Chapter 29

‘Thysandra?’

She didn’t want to return to wakefulness.

It hurt too much, the world outside the safe, dark cocoon of her own scarred wings. Here, curled up within herself, she was invisible. Protected. A small, hidden creature that might as well not exist, that no one could reach, that no one could harm.

Outside was the blood.

Outside was the betrayal.

Outside was the game she’d played all her life, the game she no longer wanted to play and yet could never, never step away from again – the game she’d forgotten for one stupid, sentimental illusion of love, and look what had come of it?

She’d shattered with the dozens of rulers in whose company she found herself.

‘Thys? Thys, can you hear me?’

A moan slipped over her lips.

‘Oh, thank the gods— I’m so sorry, Thys, but I’m going to need you to wake up, alright?’ The stinging pain in her shoulder dulled. She hadn’t noticed it until it vanished. ‘Wait, let me patch you up a little …’

This time, eyes half-opened, she did catch the flash of blue. Her ankle abruptly felt like an ankle again, rather than a throbbing, swollen weight attached to her equally sore legs.

‘There.’ More blue. More relief. She couldn’t even tell what parts of her body stopped hurting, just that the haze of agony cleared slightly with every burst of colour. ‘Does that help?’

Yes.

No.

Without the physical pain, nothing was left to distract her from the vast and desolate void that had opened within her chest – the feelings she did not want to feel, because she might never emerge from them again.

She’d believed it. For one night of blissful insanity, she had really, truly believed the Mother may have been wrong, the court may have been wrong, the rules she’d bled to instil in her bones had been lies from the very start. That something like loyalty may just have existed for her after all. Sacrifice. Love, even.

And now she was back at the bottom of that pit.

That was the problem with taking off your armour. The blades of life cut so much deeper.

‘Thysandra, listen to me.’ Still no one touched her. ‘I need you to sit up and talk to me. We might be in danger.’

Danger was a word she knew in every fibre of her body. Even now, it hardened something she hadn’t even known was still there inside her; her muscles moved themselves.

Wings down. Head up. Spine straight.

Nicanor knelt before her.

‘That’s more like it.’ His smile was strained with worry. ‘Glad you’re back, Thys. We need to have a word.’

Why was he even still here ?

She’d lost. He had to know she’d lost. If he had any sense in that cunning fae mind of his, he’d already be miles away from the court – so what in the world was he doing here, tending to her wounds, worrying ?

‘What happened?’ she managed to croak, reeling where she sat.

‘That’s what I wanted to ask you.’ He sank down on the floor opposite her and crossed his ankles – his coat and trousers strangely unbloodied for a male who’d charged into battle minutes ago. Perhaps he’d changed before he came to find her. Honestly, she wouldn’t put it past him. ‘I understand that you killed Bereas?’

Bereas.

The window.

You’re fucking the wrong person …

‘Yes,’ she said hollowly, staring at her own dress with unseeing eyes. The first red was already seeping back into its dyed surface, turning pale blue into pale purple. She must have been out for a while. ‘I … I did.’

‘Did you get anything out of him?’

There was a tension to the question – an urgency. The same desperate drive for answers she’d felt, until she heard the answers and realised she would much, much rather not have known.

‘Naxi,’ she breathed.

She saw him lean forward on the edge of her sight. ‘Say that again?’

‘Naxi— Anaxia, I mean.’ Fuck. Too much familiarity. Then again, what did it matter now? ‘She betrayed us. This meeting.’

My heart .

Nicanor’s breath escaped in a rush … of disappointment? An unspoken of course , perhaps? ‘And where is she now, Thys? Anaxia?’

Gone .

It seemed the only answer that could even begin to explain. The empty spot on her wrist. The sight of a slender back moving away, away, away. That simple, deadly word – no .

That answer was all she’d needed, and she so desperately wished she’d never heard it.

‘She has left?’ Nicanor asked softly, and when she lifted her head, she found his gaze aimed at her wrist as well .

Thysandra nodded.

Somehow, he did not seem to need more than that.

For a moment, he was quiet, looking so eerily tidy against the background of rubble and dust – his spotless pale blue coat buttoned all the way up his throat, his silvery hair twisted into a meticulous braid. Not a scrap of mud on his boots. Not a fleck of blood on his hands. Only the small frown on his face betrayed what lay beneath the flawless composure – the smallest hint of the unending calculations always running through his mind.

