I heard something buzz by my ear, felt it whoosh and nearly graze my cheek. And I watched as an arrow sank into Emrys’s chest.

It happened so quickly. I didn’t believe my own eyes, not until Emrys’s blood began to drip down his chest and he gasped. It was a sound to summon the spirit of death. A mortal blow. He slowly sank to his knees and I rushed to catch him, easing him to the floor.

“Where is my brother?” he rasped, clutching my hand. The aging glamour faded, leaving behind a young yet ancient face, marred in pain.

“I’m here,” my father replied. He knelt on the other side of Emrys, drawing his brother into his arms. “I was supposed to shield you this time, Em. You fooled me.”

You fooled me.

I dwelled on my conversation with Emrys from earlier that day. He had asked if my father was in danger. I had said no, but Emrys had seen through the countess. He must have convinced his brother to swap roles to keep him safe.

I looked up to see Lady Raven standing nearby with the crossbow in her hands. Her shock seemed to radiate from witnessing someone in the deathless court die. She trembled as Phelan yanked the weapon away from her.

“I could not let your life end like this,” Emrys whispered to Papa. A pallor was creeping over his skin. I watched his blood continue to flow down his chest and drip onto the floor. “You have so much . . . to live for, Ambrose.” He looked at me, and there was tenderness in his eyes.

I felt Imonie’s presence draw near, and when she spoke, her voice was soft, agonized.

“Let me hold him.”

I shifted away and let her take my place on the floor. My father eased Emrys into her arms and she held him close to her heart.

“Mam,” Emrys whispered.

“Let me hold you one last time, my quiet boy,” Imonie said with a smile, stroking the hair from his brow. “My scholar of dreams.”

I remembered Imonie’s story, her words like an echo returning to me after months. Her quiet boy would deceive her, acting as his wild brother to take his punishments. And the wild boy would act as his quiet twin, to avoid her wrath when he strayed too far.

I had assumed wrong.

I had thought my father was Imonie’s quiet boy. But all this time . . . it had been Emrys. The boy who had loved books and school and peaceful spaces, who had wept when my father tore the pages in his book. Who had let my father wear his robes to deceive and kill the duke. Who had taken the fall for my father’s crime.

Emrys closed his eyes.

Imonie continued to hold him. And he breathed his last in her arms.

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