No. No. No, no, no, no, no. This couldn't be happening. Layla couldn't be gone. She had lost enough. She couldn't lose her too. Not with the growing distance between them. Not when everyone else was gone. Please. Not Layla. Not Layla.

All she could hear was the dull thud of her parents' bodies on the floor. All she could see was the crumbled building and the twisted remnants of Naomi's body. All she could feel was the shaking of the earth, the stickiness of her brother's blood on her hands.

Talia fell to her knees.

No. Not again. Not Layla. Not when she hadn't had a chance to say goodbye. But she never did, did she? She'd never so much as understood what was going on when Silvera fell. By the time she woke after she'd been drugged by Julian, Naomi, Elaine and Midas were likely already dead. The last things she had said to Orion and Selene were bitter, full of hatred and betrayal.

And now Layla.When was it enough? She had lost everything—everyone she had ever loved and had loved her. The world had stolen all of it from her. It couldn't take Layla too. Why me? She thought miserably. Why can't the world let me keep one person?

"Talia." Maia's words splintered through her thoughts. Tears glistened in her eyes. "Talia, we're going to find her. It's going to be okay. Layla's going to be okay." Talia snapped back into reality. Yes. Layla might not be dead yet. She had to go—she had to go now. How many precious seconds had she wasted feeling sorry for herself, letting herself fall back into memory?

"Tell Alexander I want him to lead the Silver Guard and Court if I don't get back."

Talia stumbled to her feet. In a second she was running, sprinting through the halls, pushing past Myra and Nala and Maia and everyone else who tried to stop her. Where was her room? Two stairs up, third on the left. She had to run. Guards reached out to stoop her, probably on Myra or Nala's orders. She didn't care. She pushed past them, running faster and faster. When the earthquake hit, she had wasted precious minutes waking up her brother and Selene. What had that cost her daughters, her husband? The thought made her run faster, doors flashing past as she ascended the stairs.

Talia reached her room and shoved two daggers into place. Briefly, she wondered about armour. But no. It would take five all-too-precious minutes to strap it on. Minutes that could cost Layla her life. Minutes that could destroy everything she held dear. Even her second's hesitation could mean the difference between life and death.

"Talia, stop!" Myra cornered her as she left the room. "Think for a moment. We need more information from Gemma. We need to plan, to get more people. You'll get yourself killed this way! For all we know-" Talia blocked out the words, pushing past Myra. The general rushed to grab her but with a single thought and burst of magic she had her stumbling back into the wall. Nala rushed after her too, but the problem of the chancellor was solved as she slammed the pommel of one of the daggers into her skull. She collapsed to the ground, knocked out.

A hand reached for her shoulder. She was about to give the owner the same treatment when she turned out and realised it was Maia. Rivers rushed down her cheeks. Pain glistened in her eyes. Her soul-a piece of soul had been taken away from her. Talia felt a stab of pity.

"Be careful," Maia said. She sighed in relief when she realised she wasn't trying to stop here. "Bring her back." She only had the strength to nod before she was gone.

Talia rushed down the stairs, heading for the escape boats. Whoever tried to stop her was usually dissuaded with a look at her daggers and the wild, burning rage in her eyes. Whoever was foolish enough to come after that would have their mind shut down and be painlessly sent to sleep. But there was one who wouldn't stop fighting. He ended up with a knife in his throat. She would worry about that later. Regret that later.

By the time the guards got organised enough to make a proper attempt to stop her, she was in a boat headed straight for Silvera—and wherever Layla might be.

————————————————

Talia paddled as fast as she could, still half in a trance. The water seemed to turn red with the memory of her daughters' blood. If she didn't arrive in time, if Layla was already hurt or dead—no. She shut down the thought with as much force and strength as she had shut down all memories of Vivienne Silverian and who she was destined to be.

She would save Layla. They would walk out of this alive and together and whoever had dared take her from Layla-would suffer. Slowly and painfully. If they had hurt her-a wave of anger surged at the thought. Fury crashed through her, fear ebbing at the power of its tide. A cold, furious calm settled over her. Visions of the past faded. She could see every step she took next in perfect detail.