‘Alright,’ he finally said, rising to his feet in a single elegant motion. ‘There’s something I need to show you.’

She blinked at the hand he held out to her. ‘Now?’

‘Yes. Now.’

She didn’t want to move. She just wanted to sit here, stacked away with the other forgotten rulers of times long past, until she and her utter failures faded from memory with them … but there was something reassuring about the sharpness of him. The cleanness of him. As if he existed in some parallel world where none of the violence and none of the chaos could touch him – as if she only needed to grasp that hand to join him there.

His fingers were cold to the touch when she laid her palm in his. He pulled her to her feet with effortless strength.

‘Proud of you,’ he said.

He sounded like he meant it, too.

She didn’t think she could fly, and so they walked – out of the hall, through the academy galleries, back into the heart of the court. The castle was unnervingly quiet once more. As if every single soul around had done exactly what she most wished to do: locked the doors behind them and hidden beneath their blankets … except that in the distance, louder and louder with every step forward, the clamour of voices could be heard.

Cheerful voices. Celebrating voices.

‘Don’t worry,’ Nicanor said as she faltered, those panicked moments in the gallery returning to her with an alarmed stutter of her heart. ‘It’s our army. ’

Oh.

Of course.

Did she think he’d have walked so leisurely alongside her if those had been Bereas’s people lingering in their halls? Nicanor was many things, but careless wasn’t one of them.

She followed him numbly – closer and closer, she realised a few minutes later, to the training fields. The heart of the army’s territory at the Crimson Court. The place where she’d spent most of her first and second century, fighting and fighting and fighting, growing quietly stronger in the shadows while her brothers- and sisters-in-arms fawned over Creon fucking Hytherion and his unnerving skill in battle.

Stop whining , she heard Old Thysandra snap.

Bile welled in her throat.

It wasn’t the fields themselves that Nicanor led her to, it turned out. Instead, they made for the floor above, where an open gallery ran along the full length of the level – a simple, sturdy wooden passageway from where mentors would usually be hollering instructions at their pupils below.

There was no one to be seen inside the building on this morning. Only the red marble walls of the castle rose up around them as they stepped outside, the steep spires and arches between which wisps of clouds came drifting by. And before them, on the stretch of sand and grass where the soldiers would usually be sparring – an army.

She didn’t realise what she was looking at, at first.

They looked like any army in the minutes after a roaring victory – the boisterous laughter, the rough camaraderie, the display of weapons. She saw familiar faces among them, too. Imbros and the other commanders. Her own loyal warriors, the people by whose sides she’d fought so many times before. And—

The world seemed to stop in its tracks.

And Lyron?

The same Lyron she’d questioned after the attack on the archives. Who’d sneered that humans died anyway.

Whom she’d told Nicanor she never wanted to see again.

And by his side …

Gods help her – those were two of her captives, weren’t they? Two of the males who should still be sitting in that worn-down villa on Ilithia, waiting for the Alliance to come and get them?

As soon as she’d started seeing, she could not stop seeing anymore. More of Nicanor’s soldiers. More of her prisoners. And there were two brown-haired females she was very, very sure had been among the mob attacking her outside the archives – Bereas’s mob – and how could they possibly stand here, chatting and drinking and laughing with the very same force that was supposed to keep them off the island at any cost?

What—

How—

Her Lord Protector didn’t speak, next to her. Didn’t even glance her way. Just rested his pointy elbows on the balustrade and watched the crowd below them with a faint, content smile on his equally pointy face.

‘Nicanor?’ she said, unsure of what she was supposed to be seeing.

He didn’t turn. ‘Hmm?’

‘Who— Who exactly are—’

‘I told you.’ He canted his head just a fraction. ‘Our army.’

She opened her mouth to ask the questions.

Then shut it again, because the answers were already rising.

And slowly, ever so slowly, the ground started sinking away beneath her feet – the wooden walkway tilting, swaying, as if they were standing on the open ocean. Because this shouldn’t be their army. This shouldn’t be her army, in any case. And if it was his …

No.

Dead and living gods, no.

‘You’ve been working with them.’ It wasn’t even a question. ‘ You have been …’

He leaned against the wood even more gracefully. ‘Mm-hmm.’

