At first, everything is good. I’m in Frost’s arms, my head on his chest. I know it’s him because he smells of sea salt and waves. I’m warm and comfy. Safe. His breaths are deep and regular but too fast for him to be sleeping. If he knows that I’m awake, he doesn’t show it.

I could let the sound of his breathing let me lull back to sleep.

Then I remember what happened. Mum. Dad.

I sit up and jump out of bed. I need to save them.

“Wyn, wait!”

Frost is climbing out of my four-poster bed, looking tired. Did he stay awake while I was sleeping?

Wait, that’s not my bed. This isn’t my room. It looks like one of the guest rooms, decorated in the generic Palace style.

I must have damaged my own chambers so much that they’re no longer inhabitable. I should feel guilty, but all I feel is a gaping darkness inside my chest, telling me to take revenge. To burn and to kill my way to the Morrigan who took my parents from me.

I storm out of the room and into a corridor I don’t recognise.

“At least put on some clothes!” Frost shouts and I look down at me. I’m wearing a large nightshirt, but nothing besides that.

I couldn’t care less.

I turn right, hoping that this will get me out of the guest wing. My bare feet are almost silent on the marble floor as I run away from Frost. I need to see Beira. I need her to tell me that everything is going to be alright. That she has a solution. A way to get my parents back.

At the end of the corridor, I find a familiar courtyard. I know where I am now. I enter the tower on the other side of the courtyard and shout, “Fifth floor, fast!” as soon as I reach the first step of the staircase.

The stairs begin to turn, quickly becoming faster, transporting me upwards. Usually I avoid this speed on the way up because it makes me dizzy, but not today.

When the staircase comes to a stop on the fifth floor, I run through my mother’s vestibule and into her private study. It’s empty. A hidden door behind one of the wooden bookshelves brings me into a narrow passage leading to her bedchambers. Again, empty. I curse. I should have asked Frost instead of running away like a headless haggis.

Luckily, a breathless Frost arrives.

“They’re in the Council Chambers,” he huffs. How is he so out of breath? Did I run that fast?

“But you need to slow down, Wyn. Your magic is sparking again.”

I raise my arms. Indeed, there are fiery little sparks floating on my skin, sizzling slightly as if they could turn into lightning any second now. I reach down into my heart cave and soothe my magic. She’s agitated, but not as violent as she was when I set my room on fire. I think she’s just as scared as I am.

I whisper to her and the sparks disappear.

“Now look at me,” Frost says soothingly and grips my shoulders tightly, grounding me. I look into his dark, intense eyes. “Breathe.”

I hadn’t noticed I was breathing rapidly. My whole body is not feeling like it’s supposed to. Like it’s not really mine.

“In… and out….”

I do as Frost tells me to, breathing with him, slowly becoming calmer.

“In…. out…”

His gaze holds me locked in place and I can’t help but continue to look at him. My Frost.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. I would have probably flooded the entire Palace by now.” He chuckles. “But you can’t appear in the Council like this. It would do more harm than good.”

He opens my mother’s wardrobe and randomly chooses a dress.

“Put this on. Poor Algonquin would probably get a heart attack if he sees the Princess in a nightie.”

Despite the emptiness inside of me, I have to smile. I slip into the dress and even smooth my hair in front of the mirror. Now I look a lot less crazy than I must have before.

“Ready?” Frost asks me gently and I give him a tight nod.

“Thanks.”

He smiles. “Anytime.”

* * *

The entire Council is in attendance when we arrive. They all rise as we enter, even Beira.

“I’m so sorry, my lady,” Gwain says sadly and the others in the room grumble their agreement. Ada gives me a quick hug before I sit down by my mother’s side. I ignore her. I can’t bear to look at her just now.

Storm is sitting on his usual place on my left. Surprisingly, Arc and Crispin are also sitting on the table this time instead of standing in the background. But it makes sense, at least for Arc. He was there when it all happened.

“How are you feeling?” my mother asks quietly.

“Do you know where they are?” I ask instead, ignoring her question. I wouldn’t know what to say anyway. My heart is in uproar and I’m having trouble keeping my magic in check.

“No. We found the last known location of the Morrigan abandoned.” Tamara surprises me by speaking up. Only now do I notice that she’s sitting next to Zephyr. Looks like all convention is being thrown aside today.

“We’ve sent Guardians to their house, but of course nobody was there,” the spymistress reports. “They’ve split into teams and are now travelling to the nearest Gates, seeing if they can find any traces. But if it’s really the Morrigan who’s pulling all the strings, it’s likely she won’t need to use Gates to transport them to wherever she’s hiding.”

