“It was barely an inconvenience,” Nyktos muttered, clearly not pleased with the topic, and I…

I was stunned.

I’d believed that Nyktos could never allow himself to love. Not when he saw it as a weakness and also as a weapon to be wielded against him— just as I had sought to use it. But I hadn’t known that he was truly incapable of feeling love.

I was shocked that he would do that to himself, even though I understood why he would, after everything he’d been through. But I didn’t understand because he was…

“You care about others,” I said, shaking my head in confusion. “I know you do. How—?”

“Caring and loving are two vastly different things,” Nyktos said. “I am not incapable of caring for or about another. The kardia is simply unable to sway me. Something one would think all Primals would ensure.”

“Yeah. Namely, Kolis,” I murmured, running my palm over my chest where the embers remained still. But my heart ached for Nyktos. I glanced at Holland, who had fallen silent, and irritation darted through me. “You couldn’t give me a single hint that there was truly no point to any of what you trained me to do?”

“There is only so much I can do and say,” Holland said quietly. “Or

could.”

I knew that. The rules. Still, it was irritating. I cleared my throat. “So, like I asked before, how long does the mortal realm have?”

“It’s hard to know,” Holland shared. “What you know as the Rot in the mortal realm has made the Shadowlands into what it is now. But it would not happen that way with the rest of Iliseeum. It has only just begun to spread beyond these lands. It would take Iliseeum longer to suffer the truly

catastrophic effects, but the mortal realm would have…a year? Maybe two or three if lucky. But it would not be easy to survive such an event.”

Or be something anyone would want to survive.

The image of the Coupers filled my mind, the family lying together in that bed as they must have done a hundred times before. They had already been dying a slow death from starvation, and hundreds of thousands more would end up just like them when all the vegetation died. Then the livestock. The famine and sickness would be horrific, leading to wars and more violence.

Panic blossomed deep in my chest as I thought about the people of Lasania—my stepsister Ezra, Marisol, and the Ladies of Mercy, who did everything in their power to keep children from falling prey to the worst sort of humanity. Then I thought of the Massey family and all the other hardworking men and women beyond Lasania. So many who would have no chance. None.

“Can we not warn them?” I asked of Holland, my heart twisting. “Perhaps if we do, Ezra can work to—”

“Queen Ezmeria has already begun implementing much-needed changes in Lasania,” Holland interrupted.

I gasped. “Queen?”

A small, fond smile tugged at his lips as he nodded. “She married?” I whispered, hopeful. “Marisol?”

“Yes. She took the throne not long after you were taken into the Shadowlands.”

I squeezed my eyes shut against the rush of relief. Ezra had done as I’d asked of her. She’d taken the throne from my mother. Gods, I would give any amount of coin to have seen the look on my mother’s face. A choked laugh left me as I opened my eyes, becoming aware of Nyktos watching me in that close, intense way of his. “How did she do it? Did my—?” I stopped. None of that mattered at the moment. “I need to warn her.”

“I would advise against that,” Nyktos said.

“I wasn’t asking you,” I snapped before I could stop myself.

He simply continued eying me, seeming utterly unperturbed by my response.

“Sometimes, it is best to not know if or when the end is coming,” Penellaphe advised.

“Didn’t you say that knowledge is power?” I pointed out.

“Sometimes, it is,” she reiterated. “But when it’s not, all it does is unleash harm and pain.”

“And fear.” Holland’s voice lowered in the way it had when he’d comforted me after I’d returned from my first session with the Mistresses of the Jade. I squirmed where I stood. “The truth will not help them. All it would do is cause panic.”

If I had learned anything, it was that the truth led to a choice. And I now knew the truth about many things, which meant I had choices to make. To hide and be protected? Ignore what would become of the mortal realm and eventually Iliseeum? Live without purpose until I died?

Or fight back.

I glanced at Holland. He watched me in a way where I almost expected him to hand me a dagger to train with.

“There is something else,” Penellaphe added. “A way I may be of assistance. At least…temporarily.” She swallowed, focusing on me. “If anyone were to learn what you carry inside you, they may attempt to take you. Not just Kolis. I can help prevent that.”

“You can?”

“A charm?” Nyktos surmised. He cocked his head. “I don’t know of anything that could be placed on a person to prevent such a thing.”

“You wouldn’t, would you? Not as a Primal of Death.” Penellaphe smiled. “But I am not just a goddess of Loyalty and Duty, I am also a goddess of Wisdom.”

