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To the left, the trees grow thicker, branches weaving into a wall of thorns and crystal. To the right, the ground drops into a valley full of pyramids and cubes made from the same opal as the rift.

Straight ahead, where the stone wants me to go, branches arch over a path to form a tunnel without end.

“You want me to follow,” I say out loud. “That’s why you’re making the path.”

The ground pulses harder, almost as if it agrees with me.

Great. Nothing like being the mouse caught in a maze.

“Stop wasting my time trying to lead me around.” As the tunnel closes in, the path shifting again, I hold the stone out and repeat, “Take me to Elionn.”

Somewhere deep in the court, a high-pitched, chilling chime rings out as a crystalline monster moves in the distance.

Is that where the court was trying to direct me?

Well, too bad.

I’ve been hunted before. I’ve been caged, broken, and almost killed. This place thinks it can wear me down with its tricks, but I didn’t break for demons or witches or kings, and I won’t break for a dying court.

“I’m coming, princeling.” I step forward, following the pulse of the sithean stone. “Keep holding on.”

A new tunnel forms around me, closing off my path with the sound of shattering glass. It reminds me of the house of mirrors, of shards tinkling to the ground all around me.

Really regretting not bringing the baseball bat.

A blur of movement catches in my periphery, too quick to track. My grip on my weapon tightens as I pivot, but whatever it was has already vanished, leaving behind a ripple in the air.

I move forward, following the insistent tug of the stone deeper into this fractured kingdom. Shadows dance between the trees, stretching and shrinking in ways contrary to the light. One shadow matches my movements, stopping when I stop, gliding when I move forward again.

“Come out,” I command. “I can see you.”

Silence eats the words.

My breath rasps, too loud in so much quiet.

Another flicker darts past a tree on my right. This time, I catch a glimmer of fractured glass before it disappears.

“Fine. Keep hiding.” I turn back to the path. “I’m not here for you, anyway.”

The ground drags at my boots as I walk, the ripples spreading outward until they splash into the trees that form the tunnel. The movement spreads upward through the tree trunks and branches until the entire thing wavers, and I worry about what will happen if it collapses while I’m inside.

Another flicker of movement passes so close it displaces the air by my cheek. I swing my knife at empty space, catching nothing. The blade leaves a trail of refracted light in its wake, the cut in reality suspended in the air until the rift knits itself back together.

My heartbeat hammers in my ears.

“Enough with the tests,” I tell the court. “I’m not here to shut you down. Give me back my princeling, and we’ll leave you alone.”

The ground splits beneath me, a crack racing ahead. The path dissolves, new corridors forming to my left and right. The stone tugs left, harder than before.

“Better,” I mutter, and follow.

Crystal walls rise on either side, translucent enough for me to catch shapes moving beyond them. Tall, graceful figures flicker in and out of existence. None approach, but they track my progress, a parade of watchers.

With every step, the tattoo burns hotter, the sigils writhing beneath my skin. I clench my teeth to bear through the pain, and when the path splits again, the stone guides me right.

The walls shift from crystal to a softer substance, almost flesh-like. They pulse in rhythm with my heart. The smell changes, too, giving way to crushed flowers and salt.

Goose bumps rise all over my body.