Just like us. Valchior’s voice, quiet and hissing against the cacophony of the magic Neve held. All that talk of being better—you very nearly fell for it, didn’t you, Neverah? You aren’t better. You aren’t good. Just another monarch with a hunger for power and a willingness to do whatever it takes to get what you want. I’ll show you.
“Shut up!” She had no control over her mouth, her vocal cords—it came out a scream when she meant to mutter it. Neve knocked a thorn-laced hand against her brow, thinking of nothing but drowning him out. The end of her hand was still a bloody mess from the finger she’d cut off, the wound reopening when she hit it against the spikes of her growing crown. “Shut up!”
A laugh rumbled through her head, made her teeth rattle. Was she laughing, too, her mouth unhinged for Valchior’s voice to roll out? Her body was a puppet she had only the barest control over, the outside the same size she’d lived in for twenty years, the inside swollen by magic and shadows. She felt like she might split at the seams.
Already, destruction itched at her fingers, pulled slow through her veins. A desire to take the world by the neck and shake it until it went limp. Those distant voices of the people in the snow prickled at her ears, an irritation that swelled in her chest until it made her want to scream, and her clawed hands curled in anticipation, knowing she could reach with her thorned magic and rip out the offending throat—
“No.” A moan through lengthened teeth. Neve pulled her hands in toward her chest, like she could cage them. This had to end. She couldn’t hold on.
She stumbled forward on numb feet.
“Neve!”
A voice she recognized, rising panicked from the haze.
Neve turned, swirling shadow in her wake. The figure charging toward her was Red, but Red changed—antlers made of white bark on her brow, green completely overtaking the whites of her eyes, ivy crowning her dark-gold hair. She’d been a wild and beautiful thing before, but it was nothing compared to now. Red was all golden light to Neve’s endless dark.
A sob lodged in Neve’s throat, knowing what she was about to ask. What she needed her sister to do.
Even in her otherworldly grace, Red almost stumbled in her haste to get to her, charging over snowbanks churned nearly to mud. They fell into each other’s arms, light and dark.
For a moment, Neve let herself relax into her sister’s hold, let herself pretend this was just a homecoming.
“You’re here,” Red murmured into her hair. “You chose to come back.”
Neve didn’t respond, other than the harsh sob she couldn’t quite swallow. Red’s arms tightened around her, the leaves braceleting her wrists rustling against Neve’s thorns.
The howl of the Kings rose louder in Neve’s ears, nearly deafening, drowning out the string of comforting words that fell from Red’s lips. Something about home, about healing, I can fix this I can fix this I can fix this.
There was only one fix.
Her grip on herself was shaky, glass vibrating at the shatterpoint. Valchior and the others battered against her mind, against her bones, against her soul that held theirs. Her fingers were blackened as if by frostbite, wanting to bend, wanting to force this world to bow to the might of her shadows.
My world, Valchior hissed into her ear, slithering around her skull. We’ll have such fun, Neverah. There are other vessels you could pour me into, once you realize that we’re all better off together, once you see all the incredible things we’ll accomplish. You could find one to your liking, another body for me to stay in. Even Solmir—
“Stop.” It came through chattering teeth, slicing through whatever comfort Red had been trying to give. It was a directive to the King’s soul she held, but also to her sister. She couldn’t take comfort now. It was too late.
Red closed her mouth, held Neve out at arm’s length, hands firm on her shoulders. Her green-brown eyes were filmed with tears. “Tell me what you need me to do, Neve.”
A soft sound from the snow beyond them where the dark-haired man lay. He stirred, amber eyes opening. “Red…” The Wolf. It had to be.
Red’s eyes squeezed shut, a single tear falling down her cheek. “Tell me what you need,” her sister murmured, the tendons in her neck standing out with the effort of not turning to the Wolf on the snow. “Whatever I have to do, I’ll do it.”
“Do you promise?” Neve whispered.
And her sister’s eyes opened wide, horror and understanding and a sorrow sharp enough to cut.