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“Caelan wouldn’t walk away.” She launches his name at me as a weapon. “Your own brother stays behind to anchor your kingdom while you search, and now you refuse to take the final step? What kind of king are you? What kind of brother?”
My power closes around her, frosting the ground, but she stands unflinching in its center. The moonlight in my blood calls to the stars above, and for a moment, the entire clearing shines with silver fire.
“I love Elionn with all of my heart,” I force out, each word a shard of ice in my throat. “But I cannot cross that threshold.”
“Why not?” Amalia steps into my space, the human warmth of her skin spilling across the scant distance between us. “Because you’re afraid? Because it might cost you your precious crown?”
The silver fire flickers out, leaving us in the eerie glow of the rift. Thalindor shifts behind us, his grip on his sword hilt white-knuckled as he struggles to accept what we both understand, and this woman does not.
“Because the Opal Court will not have me,” I whisper, the truth bitter. “The barrier is sealed with blood magic from the last war. Only those claimed by the Opal Court may enter.”
Amalia’s face twists with frustration. “So break the seal. You’re the Silver King, aren’t you? Use your magic.”
“Even at the height of my power, I could not undo what was woven by dozens of Kings.” I spread my hands, revealing the sigils etched into my palms, marks of office and oath. “And I am no longer at the height of my power.”
She paces away, boots grinding over loose stones, then spins back, fury crackling through every movement. “You had me dragged out of my life and brought across realms to find him. Now you want to walk away? Was this all for nothing?”
Her words fly like blades and find their mark with unerring skill. The anger I’ve held in check erupts, not at her, but at my own powerlessness.
I roar, a sound more animal than fae, and spin toward the rift. My hand slams into the seal, silver magic crackling across the barrier. Pain lances up my arm as the ancient magic repels me, but I push harder, channeling every drop of power I possess.
The seal holds, unmoved by my rage.
“Do you think I would not continue forward if I could?” I shout, turning back to her, my composure shattered. “Do you think I would abandon my brother if there was any other choice? The moment you found the rift and said the stone led you here, I knew he was out of our reach.”
Amalia stands unmoving, pinning me in place with her judgment. “Not our reach. Yours.”
“Its seal was created to keep the power of the Opal Court contained.” I extend my arm, revealing the blackened skin where I touched the barrier. “If it will not claim me, I cannot enter. No one can.”
“I touched it,” she counters, lifting her tattooed palm. “It didn’t burn me.”
“No,” I agree, studying her in a new light. “It didn’t.”
The realization blooms cold and terrible. If the seal did not reject her, then there’s only one explanation. The Opal Court recognizes her.
Thalindor clears his throat. “Your Majesty.”
“Yes.” I cut him off with a gesture, not taking my eyes from Amalia. “We will return to our chambers and prepare to leave.”
Amalia’s chin lifts in defiance. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“This is not a request.” I gather my royal authority around me as armor. “We have learned what we came to learn. Elionn passed through this rift, and King Nyctarian concealed its existence from the courts. Both facts will be brought before the Celestial Council.”
Her mouth twists. “And Elionn stays lost?”
“Yes.” The grief of the decision threatens to collapse me on the spot. “Until the Opal Court releases him, he will remain here.”
“And how long will that take?” she challenges. “Another century? Two? Is it even a guarantee it will let him go?”
I don’t answer, which is answer enough.
Amalia turns back to the rift, the light of a dead court playing across her features, transforming her into someone wild and unknowable. “Then I guess we have nothing more to discuss, Silver King.”
The way she says my title, stripping it of all meaning, carves out a vital part of me. I reach for her arm again, but she sidesteps my touch.
“Do not test me, Amalia Wolf,” I warn, silver light bleeding from my fingertips. “We leave together.”
Amalia holds still, calculation written in the pause. “You hired me for a job. But that doesn’t mean you get to order me around like one of your subjects, Silver King.”
