While Tella and Legend talked about Fates and illusions, Scarlett wished she were only experiencing an illusion.

Everyone’s feelings were everywhere. They came in too many colors for Scarlett to keep track of or ignore. Scarlett had never felt anything like it. It was far more intense than the brief flashes she’d seen with Nicolas and Julian. Mournful nevermore gray covered the ground like deathly fog. Anxious violet vines licked the palace hallway. And dark, fearful greens turned everything else sickly and toxic.

Scarlett couldn’t breathe.

She could barely even tell Jovan and Julian she needed air before she stumbled toward the heavy door leading to the stairs. Although Scarlett and the others had left Tella and Legend alone in the dungeon so they could talk, Scarlett could still feel the crushing weight of Tella’s heavy-gray grief and the spiky rage of her burning-red anger at the Fates. Scarlett hadn’t been able to see Legend’s emotions, but she swore they were the ones making it so hard to breathe. Or maybe it was Scarlett’s own unexpected grief at the loss of her mother.

“Crimson.” Julian rushed to her side.

“Don’t.” Scarlett shook his hand away. His concern was more than she could take. Stormy, stormy, stormy blue, swirling and fierce and—

Scarlett’s vision filled with black. “Crimson!”