“Meaning,” Nyktos said, a slow grin appearing, “you know more than I do, and I should shut the hell up?”

Penellaphe’s eyes glimmered in the starlight. “Precisely.”

Less than a handful of minutes later, I found myself seated on the dais with the male I’d seen in the hall with Penellaphe when she first arrived, drawing on my skin.

He sat beside me, his head bent as he wrote a series of unrecognizable letters in bold, black ink on my arm, his lion’s mane of hair shielding his features. He’d started on my right side, drawing the letters so they traveled

around the circumference of my wrist. He’d already completed about three lines.

As I leaned back and squinted, the letters almost looked like shapes. And the shape reminded me of shackles.

“Will this fade?” I asked.

“They will fade as soon as I’m finished,” the man said as the featherlight touch of his brush tickled. All that I knew about him was that he was a viktor—a not-so-quite-mortal being, born to protect someone of importance or a harbinger of great change. “But Primals and some powerful gods will be able to sense the charm.”

Speaking of Primals…

My gaze flicked up to where Nyktos stood close behind the man. Too close.

He was practically breathing down the man’s neck. “How does this charm work?”

“It will prevent her from being taken against her will from wherever the charm was placed,” he explained, tilting his head as he finished another line. The weathered lines of his sunbaked face added a rugged handsomeness to his features. “If anyone attempts it, the charm will retaliate.”

I raised a brow. “With what?”

“With a jolt of energy as painful as taking a direct hit of eather to the chest,” he said. “It’d knock even a Primal on their ass and keep knocking them down if they got up and tried again.”

“Nice.”

Bright blue eyes met mine as he grinned.

“And how did you learn of this charm?” Nyktos pressed.

“I saw it done once by a god from the Thyia Plains,” he shared, referencing the Primal Keella’s Court. “But I didn’t know what they were doing for the mortal. Penellaphe knew what the letters meant and how they worked. That each letter forms a symbol of protection, one powered by essence.”

I wondered if they were like the wards Nyktos had put in place to protect my family.

Then it struck me that it could be someone like this man, another viktor, who had given my family the knowledge of how to kill a Primal—

something no mere mortal should ever know. It made sense that perhaps a member of my family had been guided by one aware of their purpose.

“The charm only prevents you from being taken.” He lowered my right arm to my lap and then picked up my left one. “And the only way the charm can be nullified is if you give your permission.”

I nodded, glancing from Nyktos to where Holland stood several feet away with his back to us, almost as if he were pretending to be unaware of what was going on, even though this must have been the reason he and Penellaphe had arrived with this man.

“Thank you for doing this, Ward,” I said, remembering hearing Penellaphe call him that when they first showed up.

“Ward is actually my surname,” he responded. “Vikter is my name.” I belted out a quick, sharp laugh. “You’re a viktor named Vikter?”

“He is the viktor,” Penellaphe said, sitting beside me on the dais. “The first.”

“Oh.” I bit down on my lip. “So they’re named after you?” “I believe so.”

“He’s not a fan of that.”

Vikter smiled. “It makes communication somewhat difficult in Mount Lotho when so many of the other viktors are in residence, and someone calls your name,” he said. Behind him, Nyktos smirked. “It can take the others a while to forget who they become and remember who they were before they were reborn.”

“Others?” I watched him dip the brush into an ink bottle resting on his knee. How it stayed balanced there, I had no idea. “Do you remember the lives you’ve lived?”

“I remember everything.”

“Because he was the first,” Penellaphe added. “Before the Fates realized it would be easier for them not to recall the details of their lives.”

I stared at Vikter, somewhat dumbfounded. I couldn’t imagine living dozens or hundreds of lifetimes and remembering all those lives—all the experiences, and those I’d met, loved, and lost.

And, apparently, I had.

My chest rose sharply in an attempt to drag in a deeper breath. It barely worked.

Nyktos moved to Vikter’s side, his gaze on me, and I was sure I projected my feelings.

I cleared my throat. “How did you end up becoming the first?”

Vikter chuckled roughly. “That is a long, convoluted story not as interesting as you may think it is.”

“Vikter is far too humble,” Penellaphe jumped in. “He saved the life of someone very important and paid a very steep price for doing so. The Fates decided to reward him and, later, realized they could give aid without upsetting the balance.”

Vikter didn’t acknowledge any of that, and I wondered if he felt that what they’d done was a reward. Sure, he was kind of immortal, but to live and die repeatedly also meant experiencing endless loss.