“What does she want with them?” I ask. “Is it just because she wants me to come to her?”

“Either that, or to show us that it’s all been her doing. She’s finally creeping out of the shadows and is showing that she’s been pulling the strings all along.”

“But what about Angus?”

“Oh, I’m sure some of it was him,” my mother says dismissively. “The attack on you on that ferry, the kidnapping before, those sound like Angus. And the assassination attempt on me, perhaps. But the dragon shifter being sent to kill you, but not willingly… that’s not like him at all.”

“And the Morrigan would be strong enough to put that spell on him,” Arc adds. “From what I’ve heard of her, mind manipulation is her speciality.”

I think of Crispin and how she manipulated him into serving her for so long and can’t help but shudder. And that monster now has my parents.

“Why don’t you keep track of your Gods?” I ask my mother, not even trying to hide the accusation in my voice.

“I know where most of them are, but some, like the Morrigan, are extremely good at hiding. Especially after I expelled her from her own Realm… nobody had heard from her in decades. Until now.”

“You should have killed her back then. After what she did…” I look at Crispin but it’s clear he doesn’t want me to mention him. Maybe not everybody knows that he was once the Morrigan’s slave.

“I can’t kill my creations,” Beira sighs. “It’s one of the universal laws that I cannot kill what I created in the first place. It would rebound on me and kill me as well. I had planned to imprison the Morrigan but she escaped before she could be captured.”

“Couldn’t someone else have killed her?” I ask, ignoring that I’m likely sounding extremely insolent and whiny.

My mother is silent for a moment. I can’t stand it any longer.

“Tell us!” I shout, jumping up. Sparks are flying all around me once again and Storm puts a hand on my arm, slowly pulling me back down on my chair.

“She’s too strong,” Beira says quietly. “I created her to be my first in command. My successor, even. When Angus started to fight the natural order of Winter and Summer, I felt like I needed someone who could fight the coming wars for me, someone more ruthless and callous than me. So I created the Morrigan, the Goddess of War and Violence. I poured more strength into her than into any other God before. She has the power of three Gods, something I felt was important for a protectress of my Realm. But she was never interested in fighting wars to protect. All she wanted was death and destruction. After the last big war with Angus, I gave the Morrigan her own Realm to keep her out of trouble. I should have known that it wouldn’t work.”

I’m stunned. “Why would you create a Goddess so powerful that you couldn’t control her?”

“It was the only way to keep my Realm safe. My people needed someone to fight for them.”

It’s easy to read between the lines. She’s not infallible. Just because she’s the Mother of Gods doesn’t mean that she can’t make mistakes.

But this mistake may have cost me everything.

“I’ve sent messengers into all the Realms, warning our allies,” Gwain says into the silence, tactfully interrupting our conversation. “If one of them knows of the Morrigan’s whereabouts, we will find out soon.”

Zephyr clears his throat. “The Dragon ambassador still hasn’t replied. I’m worried their Realm might be affected by the Morrigan as well. It’s not like him to ignore my messages.”

“It looks like she’s been planning this for a long time,” my mother says with conviction. “We have been blind, too focussed on Angus and his open threat to see the Morrigan closing in. But it’s not too late. Whatever she’s planning, we’re stronger. We have allies – we may have chosen them to fight against Angus if necessary, but they will stand with us against the Morrigan as well. She may be the bigger threat for now. I much prefer an enemy that I can see rather than one lurking in the shadows.”

“But what about my parents?” I’m having trouble not to shout again. As much as I understand that we have to talk about the wider consequences, what really matters right now is my mum and dad. I try and push away the memories of their bloodied bodies, but they flash in front of my eyes nonetheless.

Storm squeezes my hand in reassurance. I’m grateful that I have all my Guardians in this room; I couldn’t guarantee that I wouldn’t run amok again otherwise.

“We can’t do anything until we know where the Morrigan is hiding,” Gwain says gently. “But I imagine she will be in touch soon. She’s taken them for a reason, most likely as hostages. And a hostage doesn’t make sense without demands. I’m surprised the demon didn’t tell you directly what she wanted from you.”

“That traitor,” Arc spats.

“How did you find him?” my mother asks him and a guilty look draws over his face.

“He’s one of Aodh’s rehabilitated demons. Aodh and his demon partner Chesca took in some demons instead of killing them and tried to change their nature. It worked in some cases. In others, the demons had to be killed in the end. But this one… he came highly recommended, a model convert. I would never have expected him to turn on us.”