‘You— No. No, that’s impossible.’ A feeble, lightheaded laugh stumbled past her lips. ‘You made a bargain of loyalty to—’

‘To the crown.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘Whomever that may belong to. Did you really think I’d so easily accept an Alliance-backed claim as legitimate, Thys?’

She stared at him. ‘To … to keep the court under …’

‘Control,’ he finished, throwing her a glance as he nodded. It was almost cheerful , the quirk of his eyebrow – as if this was some harmless, mischievous trick he’d played on her. ‘Didn’t mention whose control it would be, though, did I?’

His own.

He’d bargained to get the court under his own control.

Too many locks were clicking open in her mind at once, too many thoughts hurtling in for her to be able to distinguish one from the other; she staggered through the sea of them like a ship caught in a sudden summer storm, swept in all directions at once. ‘And Bereas knew—’

He gave a shrug. ‘It’s rather convenient that you killed him, I must admit. If I’d done it myself, it might have caused somewhat of a loyalty divide within our forces.’

She barely even heard that.

You’re fucking the wrong person, love.

‘He …’ The gall rose again, overwhelming in its acid bitterness. ‘Bereas— He thought we—’

‘Oh, that,’ Nicanor said dryly, turning back to the fields. ‘Frankly, I can’t fault him for it. History and everything. Never confirmed it, never contradicted it – I assumed you’d prefer that approach, given that their assumptions at least kept them from realising who was actually spending her nights in your rooms.’

There was no leering innuendo in his voice. No triumphant mockery. Just the simple, matter-of-fact observation, and it was that pragmatic dispassion that truly made her heart go cold in her chest.

‘You knew.’

‘Of course I bloody knew, Thys.’ A sliver of exasperation in his voice. ‘If you’re aiming for a secret tryst, try to avoid any canoodling in mid-air next time. You’re lucky most people were distracted at the time.’

Naxi.

Oh, gods, Naxi .

Fear grabbed her by the throat, that one name piercing through the fog of her exhaustion, her confusion, her rising nausea. Naxi – where was she? Had she run into this army on her way out? Surely she wouldn’t have been captured or even killed so easily – but if she had, if—

No, wait.

Nicanor had asked her where the little menace was.

He couldn’t know, then, could he? He couldn’t have found her yet? Which meant Naxi was out there, somewhere —

And innocent.

For a single, chest-shattering moment, she could not breathe.

‘I … I don’t understand.’ She had to keep talking. She had to know just how much she’d messed up – how much she’d misunderstood all of it. ‘If you wanted to get rid of me, why not just tell every single soul around the court? They would have done the job within the hour. No easier way to dispose of me.’

‘Who says I wanted to dispose of you?’ he said, and he sounded genuinely offended as he turned back towards her, white brows drawn together. ‘I like you far too much to do away with you that easily, Demonbane. Figured I’d try to nudge you in the right direction first. There would have been no need for draconic measures if that had worked.’

Nudge .

Horrific certainty washed over her.

‘Symeon,’ she breathed, and the floor swayed harder. ‘That attack on me – him calling me a traitor – that was—’

Nicanor shrugged, looking amused. ‘He may have received some suggestions on the verbiage, yes.’

No, Nicanor! the boy had shrieked in that moment before the knife slit his throat, genuine panic in his eyes. I was just—

Just following orders.

Just scaring her into picking the safe path, the path that went along with what most of the court wanted her to do. Stay loyal to the Mother’s legacy. Wage war against the rest of the archipelago. Regain control, somehow , of the empire they had lost.

She barely felt her limbs anymore.

‘And the leak on the human housing – telling Iaris, then killing her after she’d spread the news – that was you, too? ’

‘I took care to do it while you were away from the court,’ he said, looking genuinely rueful as he grimaced. ‘You weren’t supposed to be in any danger at all, I promise. Figured I’d let the mob kill a few humans before I regained control of the situation, to show you that you were only causing more innocents to become victims with your incomprehensibly chivalrous decisions – but that admittedly went a little sideways when you returned earlier than I expected. Apologies for that.’

Apologies?

Apologies ?

She wanted to hit him. She wanted to strangle him with his own fucking coat – anything , really, to break through that polished, uncaring breeziness. Her body wouldn’t obey, her mind too busy catching up to remember her muscles’ existence. Her heartbeat was a rambling gallop. Her hands were clammy with sweat.

