I didn't realize I was clutching my teacup so hard until hairline cracks webbed through the porcelain. Warm liquid seeped over my fingers.

  DeNultra's smile deepened, as though she could smell it: the fracture.

  "I understand your anger," Szylla said. "It's a precious thing. Anger means there's something left of you to protest. To protect. Too many come to me empty, hoping I will fill them and when I do, they shatter. You resisted. Even now, you question me."

  "Don't turn this into some poetic testament to my willpower. You gambled my entire existence."

  "Correct," she said with the air of someone admitting to adding an extra dash of salt to a recipe. "But look at what you are now. What possibilities bloom. A Unique variant untethered by archaic seals or mind-shackles."

  Something inside me twisted again; an urge to lunge, to tear out her throat for being so impossibly calm about rewriting my fate. But I swallowed it down.

  I glanced at DeNultra, then back at Szylla. My voice dropped to a low rasp.

  "If I ever learn that this was just another way to test how long you could string a monster along before they finally devour you…" I stepped close enough that our shadows merged, claws flexing at my sides. "I will be that monster."

  Szylla didn't retreat. Her monocle flashed, there was a subtle thrill there. An edge of delight at the real possibility I might indeed rip her to pieces.

  "Oh, KiAera," she almost shivered. "That is precisely what makes you magnificent."

  DeNultra tilted her head, her horns catching the errant glint of that not-quite-fire in the hearth. Her smile spread wider, indulgent and predatory all at once, like she was savoring a long-aged vintage she had every intention of finishing.

  "Oh, it does matter," she purred at Szylla. Her eyes slitted, pupils narrowing to blade-thin cuts of starlight as they danced over me. "Why do you think I find her so precious? So many fail to survive even your most minor amusements, Szylla. But KiAera… she's resilient. Untamed. Still warm with life's little agonies. I wouldn't dream of rushing her final harvest."

  That last phrase made my skin tighten. I forced my shoulders not to twitch, glaring at her instead; because the only thing worse than being terrified was letting her see it.

  "Right," I snapped, voice rougher than I intended. "So why are you here? Just to gloat? Or is this your version of sending a get-well-soon card after you let someone else tear me apart?"

  DeNultra laughed. It rolled through the room like distant thunder, curling the flames in the lanterns backward in their glass cages. Wailfiend gave a tiny startled squeak that turned into a giggle, fingers pressing to her lips as if trying to hide her delight at the show.

  "Oh, you mistake me, little dusk blossom. I am here to congratulate you. But also…" Her wings gave a lazy stretch that rattled dust from the beams above. "To ensure you understand the next stage of your little mortal tragedy."

  She drifted forward. Never quite walking, never quite floating. Until she was close enough I could smell her scent, like dark honey burning in the sun. Her hand rose, one finger tapping the space just above my collarbone where the mark of the Chimera now smoldered faintly. It flared at her touch, sending an uncomfortable shiver rippling down to my toes.

  "DreaGoth," she said softly, almost tenderly, though her eyes never softened. "A delightful region. Tournaments there are practically festivals of brutality. Growth, spectacle, desperate little prayers for loved ones. I hear you'll be competing soon."

  The words punched through my chest, hollowing me out. My mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. I hated how raw my voice sounded when I finally managed, "You know about Diantha. And Denji."

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  "Of course I do." Her grin deepened, vulpine and obscene. "They're part of your story now, KiAera. Such tasty motives to spur you on."

  My hands clenched at my sides. I could feel the tips of my nails digging into my palms. "So what? You're going to watch me fight for them like some kind of twisted drama critic?"

  "Close," DeNultra mused, stepping back with a lilting twirl that made her silhouette break into fractals of impossible geometry. When she settled again, her expression was maddeningly pleased. "I'll be observing. Not competing. Though…"

  She trailed off, her tongue flicking briefly over her lips. It was almost snake-like. "I do have a champion I've entered into the lists. Just to keep things… lively."

  My stomach turned to stone. "Who?"

  Her smile only deepened. "Oh, darling. That would spoil the fun."

  Wailfiend shifted at my side, nearly vibrating with spectral glee. "Ooooh, it will be such a delight. All those screaming crowds. The scent of torn souls. I may faint with joy."