“We will have a talk about that in the future, Guardian,” my mother says sternly and Arc’s shoulders fall.

I’m beginning to think that Beira didn’t know all the details of our plan. At least not the fact that it involved a demon. As much as I want to blame him, I can’t. It was me who pressured him into it. I wanted to see them.

It’s my fault.

There’s noise outside the Council Chambers and a moment later, someone knocks. That can’t mean anything good. The Lord Chamberlain is usually waiting outside, not letting anyone in.

My heart sinks as Jonathan enters the room, followed by a servant carrying a large metal box.

“Your Highnesses, I’m sorry for the interruption, but this was delivered to the Palace Gates just moments ago. The man delivering it… he took poison the moment we’d taken the box of him.”

Gwain gets up and takes the box.

“Thanks, Jonathan. Dismissed.”

The Lord Chamberlain seems a little miffed that he has to leave, but he follows Gwain’s command. We sit in silence as the Master of Arms puts the box onto the table in front of him.

He lays his hands onto the lid and closes his eyes in concentration. He looks relieved when he opens them again.

“I can’t feel any magical traps or threats. No signs of life either. Still, we should proceed with caution. The box should never have been brought here. I recommend your Highnesses leave until we know what is in there.”

My mother sighs in irritation and with a flick of her hand, we’re all behind a glistening barrier, with the exception of Gwain.

“There you go, we’re all protected. Now open that box before I do it myself.”

Gwain looks like he’s about to protest, but then decides not to. He’s been around Beira long enough to know that she always gets what she wants. Even if, like in my case, it takes her twenty-two years.

He carefully lifts the lid on the side closest to him and peeks inside.

“Oh no.”

His face is a mask of horror as he closes the lid again.

“Your Majesty, I recommend that the Princess is not to look at this.”

I jump up in fury and walk towards the box.

“The Princess is going to do exactly that.” I push him aside and ignore his protests. He’s far too loyal to the Crown to put his hands on me.

“Wyn, don’t,” my mother warns, but I’m not listening.

I open the box… and scream.

It can’t be… No. Please, no.

I stagger back, stumbling into Storm’s waiting arms.

“No, no, no,” is all I can whisper as the reality of what I just saw sinks in.

I need to see it again. I need to make sure.

I push out of Storm’s embrace and open the box again. This time, I see a small note attached to the content.

Touch me.

As if in trance, I reach out and touch the bloody hand lying on a red cushion inside the box.

My mother’s hand.

* * *

“What are they going to do to us, James?” she asks, but he doesn’t have any answers either. They arrived in this dark place not long ago, but neither knows how long they were unconscious for.

The nice-looking man in the suit who was speaking on Wyn’s behalf suddenly had ropes that burned. Rose rubs her arms, still hurting. Thick red welts have formed all over their bodies, but right now, she’s more concerned about her daughter.

Wyn had been gone for weeks with no word whether she had managed to reach her mother. Rose grimaces at that thought. She’s Wyn’s mother, not that Goddess. She’s raised her for twenty-two years, she’s held Wyn when she was sad, she taught her how to walk and talk, she worried when Wyn was experimenting with her magic. And James, of course.

When the suited man arrived and he could prove that Wyn was with him somehow, Rose was overjoyed. She was worried, of course, that the stalkers would find out, but that didn’t matter then. Talking to her daughter was the only thing that mattered.

She shakes her head. Her mind is sluggish, somehow, and it’s hard to think. The darkness around them doesn’t help either. She can’t even see the floor she’s sitting on. Nor can she see James, but she knows he’s here with her. She’s tried to get to him but there’s something between them; glass, maybe.

“Whatever they do, let’s just be glad they don’t have Wyn,” James says softly and she nods. Yes, as long as Wyn is safe, it doesn’t matter.

Suddenly, someone is next to her.

“We need to send Wyn a message,” a high-pitched voice says close to Rose’s ear. “Do you volunteer to be the messenger?”

“No, I will do it!” James shouts from afar, but all Rose can think of is seeing Wyn again.

“Yes,” she whispers and the voice next to her cackles.

“Good girl.”

Something glints through the darkness, something metal.

At first, she feels no pain.

Then it overwhelms her.

Warm blood runs from where her arm was a moment ago. Then another pain, in her heart. For a second, she can see the rod of metal sticking out of her chest.

James screaming in the distance is the last thing she hears before death claims her.