‘You told Bereas to attack the ships.’ It all made sense now. Too much strategy for that smug fucking hothead, indeed. ‘Another attempt to narrow my options. You … you spread word of the agreement I was about to make with the Alliance and then poisoned me at the Hunter’s Moon yourself?’

‘Mm-hmm.’ He threw her a quick grin. ‘Painless poison, though. I promised you that.’

‘ How ? You were never even near my wine!’

‘Oh, it wasn’t in the wine,’ he said and beamed – an expression of genuine pride, a sudden spark of passion in his pale blue eyes. ‘It wasn’t Fire’s Kiss in the first place. See, I developed this really intriguing substance that can spread the toxins through touch alone – so I took the antidote, then rubbed the stuff all over my hand. You may remember—’

That hand.

On her shoulder.

‘Oh, gods.’ Her breath came in shivery gasps now. ‘Oh, gods – and then Gadyon—’

One purple bargain mark on her wrist.

No pink, and that was all she’d be able to see in the gallery … but only now, with clarity of mind returning to her, did she realise there had been a second mark missing.

‘Regrettable,’ Nicanor admitted with the absent air of a man who’s just squashed a fly. ‘Necessary, though. You’d have gotten suspicious without anyone to blame.’

It wasn’t even rage anymore, the white mist clouding her mind. It was a feeling so far beyond anger that all she could do was stare at him and breathe , draw the air deeper and deeper and deeper into her lungs and try not to physically explode with the raw force of her fury – Gadyon, who had been kind and loyal and now—

Dead.

How dare he?

How fucking dare he?

‘And this morning—’

‘I’ve learned not to underestimate you,’ Nicanor said, tilting his head at her with a faint, almost fond smile. ‘Figured you’d try something, so I had one of my people posted in the stairwell of your tower. They heard you discuss the plan with Thorgedson.’

Because she hadn’t wanted to let Tared into her rooms.

They’d discussed it standing on the landing, like idiots, and when Nicanor had heard—

He’d attacked.

Worse than that … he’d put up a fucking show for her. Bereas’s host first, then his own army to play the part of her saviours. He wouldn’t have done that if he’d only wanted to get the Alliance off the island. He could just have rushed in himself and finished the job, if he already knew he was about to make his final move.

But she’d have known it was him.

She’d still have had Naxi by her side.

Instead, he’d set her up to believe exactly what she’d ended up believing; instead, she had played right into his hands with her own unending paranoia. No wonder he’d been so tense about Bereas’s last words. A single snag in an otherwise perfect plan, yet even that hadn’t spoiled his schemes .

You’re fucking the wrong person, love .

‘You bastard,’ she whispered, somehow, even though there seemed to be no air left in her lungs. ‘You … you …’

‘I swear I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Thys.’ He spread his hands, as if to say, what choice did I have? ‘You kept digging yourself deeper and deeper into that hole. I figured if I could give you enough of a fright, you might finally agree to call off the whole thing with the Alliance and pick the sensible strategy instead. It seemed the kinder option.’

Kinder than killing her.

Which he could so, so easily have done.

‘All of that work,’ she choked out, ‘all of those deaths, and all because you needed to have your fucking war? Really?’

‘You know me, Thys.’ A wry nod at the castle around them, the red walls gleaming like blood in the light of the morning sun. ‘Did you truly think I would just accept it? Let the Crimson Court be degraded into some run-of-the-mill backwater castle?’

Nicanor of Myron’s house, ambitious to a fault.

How, how had she ever thought he’d settle for Lord Protector of a single court alone? Hungry , Naxi had said – and she had stupidly, blindly thought it was her body he was hankering for.

Instead – her power.

‘You’re too intelligent for this madness,’ she stammered, hand clenching around the wooden balustrade. Her stomach was churning; if she wasn’t careful, she might end up spewing its contents over the unwitting soldiers celebrating below. ‘You know damn well that we’d suffer nothing but blistering defeat if we went to battle now – that we wouldn’t stand a gods-damned chance against an unbound Alliance with a godsworn mage on their side. Safe bets may not lead to victory, but asinine bets—’

‘Who said I was planning to play fair?’ he interrupted, looking wryly amused again.

She snapped her mouth shut.

