Page 109

As if it hears our plans, the fragment convulses beneath my sternum.

Light races across the mirrored walls.

I stagger, and Theron catches my shoulder as every reflection in the chamber dissolves.

Crystalline spires rise where Nyctarian’s hall should be. Corridors of living stone stretch into impossible distances. Ancient chambers flicker past, their walls alive with luminous veins of pearl and fire.

The Dark guards draw their weapons.

“What is this?” Nyctarian demands.

“I don’t know.”

But even as I say it, awareness seeps into me.

Not words.

Never words.

Hunger. Recognition. Need.

The court reaches through the fragment buried inside me, brushing against Dark Sithe as though my body has become a window.

Theron’s hand slides to the back of my neck. “Amalia.”

His thumb settles beneath my hair, the slight chill of his touch grounding me.

“Come back to me.”

Theron.

Black marble beneath my boots. His hand on my skin. The weight of my dagger at my hip.

Not crystal.

Not hunger.

Not there.

The vision recedes.

Crystalline corridors dissolve into our reflections until Nyctarian’s meeting hall surrounds us once more. A final pulse of opalescent light travels through the mirrors and disappears.

Silence follows.

Kelaros is the first to break it. “It appears the connection works in both directions.”

I turn on him. “Meaning?”

“You carry a piece of Opal.” His attention drifts toward the mirrors before returning to me. “It should hardly be surprising that it can influence you to access our sithe.”

Theron’s fingers tighten at my neck. “Then we sever the connection.”

Kelaros’s mouth curves without humor. “If only it were so simple.”

“Can it be done?”

“The court refuses to release what it claims.” Kelaros dares a step closer until my bared teeth discourage him. “Attempting to tear the fragment from her could kill her.”