Foldrey locked eyes with her. “Do you remember what I said to you?”

“What?”

“The role of the guard.” He held her stare. “To protect, at all costs.”

“I’m not—”

“It’s time, Bloodwinn.”

From his pocket Foldrey drew a vial.

Ranka stared at him. The sounds of the arena faded away. Now it was just the two of them, standing in the mud, panting and bloody as the tiny syringe that threatened the world glinted between them.

Ranka began to shake. “You can’t be serious.”

You have it in you to make the right choice. I see it, even if you can’t.

Foldrey tossed the winalin to her. Ranka caught it. Her skin crawled. It was so small—just a harmless vial, with only a few ounces of liquid sloshing in the glass casing. At a glance, it seemed impossible this tiny quantity had created the chaos around them.

Ranka swayed.

From the poison comes the cure.

You’re not strong enough, that voice that had haunted her for five years whispered. You’ve never been strong enough. You can’t handle the truth, little sister. And you can’t let me go.

A winalin witch made it to the dais. Aramis screamed, scrambling backward and tugging Galen with her. The witch sank her teeth into Galen’s ankle before the prince blasted her away.

Ongrum killed the three humans she had been battling and turned, her attention locking on to the twins.

What did you expect? Did you think you could save them? You can’t even save yourself. It’s no wonder that no one wants you. No one loves you.

No, that wasn’t true. The twins had wanted her, briefly. Vivna had loved her, at least before Belren. Ongrum had tried to love her, in her own way.

You are too weak, even now. You’re nothing, to no one. Did you honestly think you could save anyone?

But she had tried. Why wasn’t that enough?

You’re a monster. That’s all you are. It’s all you’ll ever be.

No, she’d been more—she’d been a warrior, a sister, a friend. That meant something. Even if she died in disgrace, it had to mean something.

The kernel pulsed in her chest, a cold, useless bead. She’d promised she’d never go back into Belren. Had sworn she’d sooner die. She would never be strong enough to face it alone—but her blood-magic was a parasite, designed to keep her alive until it had chewed up every part of her.

What better way to wake a parasite than to sicken the host?

Ranka swayed.

She had come here to die, hadn’t she? She’d thought it would be by Ongrum’s blade. But so long as she didn’t have to live with these memories—so long as she could save the twins—she would accept her end, however it came.