Elin drifted through the library, perusing books. She came here whenever she needed to think or find solace. She’d been having strange feelings, a nervousness that trickled through her body, settling in her gut, leaving her perplexed and out of sorts. She tried to identify its cause, coming to no logical conclusion. It was making her rather on edge, and she’d hoped the library, the place she loved most in the monastery, would help ease whatever ailed her. It did not, for she had been inside the library for well over an hour, and still the ominous oppression loomed heavily over her.

Then, she felt a darkness at her back. She stiffened. Since learning who she was, the Faery of Light, Lochlan had trained her to become attuned to her surroundings. It was becoming easier for her, and as she evaluated the presence, she realized the darkness was nothing sinister. She took a measured breath and turned. Zeph was standing in the doorway, his mouth set in a straight line, and eyes so similar to hers watched her with worriment. Her heart raced at the sight of him and her mind thought her heart a betrayer because her heart was happy to see him. This was a constant battle she fought within herself. Loving her brother. But also thinking she should hate him.

She looked down and away, a painful knot forming in the cavity of her chest. She closed her eyes, trying to squelch the burn behind them. When she opened them, he was standing before her. She gasped at the unexpectedness of him being so near.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing is wrong. You startled me is all.”

He tilted his head, studying her, as though she was a window and he was looking right through her. “No,” he said. “Something is wrong. What is it?”

Perceptive, her brother. Or perhaps it was because they were twins that he could read her so easily, but that thought caused an irritation to bubble underneath her skin because she could rarely read him at all. “Were you looking for me?” she asked, turning to pluck a book off a shelf and holding it to her chest, determined to redirect his focus. She didn’t know what was wrong, and until she did, she didn’t want to talk about it.

“I was, yes.”

“Any particular reason?”

“I was hoping we could—talk.”

“Oh?” She had not seen much of Zeph; avoiding her seemed to be something he did rather well. Surprised that he had sought her out, she asked, “Would you like to sit?”

His eyes shifted around the library, as though he was leery of it. When they settled on a spot by the windows, he flinched. It was subtle. If she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she would have missed it. Realization dawned. He had killed a monk in this library. Thaddeus’s blood had splayed the windows.

Zeph looked away. “Can we talk somewhere else?”

“Would you like to go for a walk?” He nodded. She placed the book back on the shelf and together they ambled out into the hallway. Her heart cried. Her mind screamed. And yet, she walked beside him with polite, sedate steps. She waited for Zeph to speak. When he didn’t, she prompted him. “You said you wanted to talk.”

Zeph focused on the path before them, hands folded behind his back. It was then she noticed the similarities in the way they moved together. His posture, the way he carefully held himself, like he wanted the world to see one thing, while hiding behind the illusion of it. She understood that all too well; she lived it every day. Perhaps she could read him after all. A tiny smile touched her lips.

“You look like her,” he said softly.

Her mouth instantly turned down at the corners. “Mother, you mean?” He nodded. Her father used to tell her that. Her eyes drifted back to Zeph. She studied him. His build, his shape. The line of his jaw, the sharpness of his cheeks. Now that he’d cut his hair, she saw it so easily. “And you look like him,” she said, just as softly. Granted, their father had to look human for most of her memories, but now that she was looking for it, it wasn’t difficult to see the similarities.

Zeph turned his head toward her. “You think so?”

“Yes,” she said. “I do.”

A yawning fissure of quiet fell between them. Only the echo of their footsteps sounded around them. Then something nudged her, like a tap, a whisper. She stopped, turned, listened.

“What is it?” Zeph asked, stopping alongside her.

Again, she couldn’t answer him. She didn’t know. But she could feel something on the periphery of her mind.

Trust him, a voice whispered. He will know what to do when the time comes.

She shook her head. “Did you hear that?”

His brows pinched together. “Hear what?”

She looked up and down the hallway. Silence greeted her. When her eyes flickered back to Zeph’s, an odd sensation struck her. She felt as though Zeph held the answers, though she knew not the questions. They stared at one another, both seeking something from the other.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked, inching forward.

He blinked, then bit down on his lower lip. “I…” He scrubbed his hands over his face, exhaling a long breath. His eyes skirted over her head as he spoke. “I want to tell you so many things, and every time I open my mouth…the words are so hollow, so empty. It feels insulting to even utter them to you.”

Speaking quietly, she asked, “What things?”

