When we reach the shore of the lake, I freeze. Lights bob in the thick fog like tiny trapped moons, and for second, all I see are the lights. They remind me of the ones Willow hung on the beach, but these are attached to the helms of rowboats. As the fog ebbs and flows, I can barely make out the faces of magicians in each one, and even though I can’t see them clearly, I can feel heads turn and eyes follow me as I step onto the sinking planks and attempt to make my way across.

The heavy cloak I wear soaks up too much water. It was waiting for me this morning, bright white with icicles stitched around the hem. I turned it black with roses embroidered in the deepest red.

I step onto the bloody stones of the island and make my way to where Lucius waits in a perfect white suit. The hem of his pants is red. He looks like a bored angel of death with the hilt of a sword in his hand as he lazily grinds the tip into the stones. My eyes dart to Willow behind him, strands of her hair billowing in the breeze. Of course he would choose this spot. He raises his eyebrows at my cloak. I let it drop from my shoulders. Underneath I wear my regular clothes: faded black jeans and a ribbed white tank. I need to be able to move.

Roman kneels between us with his eyes closed.

“Ava.” Roman’s voice is soft. He says my name like a plea.

I don’t look at him.

“Please,” he says, and I know he’s not asking me to spare him. He’s asking me to do it. He doesn’t like my plan. He wants me to take the way out that ends with him dead and me alive. But he didn’t see the look in Lucius’s eyes. I wouldn’t be alive for long. This isn’t just Roman’s best shot. It’s my best shot too.

I swallow and step toward Lucius, holding my hand out for the sword.

I’m not going to use it on Roman. I’m guessing Lucius would die by decapitation too.

Lucius’s grin looks downright giddy as he passes me the hilt, like he knows I’ll take a swing at his neck instead of Roman’s. It’d give him the perfect excuse to murder me. My gut twists. My heart pounds like it will rip right out of my throat.

I want to think of Parker, but I also don’t want to think of Parker. I try to picture him and push him away at the same time.

My vision blurs.

“Come on,” Lucius invites me.