I keep my sword held ready, but try my best to make myself look small and uninteresting. I’m lucky. There are more rebels in this corridor than remnants. I’m able to make it all the way outside the palace without having to defend myself.

Things are worse than I thought they would be out here. It looks like the remnants had two goals when they fissured in: to assassinate Lena and to break through this portion of the silver wall.

Approximately a hundred feet lies between the palace and the wall. The silver plating is bent and cracked around a gaping hole. The interior of the wall, made up of stone blocks and wooden stairs and balconies for the guards to stand watch on, is clearly visible straight ahead. It was only a few days ago that the remnants almost broke through there. They lit fires at the wall’s base while they pummeled it with rocks and boulders, some thrown by hand, others launched by magic. The rebels fought them off, but there hasn’t been time to repair the damage.

The remnants are attacking the wall from both sides now. They’re trying to chop down the beams of the scaffold that’s holding it up. Kyol and a dozen other rebels are trying to fight them off.

I tighten my fist around the hilt of my sword and press my back against the palace, scanning the strip of land for Lena or Trev or some way to help.

My gaze goes back to the scaffolding. It’s shaking and teetering, just barely holding out. Is there a way I can help there?

I push away from the wall, moving toward it, thinking I might be able to draw some fae away from it, when something in my peripheral vision catches my attention. A remnant stands far off to my right, focusing on the fight at the scaffold, too. He’s gathering a ball of fire in his hand.

Dread traps my air in my lungs. He’s going to throw it at the scaffold. The scaffold won’t hold up. It’ll fall. It’ll crush Kyol and the other rebels and open up a huge gap in the wall. The remnants will be able to pour in.

“Kyol!” I scream, but even if he could hear me, he can’t fissure. He wouldn’t make it to the remnant in time.

The fire in the fae’s hand turns blue.

My decision is already made. I’m already running, sprinting away from the palace. I have to get there in time. If I don’t, Kyol is dead, half the rebels and remnants out here are dead, and the eastern wall will be in ruins.

I’m running as fast as I ever have before, but I won’t reach the fae. I can only do one thing. If I fail, we’re all dead. If I succeed…

I promised Aren I’d be careful. This isn’t careful. I’m going to die doing this.

The ball of flame leaves the fae’s hand, but I make it in time, leaping between it and the scaffolding.

There’s a whoosh when the magic-wrapped flames slam into my right shoulder.

Shock stabs through me as I’m flying through the air. I expected the flames to be intangible; I didn’t expect them to be as solid as a cannonball. My back hits the edge of the scaffold and something in my chest—a rib or my collarbone—snaps. I don’t feel the pain of the fire until after my vision turns orange and red. Then some part of my mind notes that my skin is burning. My hair, my clothes, my shoelaces…they’re all aflame.

Another part of my mind notes that I’ve hit a beam supporting the right edge of the scaffold. And a third part of my mind—the tiny, naïve part that believes I have a chance to survive this—chants, Stop, drop, roll. Stop, drop, roll.

I stop, drop, and roll to my back. There’s a loud crack above me and a trembling in the wall. A section of it shakes loose. I see the stone blocks falling toward me just before my vision goes black.

I should be dead. I want to be dead. My leg is broken, my knee pulled up near my chest at a sickening angle.

“Sidhe, no. No!”

I can’t move.

“McKenzie.” Kyol drops down beside me. “Sidhe, don’t move.”

He says my name again as he scans me, head to toe. His hand reaches out like he wants to touch me, but he doesn’t. I’m grateful. My skin hurts. Everything hurts.

“Find Lena!” he barks in Fae.

I squeeze my eyes shut, concentrate on drawing air into my lungs. It’s a difficult thing to do with my throat closing up like this, but Kyol is trying to reassure me. He’s trying to make sure I’m not afraid.

“You’re going to be okay,” he says. He’s wrong. I can’t survive this.

I concentrate and manage to lift my right hand. He sees it. Ignoring the blisters, he intertwines his fingers with mine, and suddenly, there’s so much I want to say. So much I want to tell him. I want him to know that I don’t regret the ten years I spent with him. I don’t regret shadow-reading for him. I don’t regret losing my family, my friends, my human life for him. I don’t regret loving him.

I need him to know all of this, but more important than all of that is the one thing I do regret: leaving Aren. I wanted to have so much more time with him.

“Tell him, please.” My lips hurt when I speak. They feel dry, cracked. Burned.

Kyol leans closer. I swallow, trying to work moisture into my mouth.

“Tell him…” Desperate to make him understand, I tighten my grip on his hand until he bends even lower. “I’m sorry I wasn’t careful and—”

Kyol releases my hand. “No.”

No?

“Please, Kyol.”

“No,” he thunders. “I won’t let you die. You’re not dying.”

There’s so much pain in his voice. I hate it. I hate hurting him. I hate how much I’m going to hurt Aren.

“Aren,” I whisper.

“You’re going to be okay, kaesha.”

“Kaesha,” I murmur.

SUDDENLY, the pain increases tenfold. I gasp, arching my back off the ground. I can’t touch it anymore, can’t touch anything.

I cry out again, draw in one deep breath after another after another until…I relax, my breathing slows, and I’m okay.

I’m okay. I know it’s shock. My mind isn’t able to process the pain. It’s shutting down. I’m grateful for the reprieve, grateful that I can say to Kyol, “Let me go.”

He shakes his head. Tears streak down his face. I’ve never seen him cry before.

I’ll never see him cry again.

“It’s okay. I don’t hurt anymore. I’m not afraid.”

“I can’t, McKenzie. I can’t.” His voice cracks. “I love you. Sidhe, I know I have no right to tell you this, but I do. I always will.”

I try to tell him I understand, but all that comes out is an incoherent mumble. I close my eyes.

“CAN you hear me? Say…” Something. Kyol wants me to say something. I’m too weak, too cold to do anything more than murmur a few syllables, but that’s not enough for him. He demands me to keep talking. I try. I try until I feel my heart lurch and then…

TWENTY-EIGHT

IT’S DARK. EONS pass.

MY heart is beating, but I feel wrong. Overfull. I’m distantly aware of someone above me. He’s talking, demanding some kind of response from me.

Aren?

He wants me to open my eyes. He says my name over and over and over again.

“MCKENZIE.” A different voice shatters the dark. Kyol’s voice. I try to murmur his name, but my lips won’t move.