His eyes fell on hers and held. Vulnerable, they were, and glistening. “That I’m sorry.” His voice sounded like a rusty gate. “I would take it back if I could. All of it. I swear it. I would…” His voice broke and his throat bobbed up and down.

Elin’s heart thumped a broken rhythm and then something loosened inside her, letting go of the last vestiges of whatever kept her from fully accepting her heart’s appeal. “I have already forgiven you,” she said. After hearing herself say the words, she realized now that she had forgiven him. It hadn’t been all at once. It had been a process, a series of steps, and perhaps this conversation was the final act that allowed her to breathe the admission. “You need to forgive yourself,” she said.

Frustration twisted his features. “Impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible.” She motioned to a bench in an alcove at the end of the corridor. Taking a seat next to each other, Elin said, “I’m going to tell you a secret.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He was watching her with rapt attention. “I saw Mother when I was Fading.” His eyebrows shot up. She grinned. “That’s right. And you know what she told me? She said, ‘You must save him, Elin.’”

Confused, Zeph asked, “Save who?”

“You,” she said. “Though I wasn’t sure who she meant at the time. But then, later, when I thought Lolith was going kill you, I heard Mother’s voice again. It was you she wanted me to save. So I did.”

Zeph abruptly stood, brushing the hair back from his face, and took to pacing back and forth in front of her.

“You’re welcome,” Elin added with a smile and a wink.

“What?” he asked, looking dazed.

“For saving you.” She was only joking, but the way Zeph’s countenance changed had her sitting up straighter.

“You saving me got you killed. You died in my arms! Did I ever tell you what that did to me?” His eyes welled up with tears. “It destroyed me. Why do you think I was up on that mountain trying to kill myself?!”

“What?” She stood. Her heart and mind were a cluster of thoughts and emotions she couldn’t possibly catch up to. “You tried to kill yourself…did kill yourself…because of me?”

He reached for her, pulled her into his arms, and held her. “You’re the only family I have,” he breathed. “Yes, because of you.”

“I didn’t know,” she whispered. “I didn’t know.” It felt like coming home, being in her brother’s arms. A rush of energy flooded over her, making her head swim. Then anger flooded over her and she had to fight the urge to shake the ground underneath their feet. She shoved at his chest. He stumbled backward. “Don’t ever do that again!” she said, pointing a long, slim finger at him. “Don’t ever do that again!”

“Elin—”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Did I ever tell you what it did to me…seeing you dead…on that table when Francesca brought you in? Do you know what it did to Arwyn?”

He blinked slowly. “No,” he said, his voice low. “Don’t tell me. Please.” He walked back to the bench and sat, head bowed. “I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for—so many things.”

Elin let out a breath, and with it, she released her anger. She sat too and took his hand. It was soft and warm, and she relished that he allowed her to hold it. “I’m sorry, too.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Elin. Nothing.”

“I’m sorry for what happened to you. It changed you so much. I know that whatever it was…” She looked at him. His face was grim. “I know that it hurt you—in so many ways. And I know it would have been me had you not protected me that day, so I feel partly responsible—”

“No,” he said, interrupting her. “You are not responsible for what happened to me. They are.”

“All right,” she said slowly. “Then, will you tell me what they did?”

“Unspeakable things. Don’t ask me to tell you. I won’t.”

Elin rested her head on his shoulder, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Very well,” she said, speaking around the lump in her throat. “I won’t ask.” He squeezed her hand. “But nobody hurts my brother and lives to tell the tale.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “Is that so?”

“I cannot lie, so it must be.”

They sat like that for a while, Elin and Zeph, getting reacquainted, reforming their bond, when something extraordinary happened. A light within Zeph began to glow, directly in the center of his chest, and then just as quickly it faded.

“What was that?” Elin asked, her quicksilver eyes wide.

Zeph, just as surprised, answered, “I don’t know. That’s…” He rubbed his chest. “That’s never happened before.”

“I thought you said—”

“Fae of Light,” he said, pointing to her with his other hand, knowing what she was going to say. Hooking a thumb toward himself, he said, “Fae of Shadows. That’s who we are. Light and Shadows.”

“But…” She stared at his chest where the light had glowed. “How do you explain that?”

His forehead creased. “I can’t.”

Zeph needed to think. He walked Elin to the refectory where Lochlan was waiting for her, along with Favián, Searly, and by the looks of it, a good portion of the monks. They were all sitting down for a meal. He hadn’t seen Arwyn, though, so on his way to his chamber, he knocked on her door. He missed her, missed the smell of wild berries, missed the way her lips curled into a smile, and he missed the warmth of her breath against his skin.