Talia at last made it to shore. Willing herself into invisibility, she slipped through a crack in the wall. The illusion flickered. With a sudden jolt, she realised how little power she had left. Like everyone else, she had barely slept for the past few nights. All her energy was spent defending the ships and trying to stay alive. She was weak, undeniably so. Straining with concentration, she wove the illusion tighter and tighter around herself. All this meant was that she had to be conservative with her energy. That was what the two knives were for, after all.

She sprinted through the streets, distantly aware that her feet were crying out with pain. But like everything else, all of that seemed far-away. A faded watermark. Nothing compared to the sharp reality of the anger and fear and desperation that surged through her with every thought and memory of Naomi and Elaine and Midas and Selene and Orion..

The illusion faltered more and more with every breath, but she shoved down the strain of fading magic. She would make it to Layla. She had to. There would be enough energy to get them back to the boat. Or at least to get her niece back. So long as Layla survived, she would be satisfied.

Talia might have spent her childhood in Silvera forty years ago, but that didn't make it any easier to navigate the city. The streets had changed yes, but she had barely spent any time outside anyway. Growing unease and rioting had meant she was sequestered in the palace. With every dead end and wrong turn she made she cursed herself for pushing the memories of Silvera down. Would the lost minutes cost Layla her life?

At last the governor's palace came into sight. It was almost certainly where Layla would be housed. They wouldn't trust any normal jail or prison to hold the Elfin Queen, not when she'd already escaped from under the Empress' nose once.

Talia approached the steps and spread her magic out like a net over the guards. They opened the door, sleepy smiles on their faces, still unable to see through the illusion. She rushed into the building, searching desperately for any sign of where she might find Layla. Turning back to the guards, she weighed the cost of using her ability again with the time she would lose searching for the dungeons. Sighing, she sprinted back to the gates.

"Tell me where Layla is," she demanded, weaving her magic around him. The guard didn't respond. He was trying desperately to squirm out of her grip. Talia slammed down on his mind, forehead beading with concentration as she forced him to answer.                   

"Take the stairs down. Fifth on the right." He answered, trance-like. She sprinted through the house, still invisible, her steps still magically quietened. How long until the guards realised what had happened? The thought made her run faster and faster, skipping five steps at a time. She landed hard on the dungeon floor but didn't give her time to steady herself.

Her breath was heavy and she was soaked with sweat but she pushed away the exhaustion even as her body begged her to stop. All that mattered was the distance between her and the fifth cell. She pulled out her daggers in anticipation of a fight and hesitated-for half a moment-as she neared Layla's cell. What if she entered and found only a corpse?

Talia forced herself to look. Layla was behind bars, curled up in the corner, gag over her mouth and iron chains-to contain her magic-on her feet and hands. But no visible scars or wounds. She breathed a sigh of relief. Layla was alive. Alive and unharmed.

Her daggers were enchanted to cut through steel and iron, so she got to work hacking the cell door open. Layla was silent the whole time, but her eyes were wide. It took ten minutes in total, ten precious minutes. Every footstep had her alert and afraid. Layla seemed to be thinking the same thing, so she kept the worry from her face in order to keep her niece calm. She would need to be if Talia was going to get her out.

At last she broke through the bars. In seconds she had torn the gag off Layla's mouth, but she still didn't speak. She turned her attention to the chains on her legs. Getting rid of those on her arms would take too much time, but at least with those off she would be able to walk. Talia snapped them clean off with a grunt of satisfaction and gripped Layla's hand, pulling her out of the cell. Still no relief. Her niece hadn't said a word yet. What was wrong?

Footsteps thundered from behind her. Suddenly she remembered what Myra had said after Talia had blocked everything out: For all we know, it could be a trick.

She had fallen right for it. And now both she and Layla were going to die as a result. They both whirled to face the owner of the footsteps. A low, cold laugh echoed through the air. She knew that laugh. She'd only heard it once, and yet it haunted her dreams...

He threw a knife from hand to hand as he smiled at her mother.

"Run!" Mother cried at Father, pushing him forward and towards the door.

"Come on, Vivi," he said, grabbing her hand. But she couldn't move.

"Is Mum coming?" She asked. "We can't leave her."

