I run.
The doors slam behind me, and I sprint as fast as my legs will go, fueled by fear, whipping through gilded hallways with no idea where I’m going.
Under the staccato pounding of my heartbeat, under my sharp, noisy gasps, come the thuds of footfalls, speedy and relentless.
How did it come to this? The Regia’s dead, Dalca’s out for my blood, and Pa’s future isn’t looking bright, either.
Why did the Queen do this to me? She used me. Why make it sound like I could save the city with her gift? Why make me believe that I could save us all?
I couldn’t save Izamal, nor the Regia, nor Pa, nor Dalca.
Dalca tackles me from behind, his arms wrapping around my waist like chains.
I couldn’t even save myself.
I say nothing as we return to the old city, as we march through the tunnels, all the way to the fist of rock that holds Pa.
He’s slumped over and so still that I fear he’s dead, until he lurches up at our footsteps.
Pa gasps in shock. “Vesp? How—you made it back?” He trails off as he keys in to the mood. “What happened?”
“The Regia is dead,” Dalca says.
Shock robs Pa of his voice. He looks from Dalca to me.
“The Storm covers the city. Soon I will be marked Regia and all these horrors will be mine. All thanks to your daughter.”
Dalca shoves me forward, onto an ikon that glimmers awake undermy feet. The rock grows under me, wrapping around my legs, rising up to my torso, then my arms. My own personal stone prison groans to life around me. Darkness pulls at the edges of my vision, and I fight to stay awake, to say something that’ll turn Dalca back into the boy I thought I could love. This can’t be how it ends.
This can’t be.