Raffaele takes a deep breath of cold air and tries to clear his head. Everything had seemed like a dream, a streak of events painted on canvas. What had happened? He remembers falling through the depths of a dead ocean into the Underworld, arriving on the still shores of another world. There were an infinite number of silver-white pillars reaching up forever into gray sky, and a black mist that shrouded everything around him, the tendrils of fog curling near his feet in anticipation of his death.
He remembers seeing his mother and father asleep, encased in moonstone. He saw old companions and friends from the Fortunata Court. He saw Enzo. He knelt at each of their feet, weeping. There was the sight of distant lights, his other companions that he could not reach. The gods and goddesses gathered before him, with their bright light and overwhelming voices.
Most of all, he remembers reaching into his heart and severing his connection to the immortal world, returning his power to the gods.
Had it really happened? Raffaele pushes himself into a sitting position in the snow. He holds out one hand. His grasp captures only the cold air, and his fingers touch nothing. There is an emptiness in his chest now, a lightness, and when he reaches out for his threads of energy, he finds that they are gone. It is as if a part of him had died, allowing the rest of him to live on.
The Dark of Night is eerily silent. All that remains are the snow and the forest, the remnants of creatures slowly fading away, sinking into white. Time floats past. His vision sharpens. Finally, Raffaele finds the strength to stand. Around him are the others. He sees Lucent first, shaking snow from her curls, and beside her, Maeve, pushing herself up with her sword planted deep in the snow. Magiano crouches nearby, clutching his head. They must be feeling the same emptiness that Raffaele now feels, all trying in vain to reach for the powers that had once always simmered right at their fingertips. On instinct, Raffaele reaches out to sense their emotions . . . but all he feels is the bite of the cold.
It is strange, this new reality.
“It’s gone,” Maeve whispers first. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and lifts her head to the heavens. A strange expression is on her face, one that Raffaele instantly understands. It is a look of grief. Of peace.
“Where is Adelina?” It is Magiano’s voice now. He looks around frantically, trying to find her. Raffaele frowns. He had seen Adelina—he was sure of it. Her silver hair, glinting in the black mist; her white lashes, scarred face; her chin, always up. She had been in the Underworld with them. Raffaele scans the landscape, a knot tightening in his stomach, as Magiano calls for her again.
There she is.
There is a girl stirring nearby, her hair is dusted silver and white with snow, and it falls across her face. Raffaele feels immediate relief at the sight of her—until she lifts her head.
No, it is not Adelina. It is Violetta, with the snow hiding the color of her dark hair. The markings that had blemished her skin are now gone, and the color has returned to her cheeks. She shakes her head, blinking, and looks around. Her eyes are red from crying, but she is here and whole, alive.
Raffaele can only stare in silence. Impossible. How did she come here?
Where is Adelina?
Magiano has already struggled to his feet and is making his way through the snow toward her. “Violetta,” he calls. His eyes are wide, pupils dilated. He looks as if he can’t believe what he is seeing. Then he embraces her, lifting her clear off the snow. Violetta makes a surprised sound. “What happened? How are you . . . ?”
Impossible, Raffaele repeats to himself. How did Violetta return from the Underworld? She does not look like Enzo did when Maeve pulled him out, with pools of black in his eyes and an energy about him that felt like death. No, Violetta looks healthy and alive, even radiant, the way she had once looked when Raffaele first met her. He wants to cheer, to be joyous for her return—
—but her expression tells him otherwise.
Magiano puts her down and holds her at arm’s length. He furrows his brow at her. “How are you here?” he exclaims. “Where’s Adelina?”
Violetta returns his stare with an unbearable look in her eyes. At that, Magiano’s smile wavers. He shakes her once. “Where’s Adelina?” he asks again.
“She made a deal with Moritas,” Violetta finally says, her voice cracking.
Magiano frowns, still not understanding. “We all made a deal with Moritas,” he replies. “I was there in the Underworld—we were there, with the gods and goddesses.” He looks to where Maeve and Lucent stand, still dazed, and pauses to hold up one palm. He turns his hand over. “Like stripping a layer of my heart.”
Violetta looks toward the sky. She can’t seem to bear meeting Magiano’s eyes. “No,” she says. “Adelina traded her life.”
Even when the realization hits Magiano, he doesn’t dare acknowledge it aloud. Instead, they all stand frozen in the snow, trying to grasp the weight of Violetta’s words, hoping that Violetta is wrong and that Adelina will somehow emerge from the forest and rejoin them. But she doesn’t.
Magiano gives an imperceptible nod, then releases Violetta. He slowly slides down to sit in the snow.
The first time Raffaele ever saw Adelina, it was a storm-wracked night that changed her life and, indeed, the world. He recalls looking down from a window in his Dalia lodging to see a girl with silver-bright hair, conjuring an illusion of darkness such that he had never seen. He remembers the day she first came to his chambers in Estenzia, when Enzo was still alive and she was still innocent, and the way she looked up at him with her uncertain, damaged gaze. He remembers her test, and what he said to Enzo that night. How long ago that had been. How he had judged her wrongly.