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“You believe he would move against me?” I ask, though I’m under no illusion about the answer. “A fellow king?”

“I believe Amalia Wolf was correct, and King Nyctarian has reason to hide this rift, and reason to hope you would discover it on your own,” Thalindor answers. “But if his guards find the Silver King standing before it, the pretense ends. Dark fae will have witnessed your discovery, just as we will have witnessed their knowledge of the rift. Neither king will be able to deny what has been revealed to the other.”

My hands clench. “He should have told me the moment my brother was taken.”

“He could not, Your Majesty. The moment such a secret passes between kings, it ceases to be a secret. You would have been duty-bound to report the rift to the Concord, and all the courts would have demanded it be closed with Prince Elionn still inside.”

Thalindor’s boots scuff across the stone. “No sithe would count one prince worth risking all our realms. Not the Dark. Not the Silver. Had the Celestial Court been called to decide, you would have cast your vote beside King Nyctarian to close the rift. You cannot pretend otherwise. But if you keep your silence here⁠—”

My head snaps toward him. “You are whispering treason.”

“I am offering counsel in the absence of your advisors.” Thalindor does not flinch. “And reminding you that King Nyctarian has given you what aid he can without giving you the one thing he cannot. Acknowledgment. If you wish for the return of your brother and your human witch, we cannot force his hand without binding yours as well.”

“She is not mine.”

Yet my chest still tightens as if she were.

The loss and failure are too great, as is the shame. My sister’s murder nearly broke me, Lunaria’s life stolen by a covetous king. And Elionn chose this path in his search for a cure to the blight that plagues our lands.

But Amalia?

I brought her here. I bound her to this foolish quest.

This is my fault.

“I may as well have pushed her through myself,” I murmur.

“Amalia Wolf made her choice,” Thalindor reminds me, gentler than usual. “As did Prince Elionn. Now we must make ours. We leave before Dark guards come searching, and the rift remains an open secret between kings who have never spoken of it.”

His attention shifts toward the pathway behind us. “Or we stay, and force King Nyctarian to acknowledge what we have found. Should you choose such a path, Your Majesty, neither of you will be able to pretend. The rift will have to go before all the courts.”

“I should have listened to Elionn’s concerns sooner.” The admission scrapes my throat raw. “I should have investigated the blight myself instead of dismissing it as a problem for future generations. And I should have found another way to track him without dragging Amalia Wolf from her world.”

The barrier flickers once beneath my bloodied palm, as if acknowledging my desperation. For a heartbeat, I sense a vast space filled with crystal formations. But then the vision vanishes, leaving only the sealed fissure to mock me.

Was it real? A glimpse of where Amalia now walks? Or only my own desperate imagination giving me the hope that she survived the crossing?

“Your Majesty.” Thalindor’s hand lands on my shoulder, firm enough to break my concentration. “Please.”

I want to shrug him off, to remain kneeling before this doorway until it opens again or until my body turns to silver dust, with only the bloom of bloodrose to show my passing.

But centuries of rule have ingrained duty too deeply into my bones. The Silver Sithe needs its king. Without Elionn to stabilize the realm and with Caelan alone at the center, I cannot abandon my responsibilities, no matter how the thought of leaving this spot tears at me.

“If they don’t return…” I trail off, unable to complete the thought.

“Then we take what we have discovered before the Concord,” Thalindor says with a certainty I cannot share.“King Nyctarian will not be able to deny the rift, and it will be closed before more are lost to it.”

The plan sounds like a diplomat’s answer. The Concord moves with the speed of mountains shifting. By the time the courts convene, by the time accusations are made and alliances tested, what will remain of Elionn and Amalia?

“She was not meant for this,” I whisper, more to myself than to Thalindor. “She has power, yes, but she understands nothing of our world.”

“She has gone to a place even our world has little knowledge of,” Thalindor reminds me. “Nothing you could have said would have prepared her, Your Majesty.”

I cannot argue, though the acknowledgment offers cold comfort when I imagine what paths she must walk now.

“Very well.” I rise to my feet. “We return to the Dark Spire.”

Some of the tension leaves Thalindor’s shoulders. “A wise decision, Your Majesty.”