‘You gave me the perfect strategy, actually. Those prisoners they asked for.’ He nodded at the fae on the fields below. ‘Remember that nifty little poison of mine? All I need to do is send them to the magical islands as you planned and instruct them to get their hands on as many of the Alliance’s rulers as they can reach. Don’t think they’ll be nearly as ready for war with half of their leaders dead within a day.’

Hell have mercy.

Would it work ?

There had been a time, she was suddenly, keenly aware, when she would have been overjoyed with the ingenuous ruthlessness of it – a strategy! A chance at victory! They lay months, perhaps just weeks behind her, those days. Glory and praise. Strength and iron-fisted authority. What else had she had to fight for?

Now, she thought of a circle of frightened humans, cowering in her presence.

Tared, staying courteously out of her rooms. Creon, pouring her tea by the fire. Delwin, offering her grain at rates that were, frankly, a show of charity, and …

Naxi.

Sweet, funny Naxi, who’d run her baths and fed her dinner. Who’d made her laugh and made her cry. Who’d kissed her and held her and fucked her into oblivion whenever she’d needed it most – who’d turned life, somehow, into something that could be … joyful ?

Naxi, she knew, would rather die than ever choose the side of the Crimson Court.

And at once nothing else mattered anymore. Because if she still had even the most minimal chance of repairing what she’d ruined, of making up for the unforgivable words she’d spat into that ghastly pale demon face – hell, even if she didn’t get that chance – she would rather die than make an enemy out of the little menace ever again.

‘No,’ she said, her own voice miles away.

Nicanor raised his eyebrows. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘No.’ It came out stronger this time. ‘No, you can keep your bloody poison to yourself. We’re not going to war again.’

He sighed, turning away from the army below to lean back against the balustrade. His wings drooped over it, entirely relaxed. ‘I’m not sure how to put this nicely, Thys, but I’m afraid we’re rather past the point where anyone is going to keep your opinions in mind. ’

Her stomach cramped violently.

‘So why am I still here at all, then?’ It should have been a sharp rejoinder but came out sounding rather like a whimper. ‘Why not kill me immediately, since I’m of no further use to you anyway?'

‘Gods be damned, Demonbane, how many times do I have to tell you I’m bloody fond of you?’ He swung up his hand in a burst of agitation, only to drop it again with a mirthless laugh. ‘We work well together, don’t we? And plenty of people at the court respect your power and the role you played in the Mother’s council, so—’

So I could use you.

‘—I wanted you to have the chance to save yourself,’ Nicanor finished, silvery and persuasive still, as if she wouldn’t hear the glaring truth that lay beneath. ‘A true chance.’

To play his game after all.

To be another ruler’s sweet little pawn again.

Your power. The role you played. She would have killed for that acknowledgement once upon a time, and only now did she hear the hollowness of it – defining her only by the use she’d had, by her servitude and obedience. What he needed was a figurehead to obscure his own shameless grasp for power. The Mother’s pupil, taking her beloved mentor’s place; a much easier story to sell than an army commander taking a throne no one had offered him.

A figurehead, too, that he could blame when things inevitably went south one day.

‘Really?’ Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. ‘How very moving. What do you want me to do, then – lead your army? Jump into your bed again?’

He glared at her. ‘Come the hell on, Thys. You know me better than to think me that sort of bastard. Join me as a friend, if you wish. Join me as an enemy, for all I care – I’m sure we’ll get over this little spat soon enough.’

As an enemy.

Could she?

Perhaps … perhaps she could become a quiet traitor again. Pretend to have changed her mind. Warn the Alliance before the poison plan could come to fruition. Wouldn’t that be much more useful than dying an undignified death on these fields and ending up in a nameless grave, while the rest of the world once again went up in flames?

‘And if I did?’ she said hoarsely. ‘What would your next steps be?’

He hesitated.

‘Nicanor.’ Her voice cracked. ‘No more fucking lies.’

‘You’re terribly efficient at this sort of thing,’ he said, lips twisting into a sour smile. ‘Alright, then. Poison plan can’t leak, so dissenters need to be kept quiet. Probably best to get rid of the humans altogether, as unpleasant as it may be – they keep causing trouble wherever they go, and I wouldn’t put it past Inga to get word out to her sister. I don’t think I can let your little demon lover run around unchecked either, unfortunately. We’ll have to get hold of her before she manages to leave the island.’

Naxi.

Naxi.

