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I seize upon the word before everything in her manner warns me there is more. “Where?”

“In the Opal Court.”

For a heartbeat, I am certain I misheard her. “The Opal Court?”

“Yes.”

“That is not possible.” The denial comes without thought. “The Opal Court fell before I was born. The surviving sithes sealed it away.”

“Apparently, they didn’t do a good enough job.”

Under any other circumstances, her dry response might draw a laugh from me.

Not now.

“Elionn is there?”

“He was taken by the court. It’s trying to remake him into its King.” Her fingers tighten in my robes. “I got him out once, but we couldn’t bring him with us when we escaped. He’s trapped there again.”

My brief relief curdles into dread. “But he still lives?”

“Yes.” Amalia catches my hand and presses it over the stone between her breasts. “He’s still connected to it.”

I cover the pendant with my palm and reach through the bond for my twin.

Elionn.

The contact sends sparks cascading around us, Silver and Opal light dancing together where our magics touch. The sensation burns along my nerves, painful yet intimate beyond words.

But beneath the unfamiliar magic, I find him.

My brother.

Alive.

When I finally lift my head, the Opal in Amalia’s eyes once more steal my breath.

“You shouldn’t be here.” The words contradict the desperate way she grips my robes. “The Silver Sithe needs an Anchor.”

“My sithe needs its Royals returned.” My thumb traces the dark circle beneath her inhuman eye. “All four of us.”

The evidence is written across her body. Her eyes. The magic burning beneath her skin. Even the power I touched through the bond carries a depth that was not there when she left the Silver Sithe.

Whatever happened inside the Opal Court has pulled her fae blood forward with terrifying speed.

She is on the verge of blooming.

Her laugh holds no humor. “Four? Do you count me among your Royals now? How far I’ve risen since your dungeon.”

She is not ready to believe because she knows too little of the fae to recognize what is happening to her.

“You carry our blood bond, my twin’s sithean stone, and a place within our magic.” I cradle her jaw between my palms, fever heat burning into them. “What else would I call you?”

“A witch with exceptionally poor judgment?”

A laugh escapes me, ragged from exhaustion and relief. “That as well.”

The Opal glow beneath her skin brightens, and through our connection, her desire to push me away for my safety wars with the need for comfort my presence brings.