Prologue

Aftermath

C yril was going to die here, afraid and alone, and freezing , in this filthy pit of a cellar.

Just another abrupt dead end of the Rhodea family tree.

And, truthfully? The thought of Dion finding her here like this, broken and bled out to the whims of her stupidity, hurt more than she ever thought possible.

Even after everything, she didn’t want that for him.

But by the time Mikael and the others realized she hadn’t made it to their rendezvous spot… Those were hours she just didn’t have.

Whatever happened to her body down here, whatever surge of blinding adrenaline pushed her beyond limits she could not comprehend, it drained her completely. That usual thrum of life beneath her skin, the dull buzz of fae strength that always simmered through her being? It was gone, and the quiet it left was deafening.

The damp, decay-laced air filling every crumbling corner of the cellar sat heavy in Cyril’s lungs, and every breath she struggled to draw sent an ache of pain through her side. She tried to grip the gaping wound, to put some kind of pressure on it, but her fingers were stiff and her body was shaking and it had become just too hard to care.

Every little shift of her body sent more blood weeping out of her wounds, little rushes of warmth before the painful cold set back in. Even if she tried to move again, she’d never make it up the stairs with her leg mangled like it was.

Cyril’s head settled against the rotted wooden post that provided her only means of support, and she swallowed down the bitter, metallic taste in her mouth.

This…

This was it.

The bloody massacre painted on every surface of the room slipped from focus as a dark haze settled in the edges of her vision, her eyes drifting of their own free will. The flames in the sconces flickered a bit more dimly now, too.

If luck deigned to toss her a favor for once, death would come on swift wings.

Or, in the more likely case, the hours Cyril had left would be lonely and cold, and full of thoughts that would bring her no comfort.

Cyril wanted to go home .

She missed her cobbled-together family.

She missed the great hall, and her bed, and the apple trees.

She missed…Dion, more than she ever thought she could, or should.

Would he even bring her ashes back to Helia, and lay her to rest with her parents?

And Attie? Fuck. The poor horse.

Would she think Cyril just up and abandoned her, after every ride and adventure they’d taken in these abysmal months?

Gods, how long until Mi—

Thump. Thump.

Cyril huffed a sad mockery of a laugh.

Death would see fit to play one last act of cruelty on her. Fool her ears into thinking someone would really pull her out of this fucking hellhole.

Thump. Thump.

Bang.

Her eyes drifted shut, hand dropping from her side to the gritty, blood-soaked stone below. This fool’s hope of her mind was not something she’d let herself entertain.

Cyril was so…tired.

Icy pinpricks clawed up her fingers and arms, and her legs felt like nothing but dead weight. She was ready for this to be over, ready to yield, ready to find out if there was anything after.

Thump. Thump.

“ Cyril?!”

Cyril’s eyes flew open.