"She's coming," her father said reassuringly, soothingly. He grabbed her hand and ran towards the escape. Her mother yelled at Tyrion, fear suddenly replaced by anger.

"Vivi's just a child! She didn't do anything do anything to you!"

"She's a monster," Tyrion snarled. "Just like all your kind." He threw the knife at Vivienne's father but her mother took it instead. Tyrion laughed, a low, cold sound.

She screamed and her daughter screamed with her. All the strength went out of Vivienne and her father dragged her like a rag doll through the escape path.

Talia turned around to face Tyrion Lasith. The man who had murdered her family and turned her home against her. He let out another laugh.

"Vivienne Silverian," he smiled. "You always nagged at me. I knew there was no way you could have survived Silvera in mid-winter all alone. But still...I wanted to see your body. I needed to know. And as it turned out, I was right. You survived. All this time, hidden right under my nose." He angled his head. "You know, you look so different without that dye, Talia. I suppose that's the idea." He paused. "Your grandfather begged before I killed him. Did you know that?"

Talia shoved down the anger that roared at the taunts. She wouldn't let herself be tricked into losing her head. She had stood across the negotiating table with this man. Looked into his eyes and smiled.

"I thought you were dead, too," she said. "I thought the Empress killed you." And she had been so mad about it. The Empress had had no right—no right whatsoever-to take that revenge. It was hers. Hers, and no one else's.

"I was." Tyrion smiled. "But then the Empress realised I was more use to her alive than dead. The night that you betrayed her, she brought me back. Along with someone else."

A man walked out of the shadows.

"Hello, Talia," he smiled. And that voice...she knew that voice. It had laughed with her, whispered jokes in her ear.

Medea had brought them both back. Not because they were useful. Not because she needed to. No, she had brought them back to hurt Talia for her betrayal.

"Hello, Julian Corinth." She replied. And although she knew she should be terrified, should be running, should be getting Layla out of here as quickly as possible...a strange, dark glee crept over her. She had dreamt about this moment for so, so long. Fantasised about it, obsessed over just how she would make them pay for everything they had done to her and the people they loved.

Naomi and Elaine's faces flashed in her mind, followed by Midas and her parents.

Furious, burning rage rushed through her and she found herself yearning to lunge for him, to do something rash and foolish that would get them all killed.

Layla rushed at Julian, grief and anger flashing in her eyes. Grief-not for the cousins she couldn't remember, but for the shell of her aunt left behind. Talia barely restrained her, pushing her niece back behind her where she could protect her. There was something in those suddenly dark purple eyes that made her shiver. No, she wouldn't let Layla become like that. Like her. Consumed by such rage and filled with such a thirst for vengeance.

Julian was a Metal-Weaver, but not particularly skilled. His family's gifts had been weak for generations. Tyrion, though-he'd present a challenge. A skilled Stone-Warden.

Summoning the last vestiges of her strength, she flung her magic at them only to find it dissolve and curl back into her.

"In the last war, you assumed the shield was destroyed." Julian grinned. "But Medea harvested it. This is the last piece of it that remains. And unfortunately for you, it recognises its friends. So, whilst we might be able to access our magic, you can't." Just to punctuate the point, he sent a dozen jagged pieces of steel towards her and Layla. Talia pushed her niece into the empty cell, but she didn't escape as unscathed. Two pieces of metal dug into her leg, drawing thin rivers of blood.

"You missed," she said, summoning the energy to smirk.

"No, I didn't," he replied. "I'm not going to kill you that quickly, Talia."                                

"You're not going to kill me at all, Julian." She replied and sent one of her precious two daggers for Tyrion's heart. It missed its mark and landed in his leg. She swore colourfully. If she wanted to kill them both-and oh, yes, she did-then she would have to retrieve that one, which wouldn't be easy.

Julian and Tyrion neared them, and Talia slowly backed away. She had only one dagger left—she would have to make it count.

"Take me," she said quickly. "If you try to fight it out, I'll end up dead before you can so much as present me to the Empress. So take me and let her go." Layla tried to protest, but Talia stamped on her foot. Hard.

Julian and Tyrion were considering. At last they seemed to come to an agreement.

