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“As what?” He leans closer, the question almost intimate. “As food? As a vessel? As Queen?”

“As necessary,” I answer, turning away from him.

We continue deeper into the fractured spire, each step bringing us closer to Elionn. Thalindor and the guards maintain defensive positions, weapons at the ready, while Kelaros assesses every movement with the patience of a predator waiting for weakness.

Only Theron remains close by my side, his silver presence a counterbalance to the Opal fire growing within my veins.

As we near the fractured archway to the Great Hall, I raise my hand, signaling the group to halt.

The smell of ozone and decay mix with a sweeter scent, like rotting fruit. It triggers the memory of the beast with three jaws lunging from shadows, crystal teeth sinking into flesh, and my side aches with phantom pain where it had torn me open.

“We don’t go through there,” I say. “Not if we want to survive.”

One of the Dark guards steps forward, obsidian blade gleaming. “What lurks within?”

“A guardian,” Kelaros answers before I can speak. “One of many the court created to protect itself as it died.”

The guard flinches but masks his fear quickly. “We can handle it.”

“No,” I cut in. “We can’t afford to be slowed down by the wounded, or to take any losses.”

I point to a narrow passage branching off to our right, just visible behind a curtain of crystalline growths resembling frozen tears. “That way skirts the edge of the hall. It’s a longer route, but safer.”

Theron remains wary of the distant shadows beyond the archway. “We follow Amalia Wolf’s lead.”

Kelaros’s mouth tightens, but he doesn’t argue. “As you wish. Though the beast might have moved on by now.”

“The court doesn’t let its guardians wander,” I say with a certainty I shouldn’t possess. Knowledge flows into me from the fragment lodged deep within, filling me with ancient understanding. “They remain where they’re placed until their purpose is fulfilled.”

I don’t miss the concerned look Theron casts toward me. My transformation progresses faster than any of us anticipated.

We file into the narrow passage, shoulders brushing the walls in the tight space. The sithean stone tugs harder now, quickening my steps despite the need for caution.

Elionn.

The sithean stone responds, warmth blooming where it touches my skin before spreading outward. Through our bond, I catch fleeting impressions of Silver light filtering through the walls of his crystal prison, along with his exhaustion, determination, and beneath it all, a fierce will to survive that matches my own.

Our arrival has reached him, and he’s refusing to let go.

The passage narrows further, forcing us to move single file. Thalindor takes the lead, his silver blade drawn to cut away crystal growths that try to block our path. Half of the Dark guards follow, then Kelaros, me, and Theron, with the remaining guards bringing up the rear.

The floor slopes downward, then hooks to the left. Its crystalline surface grows slick with condensation, each step treacherous. My boot catches on an exposed root, growing from the wall across our path like a trip wire.

I stumble forward, arms windmilling for balance. My gloved hand strikes the wall, but instead of steadying myself, I sink into it up to my wrist.

“Amalia!” Theron lunges forward, reaching for my arm.

Before he can touch me, warmth surges up from my fingers through my arm, radiating outward from my trapped hand, and raw magic flows from my body into the living crystal.

The wall pulses, light racing along Opal veins in response to my touch. The root I tripped on unfurls with new growth, spiraling around my ankle in a gentle caress before retreating back into the floor.

I gasp, staring at my hand as the crystal releases me, solidifying behind my withdrawn fingers. Where I touched it, the wall now bears a handprint that glows with inner light, pulsing in time with my racing heart.

“What did you do?” Theron asks quietly.

I shake my head, still trying to understand what happened. “I don’t know.”

But I have an idea.