I hardly paid her any attention. I was focused on Clem. I stepped over the crack in the floor, into her striking range. We circled each other, prey and predator, girl and phantom. I was both, and yet I felt like neither. My emotions were snarled, cold and hot feelings entwined together, radiating a pleasant numbness in my chest.

How was I to defeat her? I knew her arsenal of spells. As she knew mine.

Clem at last came to a halt.

I mirrored her motions.

Over the slender slope of her shoulder, I saw the dais behind her. The throne, gleaming like it was carved from bones, and Emrys standing beside it, watching me with wicked amusement. And then the countess walked into that view, waiting on the dais stairs. She was positioning herself, I realized. As soon as I broke this dream, she would claim the sovereignty of the mountains.

And more than anything . . . I didn’t want to bend the knee to her. I didn’t want to see her sit on that throne.

I held Clem’s stare, and I knew she saw the cascade of my thoughts. My desire for her to take victory over the dream.

She nodded and lifted her hand toward Lady Raven. Down went the countess, with a shriek and a tumble. She lay prostrate on the stairs, frozen. Had my phantom just killed her?

There was no time for me to wonder. Clem pivoted and shot a spell at Lennox next, even though he was still writhing along the floor, wounded. He went limp as a rag doll, limbs splayed out.

Phelan, I thought, and panicked. I took a step toward him, the phantom’s spell grazing my ear. The enchantment hit him square in the chest, and I watched, wide-eyed, as a trail of blood began to flow from his nose. He sank to his knees, his gaze fastened to me. I was the last thing he saw as he surrendered to the floor.

And then my father, who was swift, but not swift enough when the nightmare was his daughter. He could have struck Clem down; he could have broken the dream. But he hesitated, and she took advantage of that moment. Down he went, like a folding house of cards.

I stared, stricken, at his unconscious form. Blood also trickled from his nose.

I tried to convince myself this was just a dream; they weren’t dead. But a wave of devastation broke over me, and pain sparked from my chest up to my neck. As if I had been branded. Hissing, I touched my throat. My fingertips traced sleek marks, embedded in my skin.

“The throne is yours for the taking,” said Clem. “I will concede, but only to you.”