“That depends on what else you have to say,” Anika said. She put a hand on Shay’s shoulder, pulling him back from Logan. “How are Tristan and Sarah Doran alive if they were sacrificed to open the Rift?”

“Bosque Mar is very creative when it comes to torment,” Logan said. Shay winced and I wanted to go to him, but now was neither the place nor the time.

“We’re aware of that,” Anika said.

Logan paused, lifting his hand to check his wound. The gash was no longer bleeding. He gingerly leaned back against the pillow. “He wanted Tristan to suffer for his betrayal, so he concocted a punishment that would force Tristan to perpetually suffer while watching that which he’d risked everything for be destroyed.”

“You mean his child.” Anika turned away from the bed to pace across the room.

Shay frowned. “How could he see anything that was happening to me?”

My mind was racing as the temperature of my blood plunged. “Shay . . . I think I—”

Logan cut me off. “Where is the only place you’ve seen your parents?”

“Seen them?” Shay gazed at him. “I don’t know . . . my dreams. Memories.”

“Think harder.” Logan was on the verge of laughter.

“Stop.” I leapt forward, landing on the bed and crouching in front of Logan with my fist balled up. “Don’t you dare play with him.”

“Calla!” Anika was coming toward me when Shay stopped her with a sharp glance. He slowly turned to stare at Logan.

“The portrait,” he said. He moved his eyes from Logan to me. “The portrait in the library.”

I nodded, sliding off the bed to stand close to him. I didn’t dare touch him. The moment was live with raw emotion that I couldn’t risk provoking.

“Does that mean . . . ,” Shay whispered. “They’re alive, but . . . are they those . . . things?”

“What things?” Logan asked.

“He means the Fallen,” Anika said. “Is he right? Are Tristan and Sarah Fallen?”

“No,” Logan said. “They are not Fallen. The Fallen are carrion, little more than animated corpses. Bosque wanted Tristan and Sarah sentient. They’re being held in stasis, imprisoned in that painting.”

“How is that different than the other paintings?” Shay asked.

“The Fallen are prisoners we use to feed the wraiths,” Logan replied, cringing when Ren snarled. “The paintings are a liminal space—a holding cell of sorts. Bosque enjoys observing what he calls his own ‘art of war.’ He can see through the dimensional wall to watch the wraiths feeding. The prisoners remain there until they have nothing left to offer the wraiths. Then they are discarded.”

“But my parents haven’t been given to the wraiths?” Shay asked. “You’re sure?”

“You’ve seen it with your own eyes, Shay,” Logan said. “When you looked at their portrait, how did they appear?”

“Sad,” Shay murmured.

“But unharmed,” Logan said. Shay nodded.

“When you close the Rift, it will free Tristan and Sarah,” Logan said. “They’ll have aged, just as any human being would. But they will otherwise be as you knew them.”

“I never knew them,” Shay said.

“I did,” Anika said quietly. “Many of us did. We counted your parents as friends.”

Shay looked at her, surprised. She didn’t meet his gaze, lost in her own thoughts. “We failed them. We should have kept them safe, kept you hidden, but we couldn’t.”

The room fell quiet until Logan cleared his throat.

“I trust that information is worth something to you.”

“Perhaps,” Anika said.

“I’ll do whatever I can to prove myself of value,” Logan said. “I can help you win.”

Anika nodded, but she was looking at a woman who had appeared in the doorway.

“Ethan said you needed a healer.” The woman glanced around the room, eyes searching for her patient.

“Nothing serious,” Anika said. “The prisoner has a cut that needs tending. Disinfection, but I don’t think stitches will be necessary.”

The healer nodded and went to the bed.

“We’ll have more to discuss,” Anika said to Logan.

“Of course.” He winced when the healer peeled his shirt back. “If you won’t get me cigarettes, could I have something for the pain?”

Anika smiled. “I think you can bear it.”

TWELVE

“CAN WE TRUST HIM?” I watched Adne move, gleaming threads spiraling out from her skeans as she wove the door that would lead us to Eydis’s resting place in Tulúm. The writing is on the wall, Logan had said. Was he right? We had one sword; we were about to take the first step in getting the second.

Nev shrugged. “As much as I hate to say it, yeah. Logan would stab himself in the back if he thought it would get him something he wanted.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Mason had rejoined us in Haldis Tactical but couldn’t seem to shake his somber mood. “None of it matters.”

“Would you stop?” Nev bared teeth at him. “It’s okay to be angry. You should be angry.”

Mason looked away. “If he can help us win, that’s what matters.”

“Look.” Nev’s features softened. He rested his forehead against Mason’s. “We’ll win, then we’ll kill him. Deal?”

Mason tried to pull back, but Nev gripped his shoulders. He began to laugh. “Okay, deal.”

I regarded Nev thoughtfully. “Why didn’t you?”

“What?” he asked, keeping Mason wrapped in his arms.

“Kill Logan,” I said. “When he came through the portal with us. You stayed human. You were strangling him. Why didn’t you shift and rip his throat out?”

It was an appealing idea—and one I was certain had crossed Nev’s mind more than once.

He offered me a thin smile. “I wanted him to know it was me who killed him. The Keepers have never been good at knowing who we are when we’re wolves.”

I nodded. “Fair enough.”

“It’s time.” Anika gestured to the now-open portal. All I could see through the shimmering door were jewel tones. Sapphire blue. Emerald green. Colors so vivid, they were both alluring and ominous.