I have plenty of dark, unwelcome thoughts to go through, and by the time I give up, my fists are squeezed tight and I’m sitting all clenched up again, knees drawn to my chest.

It isn’t fair. After everything we’ve been through, it still isn’t over. At this point, it feels like Fate is just punishing us.

Or maybe laughing at us.

Anger flares in my chest, and magic surges in my veins. I rein it back in quickly, before I can cause untold destruction, sitting up as if to announce I’ve officially given up on falling asleep.

Not now, I beg. The magic still crawls over my skin like an itchy coat, still puddles in the restless movements of my hands. To satisfy it, I allow one fingertip to produce a flame, no bigger than the wick of a candle.

I blow it out and light the next one. Then the next.

One by one.

I can control this.

“You sound just like them,” an amused voice says from behind me. “Mortals, I mean.”

chapter thirty-two

I jump up and twist around, hands already out. Gossamer stands over Raze’s quiet, sleeping form, looking down at him the way a small child might look at a slug wriggling at their feet, with curiosity and disgust.

I scowl at him, holding a finger to my lips. There’s no way I’m about to wake Raze with angry rambling at a specter.

“Relax, Seelie.” His lazy, aristocratic drawl grates a little bit more with each word. “Your mortal’s sound asleep.”

When I still hesitate, he crosses one finger in an X over his heart, face morphing into the very picture of innocence. With his pale skin, slightly pursed, full lips, and pleading eyes, he could be any marble statue of a romantic hero. If it weren’t for those sharp teeth.

I turn my back. Maybe if I pretend he isn’t there, he’ll go away. But I’m still too distracted to make my fingertips light again.

“You can’t ignore me forever,” the faerie teases, drawing the words out. “I have a lot to say, you know. I was trapped in that statue for—oh, no telling, centuries at least. Plenty of time to build up things to talk about. And I don’t even know what your human world is like now! That mediocre shapeshifter—what was her name?—so fearsome, I’m sure, but wouldn’t have been anything to write home about back in my day. You mortals change so quickly.”

Strange, how his voice echoes off the stone, like it isn’t all in my head. But I know better. He isn’t truly here. “And why were you locked away, Gossamer?”

He tries not to flinch at the use of his name, waving an elegant hand. His nails are long and pointed and look manicured—but of course they aren’t, because they’re not real. None of him is real. Not his long hair, not his bare feet, not even the gauzy sleeve brushing my arm. “Who remembers anymore?”

I get the feeling that he does, but I can’t force him to tell me, no matter how badly I want to. “What do you want?” I whisper angrily.