I think it might have burned a hole inside me, a callus over my heart, and then I’m unsure what I would have done.

And even if I wouldn’t have turned out like Blaise, losing my baby, as horrific as the thought is, wouldn’t have made our sorrows equal.

No, Blaise has faced horrors in her short years, atrocities I’ll likely never have to endure.

I’m not sure if that means I’m allowed to forgive her, but I think that, at least for now, I can pity her.

And that makes not hating her easier.

“What do you think?” I whisper to Cecilia, who wriggles contentedly in my arms, her tiny little body a furnace warming my soul. “Will you be mad at me if I forgive her?”

Cecilia doesn’t answer. So far, my daughter is very little help when it comes to offering advice.

I’m about to tell her as much when the warped glass of the window shatters, stealing my breath and puncturing my back as I cover Cecilia with my body.

CHAPTER 69

EVANDER

Orion is just about to admit that I’m getting the hang of this magic thing, when shadows creep over the atrium and the blue sky turns silver.

“What in Alondria?” Orion’s vines snake back to his sides as he stares into the sky, his jaw set.

Overhead, blotches of silver paint the heavens, an army of Others reflecting the sunlight like clouds carrying the warning of a storm.

These are not the mere we fought on the plains of Rivre.

These are something different entirely, called on by their kinsmen.

Wings of silver reflect the sunlight, beating torrents of wind down upon us as the plants in the atrium sway in horror. Their long, lithe bodies are coated in shimmering scales that serve as armor for the creatures.

“Wyverns,” I say.

Orion glances over at me. “Wyverns are extinct.”

I shrug, grasping at the hilt of my sword. “In our world, they are.”

“We have to raise the alarm, alert the king,” says Orion, and then he’s off, and I follow.

All I can think as we sprint across the wide atrium is their names. Ellie. Cecilia. Ellie. Cecilia. Where had Ellie said they would be today? Was she planning to take Cecilia on a stroll around the gardens? Or would they have stayed in today?

I wrack my mind, searching for what exactly she said as I left the bed this morning.

I can’t think of the words.

Orion intercepts a courier. He’s just shouted at him to alert the king of an attack on Othian, when the half-open ceiling of the atrium is blown to smithereens.

The wyvern stands before us, crouched on its haunches. Its tail sways, taking out pillar after pillar with its might until half of the atrium caves in. Weeping vines of greenery reach out at us from beneath the weight of the fallen stone.

The sight of it stirs something in me.

My magic, I realize.

Orion is to my left, battle ready, his hands extended at his sides as he mutters incantations.

The plants left alive in the atrium rear to attack.

Ellie. I have to get to Ellie and Cecilia. Orion can take on the beast better than I could. In fact, I’ll probably just get in the way.

But then there’s a cry, a child’s cry, coming from behind the rubble.

My heart twists, knotting into a ball in my chest.

The nursery.

The atrium is directly above the nursery, where the servants’ children stay during the day while their parents fulfill their household tasks.

Panic floods me at the sound of the cry. No, not one cry. The cries and screams of several children, trapped below the rubble.

I’m going to be sick.

My feet beg to run. To go after my wife and daughter, to search them out and lead them to the safety of the bunkers beneath the castle.

I’ve already tried being the hero. I’ve already put the needs of others before my family, and it was a mistake. It had ended with…

It had ended with Ellie, pregnant with our child, throwing herself in front of Amity.

The cries of the children ripple out into the air.

Orion spares me one glance, one nod of understanding.

I swallow, and Orion’s magic attacks.

Hundreds of vines jab at the monster’s throat, snaking around its neck and squeezing, but it lets out a bellow and yanks itself free. Vines splay, the wooden ones splintering and spraying shards of debris upon us.

I duck underneath Orion’s next attempt to attack the creature, dodging vines and thorns as I make for the heap of rubble on the other side of the wyvern. Its tail makes a sweeping stroke. I have to jump to keep from tripping.

Orion’s vines clasp on to the monster’s tail, but every time one gets a grip, the spikes lining the creature’s tail shear right through them.

I make my way through the tangled mess and quickly realize the stone heaps are too large to be moved by hand.

My heart races, the cries of the children growing more muffled. Are they passing out down there, unable to breathe through the dust from the debris and the weight of the stones piled atop them?

“Please, please someone help them,” someone, an adult, cries from down below. “They’re down here. Someone, please.”

“I’m here,” I bellow. “I’m coming.”

Though, I’m not sure how much comfort that truly is.