Plagued by dreams of a lost boy, crying, begging for someone to save him, Zeph sat up and rubbed his eyes. The first time he’d seen the boy had been on the mountain. Now, every time he slept, he saw him.

He heaved a sigh. All was quiet. Even Zeph’s shadow, which was usually a restless thing, was still and unmoving.

Days had passed since Zeph arrived at the monastery. In those days, he had not left the infirmary once. He’d convinced himself it was so he could heal, and he had, to be sure. He felt stronger than ever. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at his hands, palms up, then he turned them over before squeezing them into fists. He should leave now that he was healed. But where would he go? He had no place to be, nowhere to retreat, and no one waiting for him to return.

He stood and moved toward the window. Darkness had not yet surrendered to the light, though the sky was more of a metallic gray than an abyss of black, glistening with the occasional spear of light through the clouds. A subdued quiet filled Zeph’s soul. He didn’t want to be here. Then again, he didn’t want to be anywhere. Least of all in a place surrounded by people who hated him. He had been surrounded by hate most of his life. He should have felt at home. But he hadn’t felt home anywhere in such a long time.

He closed his eyes. A vision of Elin framed his mind, as though she was an answer to a question he hadn’t asked. And then he felt her—in his room, the air shifting around him, growing heavy, finding it harder to breathe in her presence. He ignored the organ inside his chest that thumped once, then twice. Same as it always had whenever she was near.

“You look better,” she said without preamble. “Although you should really do something about your hair.”

He nearly smiled. He had not seen her since his arrival three days past, but she was always on his mind. How could he not think of her? She had consumed his thoughts for as many days as he cared to recall.

“You don’t like my hair, sister? I am hurt.” He didn’t turn around. Instead, he stared at the sun cresting over the horizon, slowly covering the pearl morning haze bit by bit. He couldn’t fight the sun. He could only watch as it dragged him into a new day against his will.

“It is not your best look,” she said with no inflection in her voice, nothing that would indicate her mood.

He combed his long fingers through his white locks, doing his best to tame it. He realized then how unsettling he must appear. After Searly had deposited him in the infirmary, he had washed away the gore but had done little else since. He looked unkempt, and for some reason, he wished to appear more pleasing to his sister. Less monstrous.

With a snap of his fingers, he changed into his usual attire: white breeches, white tunic, and a white robe that reached the floor. His hair now tied away from his face, flowing down his back in one long sweep.

“Better?” he asked.

He heard her take a sharp breath. He turned in her direction, surprised to find the startled look on her face. One dark brow lifted as he clasped his hands behind his back. “What?” he asked.

Her eyes fell to the floor. She shifted her feet and cleared her throat. “I wasn’t expecting the sudden transformation is all.”

He observed her. The way she’d enter the room without a sound—how she stood there now—like the floor might give way underneath her if she but moved in the wrong direction. Every step was careful, precise, and so light she made no sound at all. Most people would likely see her fear. Zeph saw her bravery. Afraid of him, and if not afraid, then she most assuredly was wary of him. Yet she came.

At length neither she nor he spoke. He returned his focus to the window while she stayed by the door. An easy escape, he surmised. She didn’t trust being alone with him. Then, because he had to ask, he turned to her again, the question falling from his lips. “Why are you here?” Her silver eyes found his and the organ inside his chest thumped once more.

Tilting her head as though she was considering a thoughtful response, she said, “I don’t rightly know. I just felt…” She rubbed her hands and smoothed them out over her dress.

“Go on,” he said. “You just felt…”

“Don’t rush me,” she said, her voice bristling like a cat’s fur.

Zeph held up his hands, flashing a grin, like a blade gleaming from concealment, before disappearing under his cloak of indifference. “Take your time.” He faced the window. The forest beyond now seemed to glow, haloed by soft shades of gold. “I’ve got nothing but time,” he mumbled to himself.

“Why did you do it?” she asked, her question bubbling up like a pot of boiling water.

He cut his eyes toward her. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific. I have done many things.”

He didn’t want to have this conversation, feeling sure she was asking about their parents and why he had killed them. His reasons now seemed so unjustified. He had not thought so at the time, of course, not caring about consequences. But he knew the moment he had slain them, calling forth the smoke monsters to do his bidding, that he would live to regret it. And regret it he did. But what did it matter? He couldn’t bring them back.

“Why did you change your name?”

“Pardon?” he asked, caught off guard. Certainly not the question he’d expected.

She casually walked to the table beside the bed and pointed to the bread wrapped in a cloth. “May I? My stomach is a bit unsettled.”