He placed his hand over his heart; it felt like it had grown twice in size. Heavy and full it was, and then he thought about the way light had shone from that very same place only—

“Come in,” Arwyn said.

Smiling, Zeph opened the door. “Everyone else is having din—” Zeph stopped everything—his words, his steps, even the organ inside his chest stuttered to a halt. He was frozen, hand still on the door, his eyes fixed on the knife at Arwyn’s throat and the one who held it.

“Ah, there he is. And you said he wouldn’t come.”

Zeph searched Arwyn’s face. Her eyes were wide with fright, wet from crying, and they were begging, pleading with him, but he wasn’t sure what she wanted him to do. Then Zeph looked to the one holding the knife. He smiled like a wolf ready to eat his next meal.

“Zeph,” he said, smooth as cream, “you should probably see about your sister.”

And then they were gone, like dust in the wind, and Zeph had to blink several times before realizing that he had just lost…

“ARWYN!” he yelled, fury coursing his veins, pain stabbing his chest. “ARWYN!”

The squall of shouts and battle cries reached his ears. You should probably see about your sister. Zeph left Arwyn’s room in haste, retraced his steps from where he’d last seen Elin, the refectory. The double doors leading into the room were hanging off the hinges, and inside—war was taking place. Sparing one quick glance, he saw his sister inside Lochlan’s protective shield, along with Searly and the other monks. She didn’t look happy about it, but all Zeph could think was: Good. Safe.

Lochlan and Favián were left to fight the monsters on their own. Lochlan lobbed fireballs while Favián kicked, ducked, and twisted his way through the melee of Unseelie, holding knives in both hands. He was covered in blood, his face hard as stone, as he stabbed an Unseelie behind him without even looking back, while cutting the throat of another who attacked him from the front. Fireball explosions were going off all around them as Lochlan launched them in quick succession. Favián cut a path in Lochlan’s direction. An Unseelie was coming up behind Lochlan when Favián jumped onto the back of a dead monster, propelling himself into the air, landing on the Unseelie, and stabbing it in the heart. But before Favián could right himself, another attacked from behind. Favián pitched forward, hoping to set the thing off balance, but another joined in and Zeph lost all sense of where he was, because for a moment, a memory of Unseelie monsters mounting him, ripping him open, tearing at his flesh, flashed before him. Cold sweat trickled down his spine.

Then a scream rent the air and Zeph blinked, bringing him back to the bloody, chaotic scene before him. Tumultuous rage lit through him as his fangs descended and his shadow grew large. Darkness spread like water. He could feel himself going dark, cold, and then…

He was standing in the middle of the room, pieces of dead Unseelie littering the floor and walls, blood splattered everywhere. Everywhere.

Then silver eyes were staring at him, glistening, her face stained with tears. “Are you all right?” Elin asked. She was touching him, patting him down like she was looking for something. “Please tell me you’re all right.”

Zeph felt listless, worn, confused, not at all himself. His eyes wandered lazily around the room, catching the faces of Lochlan, Favián, Searly, and several other monks, before they wandered back to his sister. “What happened?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. It was like you…” She looked over her shoulder to Lochlan.

“You scattered into little pieces,” Lochlan finished for her.

“You killed them all in one savage swoop,” Favián added. “I blinked, and it was over.”

Zeph felt as though he would swoon. His knees buckled underneath him, but before he could hit the floor, Lochlan and Favián each had a hold of him, guiding him to the first empty chair they came to.

“Sit,” Lochlan ordered.

Zeph sat with their assistance, Elin right there, staying close. “How did you do that?” she asked.

He wasn’t sure what he had done, so he couldn’t answer her. “I don’t know,” he said. He looked down at his body. He was whole. Perfectly whole. However, there were other pressing matters to worry about. He started to stand.

“Sit,” Lochlan ordered again.

“They have her,” Zeph choked.

“Have who?” Elin asked.

“Arwyn,” he whispered. “The Unseelie King took her.” He had hesitated. He had been in shock, caught unawares when he’d entered her chamber. He’d just stood there, doing nothing!

His hands formed into tight fists.

“What?” Elin bent to her knees, curled her hands over his. “The Unseelie King is dead. I watched him die.”

“You watched King Savorin die. He had a son,” Zeph explained, looking everyone in the eye. Then to his sister, he said, “He and Lolith had a son. And now he has Arwyn.”