“Of course I am.” She patted my wrist and sat back with her arms crossed. “But my point is that few beings get to choose their last acts. Too many die by accident or as a result of poor choices or simply because they consorted with the wrong friends. But if fate decides that you’ll die tomorrow, at least you’ll go out fighting the good fight.”

I fell silent as I pondered these words. Hadn’t I argued pretty much the same thing when Erron urged me to give up and run? Still, it was one thing to face my own demise. Something else entirely to realize that if I failed, everyone I loved would die, too.

“Look,” she said after a moment. “I know what you’re thinking and you need to stop. We all know what’s at stake. We all know how it could end. And we haven’t left you yet.”

I smiled at her despite the strange stinging sensation behind my eyes. “That just proves none of you can be trusted to make healthy decisions.”

Rhea looked me in the eye. “No, it proves that we trust you. That we believe in you. You’re ready, Sabina, and we’ll be by your side until the end, be it bitter or sweet.”

I cleared my throat to dislodge the gravelly emotion that choked me. “Are my peaks stiff enough now?”

Rhea smiled a wobbly smile. She didn’t bother even looking at the eggs before she answered. “I’m proud of you, Sabina.”

I shifted my eyes away. “They’re just eggs, Rhea.”

“Look at me.”

I sighed and raised my gaze to her face. “More than anything, I wish I could be there for the moment you claim your birthright.” We’d all decided it was safest for her to go back to New York and make sure the mages were on red alert in case the plan went south and Cain took retaliatory action. The sincerity in her gaze almost made me lose it. “But since I won’t, I’ll say this now. You have every tool you need to succeed inside you. Believe that. You’re ready for this.”

I swallowed hard and tipped my chin in a jerky motion. But before I could say something dumb and ruin the moment, she nudged me out of the way with her hip.

“Now, enough of that.” She wiped at her eye with a dish towel. “Grab that ricotta and honey. I’m gonna show you how to make a cake so good, Hekate will worship at your feet.”

Chapter 29

A couple of hours later, my stomach was full and warm from the cakes Rhea and I had sampled. Once we’d declared the batch fit for a goddess, I’d left Rhea to go check in with Tristan to go over any last-minute details. I didn’t expect a long discussion since the mission was fairly straightforward and his people had proven to be efficient and well prepared, but I also wanted a chance to study the map of Irkalla some more.

When I knocked on the door to his basement room, he didn’t respond. I tried the knob and was surprised to find it unlocked. I opened it slowly, rapping quickly on the panels again. “Tristan?” I called. Again no answer.

I let myself in, figuring I’d just study the map of Irkalla and Nyx’s notes while I waited for him to come back.

I took another look around the room. I’d noticed the spartan décor before, but now I realized what bothered me about it. Most people have some sort of personal items in their living space. Photos, mementos, souvenirs—something. But Tristan’s room was completely bare of anything that might indicate he had a personal life at all.

Of course, from what I’d seen from him thus far, the lack of personal items shouldn’t have surprised me. While I’d witnessed camaraderie among the rest of his team, Tristan seemed to be always an arm’s length away. Even with Nyx, who had shared his bed.

I scanned the room for the map. Not seeing it, I realized it must still be in the meeting room where we’d talked earlier. I turned to leave, but a book on the desk caught my eye. It stood out only because it was the one item in the entire room that wasn’t perfectly aligned. The leather-bound volume lay at an odd angle, as if it had been dropped hastily onto the surface. I normally wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but given my father’s love of order, it made me curious.

The cover was cracked brown leather. Nothing fancy. But the weight of the volume told me this wasn’t just a normal book. I opened the cover and realized it was, in fact, a photo album. I paused. Was this the album Nyx had mentioned? The one Tristan kept to record Maisie’s and my progress over the years?

A flip of the page confirmed my suspicion. I knew immediately that the baby in the black-and-white print was Maisie instead of me. Why? Because she was smiling.

I stared at the image for a long time, memorizing every detail. Only a few strands of hair were visible on her smooth head. Because the image was black and white, it was impossible to know if her hair showed the signs of her mixed blood so young. She lay in a bassinette, swaddled in white cloth. Her big, bright eyes dominated the shot. Maybe I was projecting, but those young eyes seemed to contain too much knowledge for an infant. Her mouth was open in a gummy grin. Her milk fangs were hidden behind those gums so that to the ignorant observer, she looked like any other adorable infant.