Searly had brought the bread to him the night before along with a bowl of thick soup. The night before that had been fish and beans. Searly had not overstayed his visits on either night, seemingly sure Zeph wanted no company, which was true, but Searly had also been the only visitor he’d had, and some part of Zeph appreciated his visits all the same.

He nodded once and watched her pinch off a piece before placing it in her mouth. She chewed slowly, as though she was using food to keep from using words.

“Why are you asking about my name?” Looking at her proved to be painful because he longed to hug her, to apologize for every wrong he had ever done, yet he could not muster the courage to try. He’d rather assume her rejection than know it outright, so he turned away from her and let his eyes roam the view outside. The sun was becoming increasingly ambitious, illuminating the land one crevice at a time.

“Because I want to know. Why did you change it?”

He chuffed. “I was told to.”

“By whom? Lolith?”

“No. By the Unseelie King.”

“The one you killed?”

When they were in Shadowland, he had killed the Unseelie King. And he had done so in front of Elin, Searly, and Arwyn. However, had Arwyn not interfered and stabbed the king in the neck with her blade, Zeph would have been the one to perish that day. He had merely finished the job by lobbing off the king’s head with his sword.

“Yes, the very one,” he said.

“Do you…” she paused. “Do you ever wish to be called Zuriel again?”

“No,” he answered without hesitation. “I do not.”

“Why?”

He closed his eyes. “Eliniana, I am not that boy anymore.”

Again, silence fell between them, thick and weighty. He cleared his throat after a time, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. She needed to leave. No good could come of this.

“Zuriel. Eliniana. Pyric. Hiamoli.” She said the names in a whisper. That worthless organ taking up space underneath his breast thumped again. “You named yourself after all of us. You, me, Mother, and Father.” She came around the bed to stand beside him, realization dawning on her, her mouth curving into the shape of a crescent moon. “That’s what Zeph stands for.”

He neither confirmed nor denied. He simply let her words stand as truth as he willed his heart to stop beating like an anvil while he forced himself to stare at the world outside the window. Birds began chirping as the sky now burned a pale orange. How much simpler life would be if he were just a bird.

“Were you really going to kill me?” she asked, whisper soft, perhaps hoping he would say no.

“Yes,” he said, looking directing at her, needing her to believe him. “Yes,” he said again.

“Liar.”

He scoffed and shook his head and began to pace the width of the room. “Why are you here?” he asked again. “Do you want to reminisce? Is that it? All right. Remember the time I killed our parents? Or how about the time I stole you right underneath your half-breed’s nose and dumped you in a tomb? What about the time I took you and Searly and hid you inside Shadowland, refusing to let you leave? Quite the memories, right?” He stalked toward her, but she held her ground and refused to be backed into a corner. “What about the time I killed a monk? Oh, right…you weren’t there for that. Searly was, though…and the rest of them,” he said, waving his hands toward the door, his voice growing louder, harder.

It wasn’t until the words died in the air that Zeph realized they were nose to nose, his chest rising and falling in quick succession.

“Do you remember the time you saved me from the Unseelie King?” she asked, her tone matching his in volume.

“You wouldn’t have been in danger had I not brought you there.”

“Please. I have always been in danger. I had just forgotten.”

“What are you doing?” Zeph asked, lowering his voice. “You can’t erase what I’ve done with one decent move on my part.”

“Oh, believe me, I know that.”

“Then what is this, Eliniana?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why?”

“I am not that girl anymore.”

Wasn’t she, though? For a moment, he could only stare at her. She still had that beautiful innocence about her. The kind of innocence he’d once had. But when he looked deeper into her eyes, he saw the pain that existed there. Then he laughed, all joyless and bitter because he’d robbed her of that innocence and in the cruelest way imaginable. He bit the inside of his cheek, hard enough to taste blood because the alternative was to smash his fists into the stone wall. “No, I suppose you’re not.”

“So, if you’re not that boy anymore, and I am not that girl, who are we?”

“Enemies,” Zeph answered, swallowing. “We are enemies.”

Elin repeated the word enemies like she was trying it on to see if it fit. She walked to one side of the room and then the other. Zeph watched but kept his distance. He had to. He was feeling too much. Her being alive and him being alive—it was all too damn much. He wanted to hug her so badly that he ached all over.

“You know what I think?” she asked, completely unaware how quickly he was unraveling.

“No,” he said, his voice tender as a wound.

“I think if we changed once, we can change again. Be different people.”

