Page 61 of The Eighth Isle

And two, because whatever bad thing happened in my life, I always came to the conclusion that it all could have been avoided if only Valentine Evernight had died first.

“Very well, then,” Syra said, folding her hands in front of her, and the smile she had on when she looked at me would fool anyone into thinking she was a goddamn angel, the epitome of goodness—not the devil herself. “I do need a bit of help with figuring out the politics of these Isles and what my sisters havedone to the people. I’ve been trying to use my third eye, but it’s just too much bother.” And she waved her hand. “You’ll teach me about today’s world. Yes, you’ll do just fine, Valentine.”

“It will be an honor,” he said, and I almost screamed in frustration. I almost screamed at him to get himself together, toseewhat the hell he was doing—this was Syra, the same siren who’d ruined Ennaris!

But then again, he knew that better than me. Just like he said,he’dbeen the one to awaken her in the first place.

“I’ll arrange a room for my new guest close to ours, Hansil,” Syra said to Grey, who couldn’t look away from his little brother at all. “I’ll take her myself. You don’t have to bother.”

“May I?” said Valentine, and I couldn’t help myself anymore.

“You’re a fucking snake,” I told him. “You’re a coward, Valentine. You’re worse thanher.” Syra had had a reason for what she’d done, buthim? He was just plainbad.

And Valentine looked at me, not a hint of guilt or remorse or anything reflecting in his eyes. “I am what I need to be. I’m alive, aren’t I? Andyou’regoing to die soon.” He made a point of looking at my body, then at Grey, with his brows raised. He felt superior to us and he wanted us to see it.

The sad thing was, he was right to feel superior to me—I’d been the fool who’d believed him over and over again. I’d been the fool who hadn’t killed him while we were still in the Whispering Woods and here on the Eighth Isle, too.

Grey squeezed me to his chest and kissed my head. “I love you, een aeva,” he whispered in my ear, barely moving his lips, and I doubted even Syra could hear it.

But I knew exactly what he was going to do. He was going to attack Valentine, hopefully even manage to kill him before Syra stopped him, and as much as I wanted to tell himno, to keep him there with me, I didn’t.

There was no telling how much more damage that man could do—and by Syra’s side? He was way too dangerous.

So, I bit my tongue and I kept my eyes on Valentine as he looked at us like nothing at all bothered him.

“Rot in hell,” I told him, and I wished it with all my heart.

Grey jumped at him with his wings spread at the same time.

Storm roared and he was flying over our heads, and Shadow was screeching that awful sound, too, when Grey slammed Valentine against the ground.

I jumped to my feet, ready to release my magic, too—at Syra, at Valentine, at Shadow, anyone at all, but…

“Oh, for fins’ sake—enough!”

The siren spread her arms to the sides.

Magic burst out of her, raw and unforgiving.

The world stopped spinning, and everything went dark.

Fifteen

It wasdark outside the window—the window without a glass.

The window that I had never seen before, but that I recognized because it was almost identical to most of the others in this castle.

The stone castle with four towers and a guardian dragon standing sentinel at the back of it, which Syra had somehowmadewith her magic on the Isle that she’d pulled out of the sea.

I am here.

I sat up with a jolt, my mind a vortex of all the images, all the memories, all the thoughts and possibilities abouteverythingclashing against each other. Physically I felt fine. Nothing hurt and I had no blood on me that I could see, and I was on a bed. I was on a king-sized bed as big as the one in our bedroom in the Evernight castle, covered in white silk sheets.

The room was maybe half in size, but it was fully furnished—curtains, thin and white, to the sides of those big square windows across from me, and a carpet made of reds and golds and blacks on the floor, and there was a table and an armchair to my left, two doors to my right, dressers and a wardrobe by the wall, and a wide mirror mounted on it. Lamps on the bedsidetables, and they were both on, spilling dim orange light while the moon outside the window in the middle bathed the tips of the trees in silver.

My limbs were numb, so when I pushed myself off the bed and stood up, I didn’t feel it. I couldn’t tell you whether it was hot or cold or if it smelled a certain way—the panic wouldn’t let me make good use of my other senses, only my eyes.

They were telling me that I was alone in this room. All alone with the light of the moon streaming through those windows, and my reflection staring at me from the right.

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