“There,” Vikter said, lowering my hand to rest beside the other. His handwriting was truly beautiful, but it chilled my skin because of how much the designs looked like shackles. “Finished.”

No sooner had he spoken than a sharp, prickling sensation danced over my skin. A burst of light appeared. I gasped as silvery light flowed across my wrists, lighting up each letter until both bands glowed. The sheen pulsed twice and then faded.

My wrists were clear of ink.

I shifted my attention to Vikter and then to Nyktos. His eyes met mine. “I can’t see it. But I…I can feel it.”

“Perfect.” Vikter rose.

“Thank you,” I said, touching my skin and feeling nothing.

“Yes.” Nyktos moved to stand where Vikter had sat. “Thank you for your aid.”

“My pleasure.” Vikter bowed to Nyktos and then to me. “Be safe.” “You, too,” I said.

The skin crinkled around Vikter’s eyes as he smiled. I watched him turn, placing the brush and ink into a pouch. “I’ll wait in the hall.”

Penellaphe nodded, rising as I watched Vikter leave. “We should not linger much longer.” She glanced up at the gray sky. “To do so…”

“Could be seen as interference,” Nyktos said, his shoulders straightening. “Thank you for answering the summons and taking the risks you have.”

Penellaphe inclined her chin as I slid off the dais and stood. “I wish there was more we could do.” She glanced at me, sympathy etched into the beautiful, delicate lines of her features. “I truly do.”

“What you have done is more than enough.” I crossed my arms. “Thank you.”

She stepped toward Nyktos, taking his hands into hers as she led him away. Sapphire eyes glimmered in the starlight as she looked up at him. A pinch of envy stung my skin. To be able to touch Nyktos so easily, so casually…

“Sera.”

Aware that Nyktos watched closely as Penellaphe spoke to him, I turned to Holland, who’d finally made his way back to me. My throat immediately thickened. Royal Guard or Fate, Holland was one of the few people in my life who…knew me.

Holland smiled, but it was small. Pained. “I hope you’re not too angry with me or feel that I deceived you. I couldn’t tell you the truth.”

“I understand.”

A look of doubt settled into a face that had never shown any true signs of aging. “Truly? You’re not angry?”

A short laugh escaped me. Holland knew me so well. “Am I annoyed that I didn’t know the truth? Sure. Am I mad?” I shrugged. “I have far bigger things to be angry about at the moment.”

“That you do.” A long moment passed. “Don’t give up, Sera.”

“I’m not.” And I wasn’t. Mainly because I wasn’t sure exactly what I would be giving up on at this point.

“Good.” His voice lowered then, and I had no idea if Nyktos heard what he said next, as Penellaphe had managed to draw him farther away toward the doors. “That thread that broke off from all the possible strings that chart the course of your life? It was unexpected. Unpredictable. Fate is never truly written in bone and blood. It can be as ever-changing as your thoughts. Your heart.” He paused, glancing at Nyktos. “His.”

I started to laugh again, but the sound withered. “Sure. Fate can be as erratic as the mind and heart.” The words scratched their way from my throat. “But not in this case. Not with his heart. You’ve known that.”

“Love is powerful, Seraphena.” Holland lifted his hand to my cheek, and the touch carried a ripple of energy that hadn’t been there before. “More so than even the Arae could imagine.”

My brows furrowed. I was sure love was just super-duper special, but Nyktos had physically removed the part of him capable of loving. So, I had no idea what he was talking about.

Which wasn’t entirely abnormal.

I exhaled shakily. “Will I see you again?”

“I can’t answer that,” he said. When I opened my mouth to reply, he quickly added, “But what I can tell you is something you already know. What you’ve spent your life preparing to become? What I trained you for? It wasn’t a waste.” Those dark, shining eyes held mine. “You are his weakness.”

Become his weakness.

Make him fall in love. End him.

Not Nyktos.

Kolis.

I was a weapon meant to be used against Kolis. That was my true destiny. But what I didn’t know was if that meant Kolis would recognize me as Sotoria and that I was already his weakness, or if it meant that carrying Sotoria’s soul would make it easier for me to seduce him.

My stomach twisted and dipped sharply. The idea of seducing Kolis made me want to vomit. I didn’t…I didn’t want to have to go through with it.

“What are you thinking?”

I jolted at the sound of Nyktos’s voice. I was so caught up in my thoughts I hadn’t been aware of Nyktos guiding me to his office.

I really needed to be more aware of my surroundings.

Pushing limp strands of hair back from my face, I felt my stomach flip and flop for very different reasons as I faced him.