“I’m surprised the half-breed has left you alone with me this long,” Zeph said, changing the subject.

Elin’s mouth twitched. “He’s on the other side of the door, to be sure,” she said. Glancing at the door, she smiled. It clung to the edge of her lips like a sunrise—slowly creeping until it was warm and glowing.

“Is he good to you?” Zeph asked, the words rushing out before he could stop them.

“I do not believe that is something an enemy would ask,” she said, her smile guileless. “Do you truly care?”

He ignored her taunting and redirected his attention out the window once more. The morning dew glistened as the sun climbed higher, eating away the morning fog. Movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. A white-tail deer crept along the outer edge of the tree-lined forest. Zeph couldn’t help thinking the animal was much too delicate for this world. He thought of his sister in much the same way. When he had first found her, she’d had that same gracefulness, that same demure quality, and had been completely unsuspecting of the creatures that lurked in the dark to devour her.

“Zeph?”

He blinked and glanced over his shoulder.

“Did you hear me?”

“No.” He pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes. “Did you say something?”

“What is it?” She walked to the window and peered out. “What are you looking at?”

Zeph stepped away, the swell of emotion inside of him threatening to bubble over. “Nothing.” He went to the side table, the one by his bed, and picked up the bread, tearing off a piece. He chewed it as slowly as she had. To him, it tasted like nothing. “The food in Faery is much better,” he said without thought. “How have you eaten this every day for so long?”

“Mother’s cooking was quite good…” Her voice trailed off, but not before Zeph heard the catch in her throat, the bread now tasting like a lump of clay.

Zeph tossed the rest of the bread back onto the table. He squeezed his eyes closed, let the guilt consume him. “You should go,” he said. When she didn’t move, he shouted, “Leave!”

Elin moved toward the door in a swish of skirts, her face contorted in anger and grief. She opened the door and stood there, staring out into the hallway.

Lochlan, who had been leaning against the wall, stood up straight, his eyes roaming hers.

Zeph watched his sister, wondering what she was waiting for. Then she closed the door again and pressed her forehead to it. “I hate you,” she said. “It burns like fire in my chest.” Her hands began to glow, the flame inside a lantern against the far wall arched higher, and the room began to heat.

That stupid organ thumped, thumped, thumped in his chest. “This is not news, luv,” he said, with all the callousness meant to drive the wedge further between them. He did not want her forgiveness. He didn’t deserve it, yet, on some level, deep in his soul, he yearned for it, hoped one day, maybe, she could forgive him. He shook his head and put those thoughts out of his mind. He wanted her free of him. “I’ll be gone by the day’s end,” he said. “Don’t come looking for me this time.”

A sob escaped Elin’s throat. She clasped her hands over her mouth, and her shoulders shook and trembled.

Zeph had seen many horrible things in his life. Things no creature should ever see, but seeing his sister’s pain was the hardest thing he’d ever witnessed.

“Go!” he yelled. “Leave!”

She flinched, then opened the door, allowed herself a moment to gather her wits, squared her shoulders and walked out, moving with utter control, despite her fury and her sorrow.

For the longest time, Zeph didn’t move. He waited for the numbness to take hold. It did not. Not this time. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and with his elbows on his knees he placed his head in his hands. He fought off the tears for as long as he could. He deserved this. He deserved her hate.

In the resounding silence, he couldn’t ignore the cadence of his heart, whispering regret for his words—for his deeds. Losing the battle, he let the tears flow. He lost himself in his misery and wept like the lost boy he so often dreamt about.

“We were kids,” Elin said tenderly.

Startled, Zeph stood and whipped around. He had not heard her come in. She moved toward him on silent feet, cautiously. Once again, he saw her bravery. Afraid, but still she came.

“The Unseelie were planning to steal me. You hid me…with your…your shadows…like you did in Shadowland.”

He blinked. Then blinked again.

“I remembered,” she said. “How it happened. It was you they stole instead of me because you cloaked me in your shadows and they couldn’t find me. So they took you instead.” She stalked toward him now. He took a step back. “Do you remember that, Zeph?

“Stop,” he said.

“You protected me.”

Lochlan stood in the doorway, watching. Zeph’s eyes bounced between the half-breed and his sister. Zeph’s head began to swim. He clutched his head. “Leave me, Elin. Just go.”

“No.”

Zeph felt her hand on his shoulder. He looked up. Her quicksilver eyes glowed. Little by little her skin illuminated. As radiant as a sunrise. And so beautiful, he couldn’t look away.

