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The glass was so very light when I lifted it and cradled it against my chest like a newborn child, heart pounding in my ears. I walked as if I were carrying a cup of water filled to the brim, trying not to spill a single drop; every single step was a conscious decision, the safety of the ground a relief each time my feet settled back on the granite. Out of the hall. Through the first doorway I found. Onto a crumbled terrace, collapsed rooms to my right, a line of still trees to my left. Down the slope of the cliff on this side of the castle, to where the others were waiting.
Or rather, fighting.
Hell had broken loose since the last glance I’d thrown their way, the whirling movements hard to follow from this distance. Beyla was there, fading back and forth, swords slashing around her in silvery flashes as she cut through wings and limbs and throats. Judging by the wild gestures and frantic movements, people were shouting. Around Naxi, fae were dropping to the earth like fall leaves. Lyn’s binds lay smouldering on the ground while she frantically worked to free Tared’s wrists, and Creon seemed to be well on his way to killing a dozen opponents without even unbinding his hands at all. Alyra raced around in excited circles on our side of the Mother’s shield, squeaking in joyful triumph with every fae to go down.
I had to restrain myself from walking any faster, determined not to fall into a jog. I’d done my part. They’d manage without me for another minute or two.
The glass binding burned in my hands, pulsing with the promise of a goal achieved.
Alyra slowed down as I finally reached her, settling back into her familiar spot on my left shoulder. On the other side of the shield, Creon and the alves were busy sticking knives into every fallen opponent, double-checking for their lack of heartbeat; only Thysandra was still standing, alf steel chain around her wrists. Naxi stood beside her with a wolfish grin upon her face. Lyn was talking, gesturing wildly at the scene.
Crossing the barrier was bafflingly easy with the key in my pocket. A shimmer of magic, a ripple of light, and the sounds of the world crashed over me again. Frantic voices. Shrieking blades. The smell of ripe apples, the brush of the cool wind over my face, and—
‘Em!’
They all snapped around at Lyn’s cry, abrupt silence descending over the battlefield.
I should have greeted them. Should have given some reassurance,anyreassurance, on the fate of the hundreds of thousands of bindings I’d left behind. But the smooth glass in my hands brimmed with three months’ worth of pent-up frustration, and my gaze was drawn to Creon like a river finding the sea – every fibre of my being honing in on his presence as if nothing else in the world would ever matter again.
He stood a few strides away, frozen in place, hands covered in ink and blood. His eyes had blazed with wild fury a moment ago, yet now they’d gone still – the fight seeping out of him like the last grains of sand trickling through an hourglass. An expression blank with disbelief, his heart and cautious, scheming mind unable to agree on just what they were seeing.
His lips moved.Em?
My grin came from somewhere fathoms deep inside me. ‘Got you something.’
For one last moment, he merely stood there, knife drooping in his hands, unmoving except for the free locks of hair fluttering in the sea breeze.
Then he smiled.
A smile like a sunrise, spreading over his face with slow, almost timid radiance – all wistful wonder, all heartfelt relief, melting every mask of pride or cruelty away. A smile I’dneverseen before in the company of others, no trace left of the Silent Death they knew. This was just Creon,myCreon, every twisted, dramatic, vulnerable, irresistible inch of him.
A flood of words surged through me, every apology I’d been unable to articulate on that bloody beach suddenly flying to my lips with perfect clarity –I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course you’re mine. Of course I’m yours. Let’s go eat each other’s faces off in front of the bloody phoenix elders.
But that conversation on the beach had taken place an hour ago, and he’d waited a hundred and thirty years for the treasure I was holding in my hands. So I beamed back at him, hoping that smile would convey most of the message, and managed to sound almost composed as I said, ‘Shall I just get to work, then?’
‘No,’ Thysandra ground out somewhere close. ‘No!You have no idea what you’re … You can’t just …’
‘I don’t think she was asking you for permission, Sashka,’ Naxi said, sounding like a cat locked in with a hundred saucers of cream.
‘Don’tcall me that!’
Naxi just giggled.
‘Do whatever you can, Em,’ Lyn said, amusement sparkling below the thin veneer of reasonable business. ‘I suggest the rest of us focus on removing our traces for now – if the Mother doesn’t yet know about this visit to the Court, I’d like to keep it that way.’
Thysandra made a choked, strangled sound.
‘I suggest staging a fight on some other island and dropping the bodies there,’ Beyla said, finally sheathing her swords. ‘How about Oskya? Guaranteed to have no witnesses. Then if we get rid of that apple mess Em left behind, it’s as if we’ve never been here.’
There were mutters of general agreement. I looked back at Creon, who quirked up an eyebrow and dryly signed,You can go ahead and help cleaning up corpses, if you prefer.
‘Oh, go to hell,’ I said, bursting out laughing as I held out the crystal ball to him. ‘Hold this, will you? I’m going to need my hands.’
He mindlessly changed my dress to glittering mother of pearl, then curled his fingers around the glass with slow, painstaking care. In the pale blue light, the sharp angles of his face were tense – with concentration, anticipation, a tremor of something close to fear. But he held the binding as if it were the most precious thing in the world, and his dark eyes never lifted from the glittering surface.
‘Ready?’ I muttered.
His throat bobbed, but he nodded.
