils and cheers in my belly, pushing me closer to using it in its full might, but I hold tight to that tether. I make it strong, weaving it with the iron thread of my will.

I will not let it break.

But I will savor his death.

This pain will be worth this reward.

Patience's eyes flick beyond my shoulder, but I'm too slow to catch it, the back of my head blooming with pain as I'm knocked onto my back.

My vision is blurry, but I can still make out the curled mustache of my cousin standing above me.

"I'm sorry." I hear.

The world goes white around me. I'm thrust into the heart of a star, burned whole.