Shadows danced by the light she created. Zeph felt his own shadow rise up and become that restless thing he knew so well.

“I love the peculiar silence of shadows,” his mother once told him. “They exist, but leave no mark.”

Zeph blinked, fighting the sting of tears at the remembrance of his mother’s words. He turned away from his sister.

“I have a question for you, Zeph, and I need you to tell me the truth.” He swallowed. “If I am the Faery of Light. What are you?”

“Do not fear what you are, my sweets. For we all sleep in the earth’s shadow, more commonly known as night.”

“Your brother,” he answered, his voice a mere rasp.

“No,” she said. “What are you? Why did they keep you? What did they want from you?”

His mind raced with the possible answers he could give. But his thoughts scattered when she was near. “Stop,” he said, hand clasped tightly over his ears. “Please stop.”

“No,” she said. “What are you?”

“Nothing!” he yelled. “A black hole! You were always light, Elin. I was always the darkness. All right? The best thing for you is to stay away from me.”

“You give dimension to your sister, Zeph.” His mother’s words again, only this time it sounded like she had whispered them in his ear. “You ground her to this world.”

He spun around, casting his eyes around the room, halfway expecting to see his mother standing beside him.

“No, you’re not,” Elin said, coming to stand directly in front of him. “Tell me the truth.”

Teetering on the edge of insanity, Zeph gripped her by the shoulders, wanting to shake her, make her see. “It is the truth!” he shouted.

A spark passed between them then and she gasped, her eyes widening. They broke apart and stumbled back.

“What was that?” Elin asked.

Zeph was still wide-eyed and blinking.

“What was that?!” she repeated, louder this time.

“Nothing,” he answered. “You need to go.”

“What are you, Zeph? Why do I feel this way whenever I’m near you? When we touch, why do I feel…why do I feel like I’m…” She closed her mouth and yanked him by the arm, forcing him to face her. She held on to him with a firm grip. “Why do I feel invincible when I touch you?”

“Do you?” he said, a strangled sob lodging in his throat. “Unhand me.”

“Tell her the truth,” his mother would say.

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “No.” She didn’t need to know. It would only hurt her more. She’d forgotten so much. So much. Zeph thought the less she remembered about him, the better.

Concerned, Elin held his face between her palms. “Zeph, what are you not telling me?”

“Nothing,” he said, looking down, away from her.

“Zeph,” Elin said, dipping her face, forcing herself into his line of sight. “Tell me.”

His eyes found hers. “It’ll only hurt you. Let me walk away from you. Let me go, Elin. I’ve hurt you enough.”

“Care about her enough to tell her the truth,” Lochlan said.

Zeph’s eyes cut to his. “Stay out of this.”

“Tell me,” Elin said. “Here. Now. Tell me.”

Zeph’s jaw tightened. “Fine.” He straightened to his full height. “I am not just your brother,” he said, strangling on his words. “I am your twin. Are you happy to know now?” he asked, stepping away from her and marching toward the door, his shadow trailing behind as always.

She had not moved or made a sound, although he had glimpsed disbelief behind her eyes before he’d forced himself to move away.

But before he could reach the door, Elin dashed across the room, a blur of light, and then she was blocking him, preventing his escape.

“Twins?” she asked.

He sighed. “You’re older by one minute.”

Her eyes fell to her feet. “How did I…how did I not remember that?”

“I shouldn’t have told you.”

Her head snapped up. “So that’s it, then. You’re a Faery of Light, too. That’s why they kept you.”

“No,” he said. “I am not a Faery of Light.” He would have laughed at the notion if he’d had it in him to do so. “Not even close.”

“Then what are you, Zeph?”

“By God’s bones, Elin,” he hissed. “You control the elements and I control the space in between,” he said, stepping back and flailing his hands in the air.

“The space in between. What does that mean?”

He breathed in a long pull of air and let it out in slow measures. “I am darkness. You are light. That’s what we are. Night and day. You are everything good. And I am everything children are afraid of. That’s why they kept me! Because they could use me! Send me out to do their bidding. I am a black hole! But you didn’t believe that, did you? Well, believe it, luv.”

Zeph clamped his mouth shut then. He’d said more than enough. He took one last look at his sister, his dark brows knitting tightly together, and wished from the depths of him that he was different—that he’d been born with her goodness—her light. But wishing was for romantics and little girls and he was neither, so he turned away from her and did the only thing he could do well, even if it wasn’t right.

He disappeared—into a whirl of shadows. And in the air, his words lingered...

“I believe that makes us enemies.”