Amara glanced over the edge to witness Ashur’s reaction to Nic’s resurrection, wishing to focus on something other than Nerissa’s betrayal.

“You’re alive,” Ashur gasped.

“I am,” Nic replied tightly.

Ashur’s eyes brimmed with tears as he sank down to his knees.

How weak you’ve become, brother, she thought with disgust and a whisper of sadness for all that had been lost between them.

“What’s wrong with you?” Nic asked Ashur, frowning.

“You . . . I know you came after me, to try to talk me out of what I believed was right. And I . . . I thought you were dead.”

Nic watched him warily. “Seems to be a very common belief today. But I’m not.”

Ashur nodded. “It’s good.”

“I’m glad that you’re glad.” Nic’s frown deepened. “Honestly? I didn’t think you’d care one way or the other. Now, uh . . .” He glanced around at the others in the pit nervously. “Please stand up now.”

Ashur did as requested, drawing closer to Nic. “I know my behavior has been unforgiveable of late. I wanted to push everyone away . . . especially you. I didn’t want you to get hurt. But I was wrong—wrong about everything. About myself, about my choices, about my destiny. I thought I was important.”

“You are important.”

“I’m not the phoenix. I see that now.” Ashur lowered his head, and his hair, loose from the piece of leather he used to tie it back, fell over his face. “Please forgive me, Nicolo.”

With a slight hesitation, Nic tucked the prince’s hair behind his ear. “All of this is because you thought I was dead? I truly hate to break it to you, but today isn’t looking so good for any of us.”

“You’re right. Life isn’t guaranteed, not at any time, not for anyone. Every single day, every single moment, could be our last.”

“Uh, unfortunately, yes.”

Ashur raised his gaze to meet Nic’s. “Which means we must take what we want most in this short mortal life while we have the chance.”

“I completely agree.”

“Good.” He put his hand behind Nic’s head and kissed him hard and deep. When he drew back, Nic’s cheeks were flushed nearly as red as his hair.

“Ha!” Felix said, jabbing his index finger at them. “I knew it! I totally knew it!”

Amara watched all of this, her heart heavy at seeing her brother finally admit his true feelings. She wasn’t sure if it pleased her or if it made her sad. “How lovely for you all. My brother does put on an excellent show, doesn’t he?”

“I’m not pretending to be something I’m not,” Ashur growled at her. “Not anymore. Not like you.”

“Trust me, brother. Today, I’m exactly who I was meant to be.” She glanced at a guard. “If you successfully captured Nicolo and Nerissa, where is Magnus?”

The guard bowed his head. “Detained elsewhere, your grace.”

“Where?”

“I fear I lost track of the guards who dragged him from your chambers. But I assure you, he is not a threat to you.”

Perhaps not, but Amara would rather have all of her prisoners together in one place.

“Well done, little empress. You show admirable strength today.”

Amara wanted this over once and for all, wanted to finally move on from these sacrifices she’d been forced to make all her life.

“I’m so glad you approve,” Amara said, impatience rising within her as the first drop of rain fell from the dark gray clouds. “Is it time to begin?”

“Yes, it’s time. She is finally here.”

With another roll of thunder and a violent crack of lightning forking through the dark sky, a woman approached them, her black cloak flowing in the wind. Her guards parted to make way for her, collectively taking a step backward.

“Is it Lucia?” Amara asked tightly.

“No, it’s not Lucia.”

The woman who approached had a mature face and long gray hair with a white streak at the front. Her dark gray eyes, nearly black, scanned the guards and the edge of the pit, then fell upon Amara herself.

Lightning forked through the sky behind her.

“Selia!” Cleo managed. “What are you doing here?”

“You know this woman? Who is she?” Amara demanded.

“This is Gaius Damora’s mother,” Cleo said, then gasped. “Olivia!”

Another woman trailed after Selia, a lovely one with dark skin and green eyes that darted around nervously.

“Cleo,” she said tightly. “I . . . I’m so sorry for this.”

“Sorry? Sorry for what?”

“The marks.” Olivia extended her arms to show that her skin bore painted black symbols.

“Yes,” Selia said, nodding. “Magical markings as old as time itself that will make even an immortal obey my command.”

“You are Gaius’s mother.” Amara’s thoughts spun. “And you are also the witch that Kyan summoned here.”

“I am. It is an honor of a lifetime for me to use my magic to assist the god of fire in the place of my granddaughter, who foolishly turned against him. For this ritual to release the magic of the Kindred, we require the blood of the sorceress and the blood of an immortal.”

“Selia,” Cleo began, frowning. “Why would you do this?”