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The illusion cracked, and the daemon plane flickered back into existence. Lysander lying injured behind her.

Idonea closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, her mother stood before her once more, cloaked in shadow.

Idonea raised her blood-streaked hands. They trembled. Everything in her trembled.

"I—" She couldn't get the word out. Her throat closed.

Nellith waited.

"You knew that." Her voice was hoarse. "You knew I did. You used it."

"Yes."

"Then this is your fault. Not mine."

Idonea unleashed the magic. The surge of Current and Eitr tore through the storm. It struck Nellith full in the chest, the impact blasting shadows apart.

Nellith screamed.

Lance dove from above, hissing towards Nellith.

She fell to one knee.

Idonea stumbled forward, the power still pouring from her hands.

Nellith looked up at her. In that instant, time stretched: Idonea saw the mother she'd loved, feared, and loathed all at once, faltering.

She forced the magic forward. "Because you left me no choice."

The power surged one final time.

Nellith's body dissolved into shadow and ash, her final scream swallowed by the raging storm.

The wind died. Lightning faded, and the daemon plane fell silent.

Idonea collapsed to her knees. Lance slithered near her, butting his head into her side. Her hand found him, the warm weight of him under her palm settling her pulse. She had once thought she didn't particularly like him. She had been wrong about that.

The place where her mother stood was empty.

Idonea stood up.

Chapter 39

The relic still pulsed against her palm. She no longer wanted its call. Its rhythm was a heartbeat that was not hers, slow and patient, and every beat was a soft pull to take what it offered.

The daemon plane was beginning to unravel. Cracks spider-webbed through the molten ground.

Idonea swayed, her legs threatening to give out beneath her. Every muscle trembled from exhaustion, her lungs burning with each inhale.

Across the shattered plain, Lysander still laid where the lightning had struck him.

Lance circled low through the dimming storm, his long body weaving through drifting ash. The Iaculus gave a soft hiss as he passed overhead, wings stirring the brittle air.

Idonea forced herself forward. The relic throbbed again. She ignored it.

Instead, she reached for her blade. She cut a fresh cut across her forearm.