Epilogue
IN THE GRASS, OSKAREN WAS ASLEEP, TUCKED INTO THIA’S RIGHT side, Dess at her left. She listened to them breathe, comforted by the rhythmic sound of it, and waited for sleep to take her too.
It didn’t. Something was niggling at her, some strange sense of forgetfulness.
It took rolling onto her side, the tickle of falling twine along her collarbone, to realize what: the shard.
For all she knew, Solanthe could be watching them right now.
It suddenly felt too tight, too heavy, an invasive hand squeezing the air from her lungs.
She sat up, yanking it free, and winced as it caught on her unkempt mane of curls. Then she slipped out from between the others and tore across the grass with the thing in hand, ready to hurl it into the trees.
But no, she should destroy it properly, lest anyone else find it and give the queen sight beyond her Tower. She dropped it on the grass, scouring for a rock or stick to smash it. When she had one in hand—a nicely weighted stone with a sharp tip—she crouched, readying to slam it down.
You could have found me in it if you’d possessed the ability.
She halted. The last time Thia had tried, she’d had no knowledge of what she was. But now…
If Solanthe could spy, maybe Thia could too. Just once, to ensure they were truly safe here, that the queen had indeed retreated.
She set the rock down and brought the shard in close. She tried to recall the sensation she’d had just before manifesting the shield. The strength. The desperate need.
Her chest burned. She focused on that, willing it to grow. Show me the queen.
She opened her eyes. Her skin was glowing. She imagined that light spreading, encircling the shard.
It did. And the glass wavered. Thia’s breath caught.
Show me the queen.
“I knew you couldn’t resist,” Solanthe said.
Thia jumped, nearly dropping the glass. The queen peered back at her, seated in a luxurious red armchair, in what might have been a library from the rows of books behind her.
Her hair was unbound, and she was clad in a silver nightgown, comb in one hand.
A pleasant image, though the queen was anything but.
Her irises were a dull gray instead of their usual sparkling metal, her skin sallow.
Her posture was weak against the chair, like it was an effort to remain upright.
Thia forced herself to stay calm. Her hands tingled from the effort of sustaining the connection; she reminded herself she had done this and could also end it. The queen wasn’t actually here. But she also hadn’t expected her to be waiting.
“You look a mess,” Thia commented, pleased her voice was steady, even more so when the queen snarled at the echo of her own words.
But then Solanthe smoothed her features back into a mask of pleasantness. “It’s good you found me. We have much to do together, you and I.”
“If you think—” Thia began, but then the queen closed her eyes.
And opened them so suddenly, Thia startled again, especially as the queen leaned forward, face filling the entirety of the shard.
Thia felt a sharp tug, like something reached into her chest and yanked, and then her palms were on fire.
She gasped, ready to drop the glass, only to find she couldn’t.
Light still flared, only now it was silver. No.
Solanthe pushed. The light spilled away from the shard to climb all over Thia’s skin.
Thia willed it to dim. Tried to throw the shard, but she was stuck fast. “Why?”
Solanthe raised a brow. “Have you already forgotten our bargain? I can’t claim my favor unless the king sends you home. As I said, we have work to do.”
Thia forced her breath to calm, trying to focus as her body hummed with painful energy. If Solanthe could take control of the portal, could she take it back?
There. Thia thought she felt the source of the queen’s grip, a magical fist somewhere in the ether between them. Then she was abruptly flung back, the fist disappearing behind a wall.
“Clever,” Solanthe said, panting. “You’re a quick study. I’m glad.” She raised her physical hand. “You’ll need that, if you’re to return.”
The silver light exploded, blinding Thia. She cried out, retinas burning. When she could see again, the shard was still glowing, but the scene had changed. Grandma Winnie was sitting in front of the TV in her Kansas living room, a glass of wine in hand.
No.
Beyond it, Oskaren and Dess sprinted for Thia, drawn by her scream.
Thia tried to break free. To stop it. She wrenched her hands away from the shard with all her might, but it was no use.
The queen’s magic had a hold of her, was eating her from the inside out, and the only way to escape it was forward.
The ground pitched; Thia strained to dodge it, to see beyond, desperate for any glimpse of Dess, of Oskaren.
Instead, her head smashed through glass for the second time.
The forest was gone.
Grandma Winnie cried out, spilling wine over her leopard print blouse as she shot to her feet. Her weathered skin was pale, like she was looking at a ghost. “Thia.”
Thia sank to her knees.
Grandma Winnie gripped her shoulders. “You’re home.” She said it like it was a prayer answered. Maybe it was.
Thia wrung her hands, trying to make the light return. “I have to go back,” she sobbed. “I can’t leave them.”
“Who?” Grandma Winnie said, brushing hair out of Thia’s face. “Where?”
Thia shrugged her off. “My brother,” she cried, and her grammy froze. Thia ignored her, clutching what remained of the shard—a tiny sliver, a fragment that bit into her palm, drawing blood.
Dess. Oskaren. “I have to help them, I have to go—”
She lifted the fragment, shaking it in front of her face as though that could make it work, willing with every ounce of her being for it to show her the faces of her companions.
Instead, it disintegrated into ash, falling to the carpet in strange, blackened pieces.