Phelan walked to her in a heavy gait. My father continued to fight the remaining phantoms in the dream, but his attention was now split, divided between what he battled and the sight of Phelan approaching his daughter.

“Go on,” Lady Raven prompted. “This is yours to vanquish.”

Phelan stared at Clem, his breaths ragged. He held up his rapier, pointing to her heart, to that promise of gold. The nightmare’s fault line.

He froze in that stance, but his arm quivered.

Gradually, he lowered his sword and said, “I cannot do this.”

“Yes, you can,” his mother encouraged him. “This is just a phantom. Whatever power this girl holds over you . . . now is the time to break free, Phelan.”

He took a step nearer to Clem, unable to look away from her.

From me, I thought, and a warning rang deep in my bones.

I moved silently, drawing closer. Blood soaked the hem of my skirt. It rippled in my wake, and yet no one noticed my approach. No one but my father, who had finished slaying the rest of the dream’s phantoms and was sore for breath.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from Clem, if she would treat Phelan with the same regard as she had Lennox. My stomach clenched when Phelan gently reached out to her.

I saw the shift in her expression, the cold glitter in her eyes. There was no love, no forgiveness, no mercy within her. Vengeance had devoured those parts of her, scraped her clean, and she was hollow, so endlessly hollow. I felt an echo of that emptiness as Clem prepared to strike Phelan down, her magic gathering.

He stiffened and inhaled a sharp breath, his realization coming a moment too late.

I lunged forward and cast a shield. My magic came between them, absorbing the brunt of force that had been directed at Phelan. The shock of my interference rocked all three of us, and we stumbled back a few paces, our surroundings rumbling in response. A crack formed in the floor, and the blood began to drain through it, filling the ballroom with a perpetual trickling sound.

I regained my balance and stood a few paces away, my hand aching. I watched as Clem likewise straightened her willowy frame. Auburn hair tangled across her face like a net. I remembered that feeling; I could nearly sense it over my own face. Her eyes met mine over the fissure and blood and shadows and firelight, and she smiled, as if she had been waiting all along for me to appear.

“Anna!” the countess cried in relief. “Thank gods, dear one. Finish what my sons cannot. Break this dream, Anna, and I will extravagantly reward you.”