the orders of the Crown Heir. We will overturn this castle to find the evidence of the poison Morganya has been using.”
Chaos fell upon the Grand Throneroom as Councilmembers and guests began shouting over each other at the sudden turn of events. But Ana kept her gaze on the dais.
She alone caught the look Morganya gave Luka. It was a look that promised death.
Sudden fear gripped Ana. She knew, from some primal instinct in her gut, that something was about to go horribly, unfathomably wrong.
Ana burst into a sprint toward the dais. “Luka!” she shouted. She didn’t know why she was calling his name. She only knew that she had to get to him.
Her brother turned to her. His smile slipped when he caught her panicked expression.
“Luka!” Ana focused on Morganya’s crumpled frame, hurling all the strength of her Affinity at the woman, pinning Morganya down and willing her not to move.
The knot of panic loosened just slightly inside her chest. Ten more steps. She pressed harder on Morganya. You will not hurt him.
In the corner of her vision, a figure moved. From the shadows of Luka’s white-gold throne snaked a hand. Fingers, pale and long and hauntingly familiar, twisted around an object—but this time, it was not a whip.
Sadov was smiling as he plunged his dagger into Luka’s chest.
* * *
—
Time stopped. The world—the blood, the bodies, the screaming—blurred into the background. There was only Luka, and the copper tang of his blood in the air, magnified by her Affinity.
Her brother fell, his face serene but for the spark of surprise in his eyes.
Someone was screaming. No, she was screaming. Her Affinity was expanding, sweeping around her outside of her command. People toppled out of her way like figures on a chessboard.
Ana flew up the steps of the dais and flung herself down next to her brother. Her hands shook as she gathered him gently into her arms. Blood stained the blue carpet beneath him; blood dripped onto her hands and legs; blood seeped into the soft fabric of her dress.
Blood. Her Affinity, her gift and her curse.
“Luka.” Ana’s voice broke. His eyes found hers, misted with pain but clear as a field of grass beneath the sun. He exhaled with a horrible rattling sound. Ana placed a hand over the wound in his chest, willing the blood back, back, back into his body. “Shhh,” she whispered. “I’m here, bratika. Shhh.”
Luka opened his mouth. She lowered her head to his lips. “Brat,” he whispered, his voice faint. “I’ve…missed you.”
She was crying. “There’s so much I have to tell you. We’ll…we’ll fix this. And everything else. We’ll fix it together, Luka.”
“You…came back,” he rasped.
“I’m back,” she sobbed, cradling him in her arms and touching her forehead to his. And then she raised her head, screaming. “Healer! We need a healer—now!”
“Ana,” Luka wheezed. “Sistrika. I’m…tired.”
“Hold on,” Ana begged. “Help is coming— Healer!” Her voice cracked. “Please!” She turned back to Luka. “Hold on. I’m here. Sistrika’s here.”
His eyes fluttered; he struggled to keep them open. He made a small motion as though to shake his head. “Not sistrika,” he whispered, and his eyes suddenly widened, burning with intensity. He drew a deep breath, straining. “Empress.”
“Luka,” she wept.
“Promise…me.”
The words cut through her heart. “I promise.”
A smile warmed Luka’s face, like the sun coming out after the rain. His body seemed to relax. He gazed at her with that fondness, that light in his eyes, and for a moment they were children again, grinning at each other with a silent promise. “I’ll tell Papa and Mama…”
He never finished the sentence. A serene look passed over his face, and just like that, he fell still, his spring-grass eyes trained on her as though he’d just been about to tell her a secret.
Ana held her brother tightly, burying her head in the soft crook of his neck the way she used to when she was a child. Her tears wet the fabric of his white silk doublet. She thought she would stay like this forever; she thought she would never get up again.
“She killed the Emperor!” Morganya’s scream pierced the air.
Slowly, bit by bit, the world seeped back in. The bloody carpet beneath her feet. The shrieks of the panicked and the dying. The crimson soaking her dress.
Ana set Luka’s head onto the carpet, smoothing his hair and closing his eyes. A ghost of a smile was etched on his face.
A strange redness crept into the world; it swirled at the edges of her vision