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I rolled my eyes. “Exactly. I think a case could be made for more than thrice.”

“Perhaps. But thrice bound by blood … Well, that seems pretty obvious to me.”

“Does it?”

“Of course.” He looked eager, as if he’d been secretly dying to talk about his crazy conspiracy theory with someone else and was finally getting a chance. “You were bound to Blake. Then to Nyxaris. And then the third instance—well, the way I see it there are multiple possibilities. You were bound to your mother, weren’t you? And then one might argue you were again bound to Blake in dragon form. Plus, the use of your blood to raise Molindra.” He started to scribble notes on the pad of paper in front of him.

“I’m not bound to Molindra, though,” I pointed out.

“Well, not that we know of. But if there’s truth to that story about your mother’s soul transferring into Molindra …”

I ignored his implication. “And the prophecy doesn’t say more than thrice, it only says thrice.”

He rubbed his nose. “Well, there is always a little bit of textual ambiguity in these ancient—”

I stood up. “But there’s never any ambiguity about someone having to die, is there, Rodriguez? There’s always a death involved.”

His face fell. “Well …”

I headed toward the door.

“Medra, where are you going?”

I stopped and looked back. “How does this change anything? Why would this mean I can’t help Blake?”

He looked a little shocked. “Surely you see that you’re too valuable now. You can’t risk your life.”

I tilted my head back and laughed. “You think I’ll die saving Blake? But if I died, wouldn’t that mean the prophecy was wrong and it wasn’t about me?” He looked as if that thought hadn’t occurred to him. I sighed. “Look, Rodriguez. Maybe the prophecy is about me, and maybe it’s not. But either way, I’m going to help Blake. And some words on a moldy old scroll aren’t going to stop me.” I paused. “If those words really are about me, then don’t worry, I’ll do it. I’ll save the fucking world—again—if I have to.”

He had the decency to look shamefaced.

“But in the meantime, saving Blake comes first. Then the world. In that order.” I turned around and stormed out before he could say anything else that would make me want to punch him in the face more than I already did.

Chapter 12

MEDRA

I don’t even remember deciding to go to sleep that night. I don’t remember getting ready or saying good-night to Florence. But a few hours later, I lay in bed, the blankets pulled up under my chin, with Florence breathing softly in the bed across the room. I turned onto my side, trying to relax, but I couldn’t calm down. Not after what Rodriguez had said. My mind raced. The words of another prophecy crowding in.

Born of power, in endless night,

To cast down realms, a dark birthright.

Both fae and mortals, their thrones shall swirl,

In the child’s hands lies the end of the world.

I’d done what the prophecy had said. I’d cast down a realm. I’d tried to save everyone. But what if I hadn’t? What if the world I’d left hadn’t been saved—what if it had simply ended? For all I knew, the sky had split open behind me and everyone I’d loved had died screaming while I escaped to this new life. What if Aercanum was already gone?

I flipped onto my other side, staring at the shadowed tower window. In the distance, I could hear water lapping at the shore. But tonight, even the sound of the sea wasn’t enough to relax me. I thought of my aunt, Morgan, fierce and full of power. My uncle, Draven, who had cradled me in his arms. Hawl, the warrior with the gentle eyes. Were any of them still alive? Had the world ended without my even knowing?

I’d tried. I’d made the choice, paid the price. I’d never even been allowed to know if it had been enough. And now here I was—again. In another world with a different fucking prophecy. The unfairness of it all pressed down on me. My eyes burned. I hadn’t asked for any of this.

My thoughts drifted to Blake, to the way he must feel right now, tangled together with Vorago. How the weight of the things he had done while he wasn’t fully himself must be pressing down, threatening to suffocate him. I imagined the guilt he must be feeling, the way the blood of innocents that stained his hands must be eating him alive.

I had known that kind of despair. I had known that loneliness before. I, too, had wanted to die, thinking it was the only way out. And now I couldn’t even tell Blake any of this. But I could find him. I could keep going. I could make him my reason for being. Not another prophecy, not the fate of the world, not destiny—Blake.

My breathing finally slowed. Gradually, sleep crept over me. I fell asleep thinking of Blake. Remembering his face, his touch, the sound of his voice. I woke up in the Bonewood.