“Gross,” Willow and I both chorus, and he grins as we continue walking.

What Tristan had with Seraphina or anyone who came before or after was never love. It was lust and release. Something to cling to in the bleakness of our days. I remember that feeling all too well.

“You will feel that again,” I say to Tristan. “If it’s not Nerissa, then it will be someone else. Gods help me, I will make sure you do.”

He presses his mouth together. “I’m not sure I’m ready anyway. I need time to sort out everything up here.” He points to his forehead, and I nod, understanding exactly what he means.

“This way,” I say, turning left, preparing to save the throne room as our last stop. I lead them through the charred hallways as crumbled brick and mortar crunch beneath our boots.

“I’ll be honest, there isn’t much to see,” I say. “Most of it looks like this. Nadir and I explored nearly every inch when we were looking for the Crown, but there is something I think you’ll both like.”

Willow is rubbing her chest, making a strange face.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I feel weird.”

“Weird how?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I’m sure it’s nothing. I shouldn’t have skipped lunch—I’m a bit lightheaded.”

“Are you okay?” Tristan asks. “We can always come back later.”

“Absolutely not. I’m fine.” She gestures to me. “Lead the way.”

I give her one more skeptical look.

“Come on. Seriously, it’s nothing,” she says.

“Okay.” I take them to the library, where the portraits of our grandparents hang.

“Here,” I say, leading them into the room. “Turn around.”

We all do at the same time, and once again, the sight takes my breath away.

Our grandparents stand on either side of the door, larger than life, rendered in paint by a carefully skilled hand.

Neither of my siblings says anything as they stare at the portraits.

“They’re incredible,” Willow eventually breathes. “She was so beautiful.”

“She looks just like you,” I say, and Willow smiles.

“And our grandfather,” she says. “He looks . . . kind.”

“He does,” I agree, remembering I thought the same thing.

Tristan’s jaw is hard as he stares at the portraits, still saying nothing.

Willow and I give him a moment as we both move closer. Willow stands under Serce, the Heart Queen who broke the world, looking up. Last time, I’d been too full of emotion to remain here long—but now I study my grandmother’s face, looking for signs of who she might have been.