Seeing my sister as a baby made something inside me crack open. Five decades later, that innocent being was dead, but at that moment, she had been perfect. Unsoiled by conflict or the vagaries of fate. Back then, the world was nothing but potential for my twin. She had no idea of the mother who’d died shortly after giving birth. Or the father who ditched her to be raised by his relatives. Or the sister who wasn’t strong enough to save her.

My chest tightened with regret. I didn’t bother trying to staunch the tears stinging my eyes. There was no use. I flipped farther into the book to poke at the wounds a little more. Might as well get it all out now. Dragging out the process of watching my dead twin’s happy life in pictures wouldn’t make it hurt any less.

The second shot was Maisie as a toddler. She wore a simple white outfit. Two chubby legs held up the bulk of her round body as she stood. One dimpled hand rested against a female knee. The image cut off the female above the thigh, but I assumed it belonged to my paternal grandmother, Ameritat. In the background, a magic workroom, similar to the one belonging to Rhea, only larger and more elaborate, confirmed the identity of the female. Ameritat had been revered as the Oracle of the Hekate Council for two millennia. Her healing powers were renown.

The facing page showed Maisie as a girl. She held a willow branch in her hand—a magic wand for a fledgling mage. She wielded the wand proudly with a determined frown on her small face. Far too serious for one of her tender age.

The photos were blurrier now. Tears gathered in my lashes, spilled down my cheeks. A couple of drops fell onto the image of my twin. I started to turn the page, but a creak on the stairs stopped me. I looked up to see Tristan staring at me.

“What are you—” he began in a harsh tone.

I dropped the book and hastily swiped at my eyes. But it was too late. He’d seen the tears.

“Sabina?” he said. This time his voice wasn’t gentle, but it held a note of concern I’d never heard from him before.

I shook my head and sniffed. “Sorry, you weren’t here so I thought I’d wait.” Another swipe of the eyes. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

He came forward then. “No, it’s all right. That’s your history.”

I laughed. “Maisie’s history, you mean.” I wasn’t exaggerating. Thus far, I’d yet to see one image of me.

Tristan frowned and came to stand beside me. Reaching past me, he grabbed the book. “No, you’re in here, too.”

He flipped several pages—past more images of Maisie, the pictures slowly filling with more color as the years passed—to one about halfway through the book. The one he stopped on was definitely me.

I stood next to a statue of the three Dominae in the estate’s garden. My profile was upturned, as if I was gazing up at their faces with admiration. Along the edge of the image, someone had written simply Sabina.

“That’s one of the few we managed to get of you in Los Angeles. Do you remember what you were doing here?”

As I studied the image, my mind flew back to that night thirty years earlier. I considered telling him I didn’t know, but why? He seemed genuinely interested, and besides, it was the past. It couldn’t hurt me now.

“I do, actually. I think that was the night Lavinia informed me I wouldn’t be allowed to become an acolyte to the Temple of Lilith because she was sending me to Enforcer school.” I swallowed against the flashback of pain that memory brought up. “I’d escaped into the gardens because I knew if I was around her one minute longer, I’d kill her.”

His eyes widened. “I didn’t realize you wanted to enter the priestess caste.”

I nodded absently and ran a finger over the plastic sheet covering the picture. “I was naïve to think they’d ever allow a mixed-blood to join the temple.”

He didn’t respond. He was quiet so long, I looked up. He was watching me with new eyes.

“What?” My tone was more defensive than I’d meant it to be.

He shook his head. “Nothing. I just realized there’s a lot I don’t know about your early years.”

“There’s not much to tell,” I said bitterly.

“I doubt that very much,” he said quietly. “I knew Maisie was well protected and loved, so I assumed it was the same for you. But maybe I was the naïve one.”

He was getting a little too close to the truth for my comfort. I didn’t want to have a heart-to-heart with this man about my fucked up childhood. Especially when he’d done nothing to stop it.

I cleared my throat and turned to the next page. This one had been taken more recently—within the last six months.

“I was so relieved when I found out you’d joined Maisie in New York,” Tristan said. “By that time, I had dozens of photos of Maisie but only that one shot of you.”

I nodded, studying the picture. I was walking down the street in New York. A deep frown wrinkled my brow and my fists were clenched.