  "Try to stay upright."

  DeNultra's eyes found mine again, and for a breath, all her mocking grandeur fell away. What remained was sharper, older, a vast hunger that recognized its kin even in something half-made like me.

  "You will fight in DreaGoth, KiAera," she said, quiet enough that even the ghostly hush of Szylla's parlor seemed to lean closer to catch it. "You will bleed for that child and his mother. And if you survive… perhaps then you'll begin to understand what this evolution truly costs."

  I swallowed, throat painfully tight.

  DeNultra's grin returned, slow and terrible, splitting her face in two halves of delight and ruin.

  "Make it spectacular."

  She pivoted, her wings curling around her form like a velvet curtain. The shadows behind her twirled, swallowing her in a rush of whispering voices that weren't entirely sane. The last thing I saw was the lash of her tail, scrawling a glyph in midair that burned cold across my vision.

  Then she was gone. The shadows stilled. The lanterns hiccuped back into steady light. And the room felt too empty, too normal, for the monster who had just stood there.

  I stood breathing like I'd run a mile uphill, my hand pressed to my still-marked chest.

  Szylla let out a slow exhale, shoulders sinking minutely. "She is a force I tolerate, not welcome. Remember that if ever tempted to believe her touch is purely fondness."

  Wailfiend gave a long, swooning sigh. "Oh, she does love her theater. I'm simply starving for the next act."

  I rubbed at my face, dragging my hand through the roots of my hair. "Yeah. Well, next act or not, I'm getting Diantha and Denji back. Tournament be damned."

  Szylla's expression smoothed into something coldly approving, her tentacles coiling in thoughtful satisfaction. "Good. Hold that conviction tight. In DreaGoth, you'll need it."

  Silence closed over us like a lid.

  Wailfiend only giggled behind her hand, eyes glittering with morbid excitement. Her bonnet was slightly askew from how hard she'd shivered. Despite her prior lively tone, she looked more fragile than fanged; her eyes wide and glistening.

  Szylla set her cup down with great care. Her hands smoothed the tablecloth that didn't need smoothing, as if it took immense restraint not to fling the entire set into a void out of sheer irritation.

  "DeNultra is…" she started, then paused. Her voice sounded oddly thin. "…intrusive."

  "Is that what we're calling it?" I replied.

  Szylla gave me a look so dry it could have desiccated flowers. Then she drew a breath, composed herself once more, and reached for the teapot. Her movements were elegant, but her fingers still trembled faintly.

  "More tea, my dear KiAera?" she offered with brittle brightness. "I believe we could both use it."

  I nodded. And from the corner of the room, Aria cast me one of her haunted, unnervingly yearning stares as if to silently ask whose side I would stand on when the Sovereigns were to inevitably tear each other—and us—apart.

  Then the moment broke. Szylla delicately closed her book with a snap, exhaling a satisfied sigh.

  "This concludes your Rite of Ascension. For now, rest. Relearn your shape. And decide what you wish to be, now that the walls of lesser mortality no longer contain you."

  She began to stand, her tentacles sweeping after her like the hem of a regal gown. Then she paused, tilting her head just enough to let me see the faint curve of her smile.

  "And do visit my manor again. I find myself quite taken by your company."

  The last I saw of the tea parlor was Szylla, seated in her heavy velvet chair, eyes half-lidded, one finger absently stroking the rim of her teacup.

  It left a hollow pit in my chest, how easily she let me go. As if she already knew every road I might walk would curl back here eventually, drawn by some thread I hadn't yet seen.

  "Come along," Vaida purred, squeezing my shoulder just once before releasing it. "Your moonpath waits. And I am curious what small calamities you might sow beyond these borders."

  Beside me, Wailfiend's cold hands slid onto my shoulders as if to hide the fragile hope dawning in her shadowed eyes.

  I stepped into the hall, clutching Szylla's silver box. The air tasted of wilting roses and distant tides because somewhere far behind us, Aria's silence clung like a promise. Or perhaps only a memory waiting to ripen into something darker.

  As I crossed the threshold, Aria's eyes stayed on me; brimming with something that was almost love, almost hunger, almost grief.

  It scared me more than any Sovereign ever had.