Varia’s laugh interrupts him. “Every witch is unique, Zera. But some patterns reoccur in powers. My brother is a skinreader. He can touch someone to see their most recent experiences. Isn’t that right, Luc? You discovered your power by accident, but you used it on Zera intentionally.”

The cold of the peak freezes my unheart solid. “The kiss…our hands entwined… You used us?”

I TOLD YOU; I TOLD YOU. THEY WILL ALL BETRAY YOU. HIS DESIRE FOR YOU, SELFISH

The hunger contorts me around myself, my hands clutching my head shaking so violently I nick my scalp with my own claws, blood oozing down. Why? To everyone else I was a thing—to be feared, to be used. To him, too. He never cared. The kiss, those gentle touches giving me hope—

I was alone, always.

“I believe this is called ‘irony,’ my dear Heartless.” Varia laughs. “Isn’t it just perfect?”

“ENOUGH!” Lucien bellows, deeper and more jolting than any quake.

“No! It’s not nearly enough!” Varia instantly fires back. “I have done this for you, Lucien. To protect you! I have done this all for you, Fione! I have done this because no one else will.” She laughs bitterly again. “You hear me? No one else will! Those High Witches are cowards—they could end the war, they could enact peace, but they think it too dangerous. They are selfish! I!” She pauses, the sound of a thumping chest. “I am selfless.”

“You are convinced, sister,” Lucien says, voice raw, “with delusions of grandeur.”

“I do this because it is a queen’s duty to protect her people!” She continues. “I do this because it is a queen’s duty to change the world for the better! I will not perpetuate the problem, Lucien. I will be the answer. And if I must do that alone—” Her voice suddenly softens. “If I must do that alone…”

ALWAYS ALONE, the hunger clings, resonates her weakness with my own. I push off from Malachite’s sword, and he takes a swing at me, but I dodge below his blade and come up in front of him, my claws raking soft flesh as they meet his face—no. No! Stop this!

Malachite looks up, his face leaking blood in three jagged slices across his nosebridge, over his cheek, and to his left ear, the lobe there torn open. Silence. I must be the silence. I have to Weep, to stop before I hurt him, before I kill him, before she makes me turn on Lucien once and for all—

“How does it feel?” The hunger taunts with me. “Tell me, is your pain ripping you apart, too?”