‘You’d kill her.’ Her lips were too numb to feel the words.

‘See, this is why I’d rather not have told you,’ he said, face twisting into a mask of unnervingly genuine regret. ‘You have this awful habit of getting sentimental about things. It’s a very simple choice, alright? I can get you through this alive and well, and I’m fully willing to make a bargain on that, if you wish – so what do you have to gain by resisting? You’re not going to stop the wheels from turning either way.’

An offer of survival.

Plain and simple survival.

Old Thysandra would have grabbed the chance with both hands, she was distantly aware, the sensation of that desperate fright still lingering in the marrow of her bones. Old Thysandra had done this before. Safety over morals. Life over loyalty. She’d loved her father once, too, and had renounced him so gods-damned easily when the alternative was risking death.

And yet, no matter how many safe choices she made … she’d never felt safe.

The realisation landed like the realisation of love had done. It had already been there, waiting for her to open her eyes and see it.

She had never been able to stop being vigilant, looking for movements in the shadows. It didn’t matter how many doors she locked, how many daggers she hid in her plants. The fear had always been there, that little twelve-year-old girl still cowering beneath her blankets somewhere deep, deep within her, and the only time she’d felt really, truly secure in her life—

Naxi.

Always Naxi.

Gods, what had she done ?

Even a creature with empathy might have abandoned her after that outburst, the accusations, the cruel rebukes. A demon, even a demon trying to care … Naxi was still a selfish creature at heart. And what in the world did she have left to try caring about, when Thysandra had nothing to offer but distrust and delusions?

It would be so easy to be selfish in turn. To take Nicanor’s bargain and save her own sorry hide. To survive, once again, the way she’d always survived in this cutthroat world – by discarding the right principles and serving the right people.

The problem, though …

The problem was her awful habit of getting sentimental about things.

Fuck. She did care. And if Naxi didn’t, she could still care enough for the both of them – because the little monster deserved the peaceful nymph island of her dreams, deserved to find her friends again, and what was the gods-damned use of survival if it meant sacrificing the one thing that made life worth living in the first place?

She wasn’t going to stop the wheels from turning.

Perhaps she didn’t need to, though. Perhaps she only needed to slow them down a little. Naxi was leaving the island right now. Every minute took her farther away from the court, farther away from Nicanor’s inevitable attempt to find her and do away with her … and the very least Thysandra could do was help her get away.

The opposite of a safe choice .

And yet it was the easiest thing in the world to step back and run her gaze over the packed field below her – to straighten her spine, steel her heart, and say, ‘No.’

It felt very, very good, that word.

‘Thysandra, please .’ Nicanor finally came away from the balustrade, his wings tightening behind his shoulders. ‘I’m begging you to see sense and—’

‘You,’ she said, calm and measured, a voice to hide a pounding heart, ‘can shove that good sense up your arse, Commander .’

He did not flinch.

The stiffening of his face was unmistakable, though.

‘I see,’ he said.

Gone was the pleading. Gone was his mirthless smile and the hint of apology in it. Mercy he might do as long as it cost him nothing, but they both knew the look of a line crossed – and old friends or no, Nicanor of Myron’s house was not a male to grovel, to look back and regret.

Just like that, they were at war.

In the blink of an eye, the space between them had become an imminent battleground.

‘Marvelous,’ Thysandra said, clinging to her ice-cold smile as she took another step back. No need to rush this. Time was all she needed, and every second might make the difference – so she leaned back against the red wall, deliberately languid, before adding, ‘I suppose that makes us enemies, then?’

He shrugged, but it was no longer an indifferent gesture. Rather, the slow, calculating calm of a male waiting for the first strike. ‘I suppose it makes you a traitor like your father, mostly.’

Once upon a time, she would have winced.

But the hounds did not howl in the back of her mind now. Her wings didn’t itch to curl into a shield around her. Poison and wounds and exhaustion be damned, her bruised, bone-weary body was coming back to life again – the anticipation of battle breathing fire into every soldier’s fibre of her.

If she had to be a traitor, at least she’d do it well.

She’d do it loud enough for all the court to hear .

‘To you, maybe,’ she said, and it felt like breaking out of a cage to finally speak the words aloud. A wild, reckless grin spread on her face. ‘But not to my heart.’

And before he could move, she drew a burst of red from the wall and slammed the walkway beneath their feet to splinters.