Nyktos stood in front of the closed doors, and dressed as he was in a loose, untucked white shirt and black breeches, he reminded me of…Ash. Rugged and still unearthly. A sense of wild brimming beneath the veneer of calm.

But he was Nyktos now. Not Ash. He’d never be Ash to me again.

“I’m thinking about a lot of things,” I admitted. And there was a lot to think about: Kolis. His creations. What he wanted. Nyktos. What he’d done

to himself. Ezra and her marriage to Marisol and seizing the Crown. Me. The knowledge that I’d inadvertently caused my stepfather’s death. What was to come. Holland. What he’d shared before leaving.

Nyktos eyed me as he walked past the empty bookshelves along the wall. I wondered if there had ever been items on those shelves. Keepsakes. Mementos. He sat on the edge of the settee, his gaze never leaving me. It was odd to be in a position where I was standing over him.

“I cannot imagine what must be going on in your head,” he said finally. “But you went from anger…to sadness. Tangy, bitter sorrow.”

Shoulders tensing, I glared at him. “Don’t read my emotions.”

“It’s hard not to. You project a lot,” he reminded me. “And often. You were really projecting in the throne room.”

“Sounds like you need to figure out how to block them then.”

A ghost of a half-smile appeared but vanished quickly, and my heart seized again as I thought of what he’d done.

“When did you have this…kardia removed?” I asked. “A while ago.”

I eyed him. “Exactly what do you consider a while?” “A while,” he repeated.

“That’s evasive.”

“It’s more like it doesn’t matter when I had it done. Just that I did.”

I stared at him, unsure why he was being so cagey about it. “No one else knows? Just Maia?”

He nodded. “Only she and Nektas know. Neither will speak a word of

it.”

I’d never met the Primal Goddess, but based on how close Nektas and

Nyktos were, I didn’t doubt the draken would stay silent on such a thing. “Did it hurt? And don’t say it was barely an inconvenience. Obviously, that’s not true.”

Nyktos was silent for several moments. “The kardia is just a tiny part of the soul. Intangible. You would think that something unseen couldn’t cause much pain, but it felt like my entire chest had been cracked open, and my heart dug out by a dakkai’s claws and teeth,” he stated dispassionately. “I nearly lost consciousness, and if I had been weak, I likely would’ve slipped into stasis—the deep sleep of the gods and Primals.”

Horrified, I pressed my fist to my chest. “Why did you do it?” I asked, even though I already knew.

“I saw what the loss of love did to my father, and what love turned my uncle into,” he said. “And I refused to repeat either of those mistakes or endanger another because of what I felt for them.”

A knot lodged in my throat, and it took a moment for me to speak around it. “I’m sorry.”

He stretched his neck from one side to the other. “You shouldn’t be. I care more because I cannot love, and I believe caring for others is far more important than loving just one.”

“You… You are right,” I whispered. In a way, caring and kindness were purer without love. But I was still saddened. Shouldn’t everyone have the chance to feel love for another, whatever it felt like?

Except Kolis.

Or Tavius.

Neither of them deserved that.

“What was Holland speaking to you about?” Nyktos asked.

“Nothing important.” There was no way I would repeat any of that. I glanced at the desk as I rubbed my wrists, still not feeling the charm. A slender lamp cast a glow over the bare surface. Several moments ticked by, and I could feel his gaze on me—watching and likely seeing too much. “What are we going to do?”

“That’s a loaded question,” he remarked, exhaling deeply. “We’ll continue as planned. In the meantime, I’m positive there will be guests.”

“Unwanted visitors?”

He nodded. “Gods. Possibly even Primals. They’ll be curious about what they felt when you Ascended Bele.”

My lips tightened, and I started to pace in front of the bare shelves. “And I guess I’m supposed to remain hidden?”

“I know you don’t like hiding.”

I snorted. “What gave that away?”

“I don’t like it either,” he said, and I shot him a doubtful look. His eyebrows lowered and pulled closer together. “But, inevitably, they will see you, and even with the charm, we want to make it to the coronation before that happens.”

“And if we don’t?”

“None of them will think your arrival in the Shadowlands as my Consort, and the ripples of power they felt, are coincidental. Especially not when that unknown power was first felt in the mortal realm,” he said,

speaking of when I’d brought Marisol back to life. “And not when they meet you. They’ll sense the aura of eather in you. If it hadn’t been for Bele’s Ascension, they might have assumed you were a godling. Now, they will question exactly what you are.”