“I loved your mother,” Zaga began, “but so did everyone. Wynna sparkled brighter than most. I wanted to steal her away to a place we would be safe, to make her mine and never have to share her with anyone. But I could feel I was losing her.
“My magic was my only hope. She knew I was a better Dujia, because I had spent so many years alone, honing my gifts. So I taught her. Then, when she started to lose interest, I began breaking the laws of magic. I thought if I could make her worry about me, she would love me more. But I could see in her eyes she loved me less.
“So I took drastic measures. Picked fights. I craved her attention, and her anger was better than her neglect. I poked at her, found the places of her private hurt and shame and exploited them. It drove me mad how distant she could be, so I hurt her. At least if there was hurt, I knew there was love.
“And then one night, I pushed her to the limit. She coiled and struck back. She was angry, and when she grabbed me by the wrist, her anger shunted through my veins.”
Zaga touched her chest softly, as if the memory still lived in the flesh. “When she realized what she’d done, she brought me back from the brink of death. Wynna was always a gifted healer. But a part of my body died that she could not revive. She was consumed by guilt. She said she could no longer be with me, that we were poison to each other. I told her she could redeem herself in only one way.”
“Marry my father,” Mia said. She was unable to see him at the feasting table, but she thought she could detect the cold frost of his fear.
Zaga’s faced was rimmed in shadow. “I have borne the wound of that night ever since, and not just on my skin. When she left me, she destroyed my heart. Love died inside me. I could not love anyone. Not even my own flesh and blood.”
Mia was dimly aware of Pilar at the feasting table. A new sensation drummed in her ears, neither hot nor cold. More like a resounding crack, a hard shatter, then a gust of thin, papery air. Mia wondered if this were the sound of a heart breaking.
“Why didn’t you just come for the moonstone?” she said. It took great effort to work her mandible around the words. “Why did you embroil us in your petty jealousies and revenge? Pilar could have stolen the stone from around Angie’s neck without ever having to aim an arrow at my heart.”
Zaga let the pendant slip through her fingers, where it dangled off the chain.
“You are both your mother’s daughters. Angelyne, you have a great gift. You can stop a heart without a single touch. You have taught yourself to channel your feelings, your sadness and your rage. You have used your heart to burnish your magic to a fine gleam.”
She turned to Mia. “You have fought your magic, but it rises up in you still. You can enthrall, you can unblood, and you can heal as beautifully as your mother. Your mind tells you all the things you should never be, but your heart tells you who you are.”
Zaga stood tall, majestic, the lloira stone gripped tightly in her fist. “Your mother’s legacy is powerful, and it belongs to all Dujia. We are a sisterhood. But we demand allegiance from our sisters. Loyalty. Love. Sacrifice.”
Mia could feel the magic trickling out of her marrow as the energy began to flow back into her fingers and toes. But as it trickled out, dread pooled in the cracks.
“You will have to make a choice,” Zaga said. “But before you do, your mother owes me one final recompense.” She beckoned to Angelyne and Mia. “Come.”
She turned and faced the feasting table, pointing a long finger at Quin. “You will come with me as well.”
As he rose from his chair, fresh terror bloomed in Mia’s chest.
“Where are we going?” she asked, afraid of the answer.
Zaga smiled. “To pay your mother a visit.”
Chapter 60
Nothing
THE CRYPT WAS QUIET, as crypts are wont to be.
They filed in one after the other, Quin, then Mia, then Angelyne, with Zaga coming last. If she was worried about them running away, she needn’t be. Most of the enkindle had burned off, and Mia’s calf muscles were humming, aching to run. But where would she go? Her sister had betrayed her, and Zaga had betrayed them all. Every map Mia had ever clung to—even the one that promised safe haven—was now a blank page.
Mia’s heart plummeted when she saw her mother’s tomb. She wanted to kneel down and draw her fingers over the grooves of the snow plum tree, say hello to the tiny bird peering up at the moon.
Zaga gestured toward Wynna’s tomb.
“Even in death, your mother is going to help me. But first, a test for you, Angelyne. You have done well. Very well. But I must know where your true loyalties lie.”
She nodded toward Quin. “Enthrall him.”
Mia stared at Quin. She tried to convey, in her eyes, how sorry she was for everything. His parents and sister were dead, and he himself had been wounded, controlled, and nearly killed. He didn’t deserve that. The prince was gentle and good. She had been wrong—so wrong—about him.
Angie narrowed her eyes at Zaga, as if she were deep in thought.
“If I do this,” she said, “if I enthrall the prince, will you give me the moonstone?”
“If you do not do this,” Zaga said, “I will kill Mia while you watch.”
Mia sensed the fear in her sister dancing with shame and regret. Surprising, since she had been ready to watch Pilar pierce her heart with an arrow.
“Don’t do it, Ange,” she said quietly. “Not because of me. Don’t do it to Quin. Don’t take away his choice. Remember how Father used to say magic relies on a cruel, unruly heart? He wasn’t wrong; magic rises up when people commit cruel, unruly acts. But if we do the same—if we act out of cruelty—then we are no better.”
It was the wrong thing to say, because Angie’s face hardened. “Haven’t you been listening? You don’t get to tell me what to do. Not anymore.”
Angelyne didn’t even have to touch him. Without a word, Quin stood, scooped her face into his hands, and kissed her.
Mia wanted more than anything to look away, but she was transfixed. His long fingers roved through her sister’s cascading tresses, fingertips pattering down her shoulders like a warm summer rain. The kiss started off sweet, then hungry, two bodies clasped together by desire. She knew it wasn’t real, but it still hurt.
Mia closed her eyes and tried to conjure up the river, the feeling of his smooth, wet body pressed into hers. Whatever that was, it was real.
“There,” her sister said, and Mia’s eyes flew open. Quin’s cheeks were rosy, his mouth too pink. Angie dabbed at her swollen lips.
“Good,” Zaga said. “Your talents please me. I see they please your future husband as well. A beautiful, talented, powerful wife. What more could a king want?”
Husband? Wife? The final piece of the puzzle snapped into place: Angelyne was meant to take her place. Mia could practically see the news spreading through the kingdom: King Ronan, Queen Rowena, and Princess Karri had all been ruthlessly slaughtered, killed by Gwyrach Rebellion. With Zaga holding the puppet strings, Quin would become king of Glas Ddir, Angie his blushing bride.
Quin would be trapped in the very life he hated. And, in a strange way, history would repeat itself: Angelyne would lock herself into a farce of a marriage, enthralling a man she didn’t love.
As for Mia Rose, she would be a footnote in her own story. If they didn’t kill her, they would throw her back into the dungeons, or—worse—use her body as an instrument, a way for Dujia to hone their magical powers against one of their own. She would be sacrificed to the thing she had always loved: science. But she would no longer be the scientist. She would become the experiment.
Once again she searched herself for the fury she knew should be coursing through her. But all she felt was grief.