“To die alone. Is this what you wanted?” Imeria called, her voice a delicate saber that pierced through the blanket of fog. She lifted the hem of her skirt and stepped onto the island, which was almost too small to shelter both of them. If she leaned in, her breath might have danced across Duja’s hollowed cheeks.

“I am not alone,” Duja said, unable to quell the ache blossoming in the pit of her stomach.

“We’re both alone,” Imeria said with a firm shake of her head. “You shouldn’t have come all the way up here. You shouldn’t have abandoned your men.” Her nostrils flared as if she were chiding her, but Duja thought she heard a quiver of remorse in her voice.

“You were the one who should have stayed on the cliffs. You shouldn’t have followed me here,” Duja said.

“I’d follow you anywhere. I’ve been chasing you since the moment we met.” Imeria’s voice quaked. Duja fought the urge to reach for her.

As the queen stood across from Imeria, the harrowing battleground at the base of the mountain faded to a distant nightmare. This lake was the only universe that had ever mattered, all because Imeria Kulaw stood at its quiet center.

“You knew long before I did,” Duja told her. “It was always meant to be you and me.”

The corners of Imeria’s lips curled into a pained grin. “Then why do you sound displeased? I allowed you to draw me away.”

Duja shook her head bitterly. “Too many people have died,” she said again. “We must end this.”

“I agree.” Imeria’s hand shot out. Without warning, she cupped Duja’s face. Her fingers were gentle⁠—a clever mimicry of a lover’s caress. Duja knew better. She jerked back, but it was too late.

A wall of pain struck her body. Duja keeled over. She felt as if a thousand knives had sliced through her skull and lodged themselves into her brain. She tried to beg for mercy, but her mouth hung open in a silent scream, unable to form words.

In her agony, Duja grew acutely aware of the battle’s toll on her body. She felt every tear in her muscles, every pang in her limbs. The ache flooded her all at once⁠—along with the full weight of the previous twenty-two years. Since that fateful day in the palace courtyard, everything she had feared had come to pass. Strangely, Duja found freedom in it. She stopped struggling. Let her body fall limp. It was easier to lean into Imeria’s palm. Easier to offer herself up to her tormentor like a boar on a spit.

Imeria’s hard voice pierced through the burning haze. “What are you doing?” she demanded between labored breaths. “Fight me. Fight back.”