*
Kell stood in the stone courtyard, surrounded by broken statues, a dead king, and a jagged piece of black stone. He was bleeding, and broken, but he was still alive. He let the ruined royal sword slip through this fingers and clatter to the ground and drew a shuddering breath, the cold air burning his lungs and fogging in front of his bloody lips. Something was moving through him, warm and cool, lulling and dangerous. He wanted to stop fighting, wanted to give in, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t over yet.
Half of the stone pulsed against his palm. The other half glinted on the ground where the serpent had dropped it. It called to him, and Kell’s body moved of its own accord toward the missing piece. The stone guided his fingers down to the splintered ground and closed them around the fragment of rock waiting there. The moment the two pieces met, Kell felt words form on his lips.
“As Hasari,” he said, the command spilling out on its own in a voice that was and wasn’t his. In his hand, the two halves of the stone began to heal. The pieces fused back together, the cracks untracing themselves until the surface was a smooth, unblemished black, and in its wake an immense power—clear, beautiful, and sweet—poured through Kell’s body, bringing with it a sense of right. A sense of whole. It filled him with calm. With quiet. The simple steady rhythm of magic pulled him down like sleep. All Kell wanted to do was to let go, to disappear into the power and darkness and peace.
Give in, said a voice in his head. His eyes drifted shut, and he swayed on his feet.
And then he heard Lila’s voice calling his name.
The stillness rippled as Kell forced his eyes open, and he saw her descending the stairs. She seemed far away. Everything seemed far away.
“Kell,” she said again as she reached him. Her eyes took in the scene—the ruined courtyard; Athos’s corpse; his own, battered form—and the talisman, now whole.
“It’s over,” she said. “It’s time to let it go.”
He looked down at the talisman in his hand, at the way the black threads had thickened and become like rope, wrapping around his body.
“Please,” said Lila. “I know you can do this. I know you can hear me.” She held out her hand, eyes wide with worry. Kell frowned, power still coursing through him, distorting his vision, his thoughts.
“Please,” she said again.
“Lila,” he said softly, desperately. He reached out and steadied himself on her shoulder.
“I’m here,” she whispered. “Just give me the stone.”
He considered the talisman. And then his fingers closed over it, and smoke whispered out. He didn’t have to speak. The magic was in his head now, and it knew what he wanted. Between one instant and the next, the smoke became a knife. He stared down at the metal’s glinting edge.
“Lila,” he said again.
“Yes, Kell?”
His fingers tightened on it. “Catch.”
And then he drove the blade into her stomach.
Lila let out a gasp of pain. And then her whole body shuddered, rippled, and became someone else’s. It stretched into the form of Astrid Dane, dark blood blossoming against her white clothes.
“How …” she growled, but Kell willed her body still, her jaw shut. No words—no spell—would save her now. He wanted to kill Astrid Dane. But more than that, he wanted her to suffer. For his brother. His prince. Because in that moment, staring into her wide blue eyes, all he could see was Rhy.
Rhy wearing her talisman.
Rhy flashing a smile that was too cruel and too cold to be his own.
Rhy curling his fingers around Kell’s throat and whispering in his ear with someone else’s words.
Rhy thrusting a knife into his stomach.
Rhy—his Rhy—crumpling to the stone floor.
Rhy bleeding.
Rhy dying.
Kell wanted to crush her for what she’d done. And in his hands, the want became a will, and the darkness began to spread out from the knife buried in her stomach. It crawled over her clothes and under her skin, and turned everything it touched to pale white stone. Astrid tried to open her mouth, to speak or to scream, but before any sound could escape her clenched teeth, the stone had reached her chest, her throat, her faded red lips. It overtook her stomach, trailed down her legs and over her boots before running straight into the pitted ground. Kell stood there, staring at the statue of Astrid Dane, her eyes frozen wide with shock, lips drawn into a permanent snarl. She looked like the rest of the courtyard now.
But it wasn’t enough.
As much as he wanted to leave her there in the broken garden with her brother’s corpse, he couldn’t. Magic, like everything, faded. Spells were broken. Astrid could be free again one day. And he couldn’t let that happen.
Kell gripped her white stone shoulder. His fingers were bloody, like the rest of him, and the Antari magic came as easily as air. “As Steno,” he said.
Deep cracks formed across the queen’s face, jagged fissures carving down her body, and when his fingers tightened, the stone statue of Astrid Dane shattered under his touch.