Page 2 of A Reflection of Dusk and Dawn

And now, my mother has disappeared too.

I wasn’t surprised when she didn’t greet me upon my return to Bakva, but as the days dragged on, I realized she was simply gone—vanished without a trace or word.

When I tried to ask Asha what happened to our mother, she just gave me a cold, indifferent look.

Aleksander steps closer and holds the book out to me. “I want you to summon the Phoenix.”

Summon the Phoenix?

He’s gone mad.

I frown at him. “I don’t know how to summon it.”

The lines near his mouth tighten, and his eyes narrow. “You are the only one who can summon it. It listens to you.”

“I cannot do it,” I say, trying to thread resolve into my words.

His mouth tightens even more. “You have to. We need the Phoenix’s power.”

We?

Who iswe?

Him and Asha?

Bile rises in my throat as I lace my hands together. “For what purpose?”

Instead of answering me, he folds his arms and speaks in a voice heavy with impatience. “Open the book, Annora.”

Maybe if I refuse to summon the Phoenix, he won’t be able to control that facet of my magic. It’s a small hope, but I cling to it anyway as I place the book on the table beside my chair. “I cannot do something I have never been taught to do.”

“You will.” In three long strides, he closes the space between us, grabs my arm, and yanks me to my feet.

I twist my arm, trying to break free from his iron grip, but his fingers only dig deeper into my skin. “Let go.”

Pain shoots through my arm as he squeezes. “Stop fighting me.”

My heart pounds as I thrash harder, but the more I struggle, the tighter his grip becomes.

“I said stop,” he says through his teeth.

Instead of listening, I ram my knee upward, aiming between his legs, but he blocks me with his thigh. Then, before I can blink, he spins me around and pins my arms behind my back.

“You’re only making this harder on yourself.”

“You’re hurting me,” I say as his grip tightens even more.

“Then, stop fighting me.”

I sigh in defeat as he drags me from the room, through the corridor, and to the fourth door on the left. There, he holds onto me with one hand and, with the other, he shoves the door open.

My heart seizes the moment I spot Emerin. She sits on the bed with her hands folded in her lap.

Her copper hair hangs down her back in a long, neat braid, and torchlight shimmers in her eyes—one stormy gray and the other silver.

She lifts her head, and our eyes meet. The spark of defiance I’ve always loved about her still burns there.

“Emerin.” I try to lunge forward, to reach her, to protect her, but Aleksander yanks me against him.

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