"Fine." Tyrion agreed. She held her hands in the air, steeling herself for what was to come. He neared her, flipping his dagger in his hand just like he had done just before he killed her mother. Pulling out another, he used the blade to force her to look up at him. Hunger for pain flashed in his eyes. When he killed her, he would take a long time doing it. Layla still wasn't running.

He used the other dagger to slash her face and Talia felt the hot river of blood before she felt pain. In a single movement it was over. She buried her last remaining knife in his heart. All she had needed was to get close enough to him.

The death felt hollow somehow. She had expected to feel victorious. Expected it to feel...different. Not like this.

Talia gripped Layla's hand and pulled her up the stairs. For her, she could leave behind her revenge, her hatred. For her, she could let Julian live.

Then she heard the whizz of a blade. The same dagger that she had buried in Tyrion's heart. It was rushing for Layla. Her niece wasn't a warrior. She would never dodge in time.

The decision was so very, very easy.

Talia lunged forward and caught the blade in her stomach.

Agony. Pain like she had never known before, pain that consumed her, pain that swallowed all thought. She knew nothing but this excruciating agony. Layla and the dungeons disappeared from her sight. The world faded away to nothing, nothing at all but a screaming pain that left no thought or reason or memory in its wake. Blood soaked her tunic and pants until they looked like they had begun red rather than white.

Footsteps. Thundering towards her. She opened her eyes to see Layla still standing there, rooted in place. Julian was walking towards her, another knife in his hand. Fear exploded through her, wiping away the all-consuming pain. And she knew what she had to do.

Talia's hands found the hilt of the dagger buried in her stomach. Steeling herself again, she pulled at the blade. The pain was suddenly a thousand times worse, and for a moment she hesitated. But then she remembered Layla's laugh, the way she smiled and how it lit up the world...she pulled the blade out, shoving the agony down deep within her.

And she threw the blood-soaked dagger at Julian. It hit his shoulder instead of his heart, but it would be enough. Enough to buy Layla time. Maybe enough to kill him if he didn't get to a hospital fast enough. But Layla was still standing there, unable to move as she beheld her. Grief shone in her eyes.

They were outside the shield, Talia realised with a jolt. So she used the last vestiges of her power and flung her will at Layla. Forced her to run faster than would otherwise have been possible. Through Silvera's guarded streets, cloaked in invisibility that Talia had hastily pulled around her. To the boat she had left on the shore. She made her paddle faster and faster even as her magic drained away. Talia lost the connection a few hundred metres from the rebels' ship.

One day Layla would understand why she did it. When she had daughters of her own—because Layla had always been a daughter to her—then she would understand. Maybe she'd even forgive her for that unforgivable violation of taking over her mind. Either way, Talia didn't care. Layla would live. That was all that mattered.

Now that the dagger was no longer stopping the flow of blood, more and more poured out. Death loomed in the corner, counting down her breaths. Talia was suddenly gripped by fear. She didn't want to die. She wasn't ready. Not before she had closed the gap between her and Layla.

Then figures began to form in the darkness. In the beginning they were mere wisps of shadow, but slowly, they began to take form.

Midas came first. He smiled at her, eyes laughing. Midas, her soulmate, the other half of herself, the bearer of her Name. Midas, her childhood friend. Midas, the only person she had ever fallen in love with. Midas, who had been calling to her these twelve, long years. A flash of anger filled her, the old thirst for revenge returning. But he smiled at her again and it faded.

He was here. That was all that mattered.

Next to him were Naomi and Elaine. She recognised them instantly, even though they were all grown up now. Laughter danced in Naomi's eyes; mischief gleamed in Elaine's. A tear slipped down her cheek, a hot river running down her face.

On their right stood Orion and Selene. Her brother's eyes twinkled; Selene smiled welcomingly at her. Forgiveness shone in their faces. Talia slumped with relief at the divide between them finally closed..

And behind them stood her mother, father and grandfather. She choked out a sob. It might have been forty years, but she still remembered every detail of their faces. The freckle above her mother's lip. The birthmark near her father's ear. The unusual turquoise hue of her grandfather's eyes. Her mother held out her hands in welcome.

Midas reached out a hand toward her. Her soul at peace, her vengeance at last laid to rest, Talia took it.