“And what about that other thing . . . that you did to the men who were holding Angelina hostage?” His eyes held mine as he asked me about their murder. “Was that Sabara too?”

I knew what he wanted to hear. He wanted me to tell him that I wasn’t responsible then, either, but I couldn’t.

I shook my head, trying to feel ashamed for what I’d done. But I wasn’t sorry, not for that. “No. That was just me. That was me saving my sister.”

Max’s gaze drifted over me, and I tried to imagine what it was he was searching for. “I suppose I have to accept that. I even understand it, sort of. The rest of it, I don’t know yet. I haven’t figured out how I feel. It’s strange, the idea of Sabara living inside of you. . . . She was my grandmother.”

“But that’s just it—she wasn’t.” My words tumbled over one another. I had to make him understand this much, at least. “That woman—the body that was your grandmother—is dead. The woman inside of me, the Essence I carry, is ancient, going back further than either of us can imagine.” I pictured the little girl standing ankle-deep in the river’s current. I could see the terror in her sister’s eyes as the girl was dragged beneath the water’s surface, savaged by a creature neither of them could see. “It’s not Sabara, not really. I don’t even know her true name. . . . Her original name.”

His brow crumpled as he started to take a step toward me, but he stopped himself. “Why Niko, Charlie? Why him?”

My eyes burned and my throat ached. I wasn’t sure Niko’s secrets were mine to tell, but I didn’t have a choice any more. Sabara had backed me into a corner.

“Niko is ancient too,” I admitted. “Sabara has memories of him that go back as far as I can see. He loves her, the Essence I carry. But it’s not me he loves, it’s her.”

He glanced out the window then, his eyes growing distant. I waited for him to say something more, but he was silent, his shoulders stiff and his hands clasped behind his back. He looked stiff and resolute, and faraway.

He didn’t ask any more questions about Niko or Sabara, and he didn’t push me for details, the way I’d imagined he would.

He also didn’t say what I’d hoped to hear: that he could forgive me. But he was still there, still with me all the same.

For now, that had to be enough.

I stayed where I was, watching him. I could be patient. I could wait until he was ready to talk again.

And then I heard her. . . . Sabara. She’d been silent throughout the night and long into the morning as I’d struggled with what I’d done. But she’d been there. I’d felt her. And now her voice was small but clear. Layla, she said. My name was Layla.

Epilogue

I sat in the gardens, letting the night wrap around me like a shawl, even as I drew my arms around myself to ward away the chill. The first snow had fallen on the palace, leaving a thin layer of crystalline flakes that coated everything. It reminded me of Vannova. Of the days when I still had friends and people who loved me.

Sebastian had been long gone by the time we’d returned to the palace, along with any clues linking him to Queen Elena or Astonia. But that didn’t mean he didn’t leave evidence of his duplicity behind.

Before he’d vanished, he’d killed one of the stable boys, and the only explanation anyone could come up with was that somehow the boy had learned what Sebastian was up to, or discovered his true identity. The boy had just turned twelve.

Niko and Xander had set out after Sebastian, hoping to catch up with him before he’d gotten too far. They’d wanted answers. We all did. Declaring war was tricky business, and none of us wanted to act too rashly.

As it turned out, we didn’t need Sebastian’s confirmation that Queen Elena was involved in the conspiracy. Brook had found enough evidence when she’d gone to tend to her father’s business. He’d been using his butcher shop as a means to communicate—sending messages hidden inside the meat parcels. Brook had discovered plenty of damning information when she’d torn his place apart.

His extremism had made him careless.

But none of that changed the fact that Brook was still barely talking to me.

I didn’t push her, though. Maybe she’d never get over what I’d done. Maybe no one would.

Angelina hadn’t.

Max either.

He pretended to. He tried to. But things weren’t the same between him and me. Neither of us said as much, but I could feel the difference—in his words, his actions, his touch.

When he was ready, I’d explained as much as I could to him. I told him about Niko, and the connection he and Sabara—who had once been a little girl named Layla—shared. I held nothing back, and maybe that was the problem. It was all too much. It was all too strange.

Could I blame him for pulling away from me, when I wanted to pull away from myself?

Sabara was the only constant in my life. She was the only one who hadn’t changed after everything that had happened.

She was still here, inside of me. And still promising to help me.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. . . . Now more than ever.

She’d let me save my sister; how could I ever repay that?

By letting Niko stay, she’d repeated time and time again. And I hadn’t answered her, one way or the other, which was an answer in itself, I supposed.

“Mind if I join you?” It was Avonlea, her thick coat buttoned up to her chin.