EPILOGUE

Acool night breeze kissed Asterin’s bare skin, causing her to shiver and roll onto her side. Drawing the covers to her chin, she dozed for a moment longer before her breath caught and her eyes flew open.

She always locked her windows shut when she slept.

Slowly, cautiously, she craned her neck to survey the dim, moonlit room, eyes trailing up the hulking shadow over her bed to meet a luminescent green stare. The covers slid from her grasp as she sat up, her heartbeat thumping loudly in her ears. “Lord Conrye.”

The wolf’s ears twitched as he continued staring, front paws perched on the foot of her mattress.

“Aren’t you forbidden from being here?” she asked, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “Why now, instead of during the battle?”

The Council of Immortals would not allow me to … interfere with trivial mortal matters.

Asterin’s eyes widened. The god’s voice swept through her head like soft thunder, but she could still hear the disdain dripping from his words.

Asterin bristled. “Trivial? The meddling of dark magic by the leader of a kingdom and the near deaths of not one, but four heirs is considered trivial?”

Their words, not mine, Conrye rumbled, lips curling back in a snarl. I was overruled.

“Well, you’re too late,” said Asterin. “My Guardian is gone. The battle is over. So why are you here now?”

Because you have already made your choices. I cannot influence the path you now walk.

Her fists clenched. Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest choice to direct her anger at an ancient god, but she couldn’t help it. He could have helped her. Helped all of them. He could have stopped Orion from going into the portal. Killed Priscilla himself, like he had the wyvern, so Harry wouldn’t have had to open that portal in the first place.

Conrye regarded her, appearing unsurprised at her hostility. There is something you must do, Asterin. This is the only thing I may offer you. After Priscilla seized control of the throne, she imprisoned dozens of people she believed posed a threat to her—liabilities. People who she could not sway, could not fool with her illusions.

“Yes, thank you for the reminder that I was one of those fools,” muttered Asterin, collapsing back against her pillows.

That was not my point. She kept one of those people in the holding cells below the palace.

Asterin sat back up, stunned. “Cells? You mean—you mean we have a dungeon?” There were jailhouses, of course, in Axaria, but below the palace itself …

Indeed. They are spelled to provide enough necessities to keep their inmates alive for as long as necessary. You must go down there.

Her pulse quickened. “What’s in there?”

Not so much what, but who, Conrye corrected. Take the servants’ passage in the west wing, and locate a storage room marked with an X on the door. Find a brick, smoother than the rest, and pull it to the left. Twist the knob of the door without a knocker twice and enter. Follow the stairs as far down as you can.

Asterin wasn’t sure she wanted to know what—or rather who was down there, but she took careful note of Conrye’s instructions nonetheless.

Come forward, Princess Asterin.

She hesitated only a moment before scooting toward him, the hairs on her arms prickling from the sudden chill.

He bowed his head. Around my neck.

She threaded her fingers into the tufts of his silky fur and paused. Beneath her palms thrummed his pulse, fluttering—almost like the wings of a bird, almost like the omnistone, yet heavier—much heavier. The immortal heartbeat of a god. Swallowing, she found a leather cord around his neck and pulled it over his head. From it dangled a heavy, tarnished key, ancient runes etched into its surface.

“What’s this for?”

You will know when the time comes.

Asterin raised it over her own head, feeling its warm weight settle between the hollow of her breasts. She shut her eyes and felt the sharp bite of winter wind ruffle her hair.

When her eyes opened, the window had closed and the wolf was gone.

Asterin found the stairwell easily enough. Navigating in the dark had long since become second nature to her after spending so many hours with Orion exploring the hidden passageways of the palace as children.

Eadric followed at her heels, peering into every corner. After telling him everything—from Conrye’s visit to his claim of a dungeon deep beneath the palace—he had demanded to accompany her, and she’d been secretly relieved. She had no idea what to expect down there, and she was thankful for the solid presence beside her.

Asterin lit their way down the stairs with a glowing orb of magic, taking care to test each rickety step, a faint, unnameable stench reaching them from below.

At last, after what seemed like hours, they reached the bottom.

Asterin levitated her orb higher, its glow shuddering along the length of the walls around them as she came to a standstill, arm trembling.

Behind her, Eadric swore softly.

A long corridor of prison cells stretched out before them, plunging deep into an endless gloom so thick that her light could scarcely penetrate it.

They crept along the aisle, peering into each murky cell.

“They’re empty,” Asterin said. She let out a frustrated grunt. “There’s nothing here.” She nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand fell on her shoulder, but it was only Eadric.

He gestured further on. “I just saw something move.”

As they approached the final cell, there was a rustle of fabric.

Asterin stumbled backward, colliding into a startled Eadric. Her light had fallen across a pale, gaunt face, spindly fingers gripping the metal bars.

It was a woman, with a tangled nest of long, black hair. She stared at Asterin with rich emerald eyes, brighter than the stars themselves.

Asterin stared back, feeling as though she had been slapped, her mind stuttering as it tried to comprehend the sight.

Emerald eyes, whose shine had not yet dulled, even in such isolation. Whose resolute expression had never crumbled to one of hopelessness. Who had never surrendered herself to the darkness.

Asterin knew that face—she had seen it in her dreams. In her flashbacks after the contralusio.

In the mirror.

“Almighty Immortals,” Asterin breathed, her hand clapping to her mouth as she staggered closer to the bars.

“Asterin, get back,” Eadric said, brandishing his affinity stone—but she just shook her head.

“Asterin?” the woman asked, her voice like gravel after years of disuse. She cleared her throat. “My … my Asterin?”

“Who are you?” Eadric demanded.

Asterin’s knees wobbled as she raised her hands to the woman, tears flowing down her face. Both of their faces. The woman she had not seen for over a decade let out a strangled sob of joy and disbelief.

Asterin turned to Eadric. “Eadric, this …” It all came back to her in a rush of golden light. She swallowed. “This is Elyssa Calistavyn-Faelenhart, the true Queen of Axaria.”

The woman smiled, her bony wrists sliding through the bars to cup Asterin’s cheek. She leaned into the touch, her throat catching on a tear-choked laugh.

So warm, so gentle, so loving.

So familiar.

“My mother,” Asterin whispered.