“I am Zera Y’shennria—the Starving Wolf,” I whisper. “And this is never-goodbye.”

Every single moment—one after the other—is the only thing that matters as I sprint with all my speed, all my strength, toward the Bone Tree, toward the nexus of light that Varia has become—

Something catches my wrist. It’s not strong, but it’s burning hot, searing in a way that demands my attention. I look over to see Lucien, his black eyes sparking out at me.

“No! I won’t let you sacrifice yourself again for me.”

I’m stunned, speechless, as Lucien puts himself in front of me, his fingers growing dark as he raises them, palms up. A strange, unnatural wind plays with his short hair, curling it around his face.

“This time,” his voice rings out, “I’ll protect you.”

My unheart squeezes painfully as his lips move with unheard words—his prayers to the Old God. Varia grows ever brighter, so bright I can barely see his dark outline against the light. But still he stands, and I have to fight every sacrificial urge in me not to run full tilt at Varia and take her off the mountain peak with me. But it wins out—I can’t let Lucien die.

I start forward, and Lucien barks, “Trust me, Zera. Please.”

“You have a life to live,” I spit.

“That life is not worth living.” His voice is hard. “If it’s not with you.”

All the air in my lungs implodes, and I turn my head around slowly to look at him. His gaze is deathly serious, but a smile pulls his broad lips as the darkness crawls into his eyes.

“I am the Black Rose,” he says. “And I have the power to protect you now.”

The witchfire springs out of nowhere—a roaring wall of it so high I can barely see where it ends in the sky. The black flames stretch in all directions, obscuring the light Varia’s giving off and the massive Bone Tree itself. The light struggles to pierce through the wall of black fire, still growing brighter in a terrible crescendo of luminescence. Lucien claws his fingers, the darkness stretching up his wrists and to his forearms, his biceps, up over his shoulders and crawling to his neck, sweat beading on his forehead.

“I can’t deflect it, only redirect it. You have to back up,” he barks. “To where Malachite and Fione are.”

“But you—” I watch his posture stiffen as he raises his hands higher, the flames growing denser and roaring louder.

“I’m trusting you with them!” he shouts.