“You’re right,” she hiccuped, and I released her. She dashed the backs of her wrists under her eyes. “Okay, I’ll go now. No time to waste.”

“Go in peace,” I told her.

“Always in peace,” she replied. Then, she disappeared from the kitchen and into the long hall that led to the other rooms in the estate we’d rented.

Tears pricked my eyes the moment her skirt swished out of view. I held my breath for another ten seconds, stomping back toward the washbasin. Tried to stem the flow of salt so I could see what I was doing as I yanked another plate from the dirty pile.

But it was no use.

A sob choked out of me.

I was tired. So fucking tired. Of running. Of never having a place to call home. Of always looking over my shoulder. Of fearing a missed dose of virelthorn. Of the encroaching darkness that came with a vision.

Bitterness coated my tongue as I stuck in the side of my cheek.

Heraphia and I could have been sisters, if the Goddess hadn’t been so cruel. Her brother had attempted to court me for years before his death. We’d had fun, enjoyed each other’s company. And yet, when he wanted our relationship to turn more serious, I’d rejected him.

No one knew about my first vision, save for my parents. It was too painful to share.

As was a life with someone who would never be my mate. Who I might have to abandon on the rare chance I crossed paths and locked eyes with him.

Sometimes, I imagined him looking back at me. Of walking forward and cupping my cheek, awe etched into his expression. I hated myself for wondering what he might say.

The water foamed as I scrubbed each plate in decisive, furious swipes. We’d lose coin abandoning this place so soon. Bringing these dishes with us was paramount to conserving what we could.

I reached for a drying cloth, running it over one smooth stone at a time. Movement out the window caught my eye. A horse galloped toward the house, dirt flying beneath its hooves. The lake that curved against the road glittered in the midmorning sun, a gild over the panic in the rider’s expression.

The plate I’d been holding shattered, ripping my gaze away from my best friend’s husband and back to my task. In my bones, I knew there was no time to finish it.

“Heraphia!” I screamed, backing away from the window. My hands flew to the pockets of my skirts, searching for those precious bottles of virelthorn. I yanked one free, finding it half empty.

Fuck. We hadn’t been here long enough for me to harvest more. But I had a few spares in my bag…

Spinning on my heel, I raced into the hall, nearly colliding with my friend.

“What is it?” Hair had come loose from her long, pearlescent braid in the minutes we’d been separated, a testament to the fear she’d masked before.

“They’re coming,” I gasped out, spotting my pack in her hand. I snatched it without apology. We’d done this often enough that niceties were not expected, not when every second mattered in escaping a fate worse than death.

She shouldered past me as I dug my hand into my belongings. My fingers closed around the cool glass vials, only offering me a modicum of relief. Without care for propriety, I ripped my skirt off and shoved it inside. The tights beneath were far more conducive to sprinting.

Chaos crescendoed in the halls as the Heraphia shouted a warning and pleaded with everyone to hurry. I ducked and dodged members of the Elessarum as I wove toward the front door. Flinging it open, I found Zuriel a breath from busting it down.

“The hunters are coming,” he burst out, chest heaving. “Where is Heraphia?”

“Here!” she called out, emerging into the sun. She tossed Zuriel’s pack to him. He caught it with a loud smack and slung it over his shoulders in one smooth motion.

“We can’t wait for the others. We have to go. Now.” His normally measured, calm, voice was anything but. “These aren’t the normal ones. Korona Ioath sent her best forces after us.”

“You don’t mean…” I trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

“That her brother is among them?” Zuriel gritted out, grabbing our hands and tugging us along toward the nearest copse of trees. “The Issaraeth is here, and if he uses his Command power, we’ll all be his hostages before high sun.”

Heraphia gasped, clutching her tunic like she could prevent him from accessing her power.

The Issaraeth was the most feared of all the Elessarum hunters. He was responsible for the death of my parents and Heraphia’s brother during the stronghold’s raid. Or so I’d been told. I’d never so much as glimpsed him, which counted me among the lucky ones.

His presence dug a chill into the marrow of my bones.

“We have to warn the others!” I protested, digging my heels in.

Zuriel dragged me a few paces, digging up soft earth, before he halted and gave my arm a vicious jerk. “Do you want to be forced to See until you die, Sylaira? If they capture you and Heraphia, you’ll never escape.”

“But they’ll suffer too!” I ground out, yanking my arm out of his hold.

“They have to take their chances,” he shot back, a muscle jumping in his jaw like it too was impatient to flee. “Both of your visions are too powerful. Too frequent. I won’t let that happen to my wife. Or you.”

Heraphia bolted, her feet a frantic beat against the grass. Her pack bounced against her back, overfull. Just like me, her skirts were gone, aiding her escape. “Come on!”

Guilt gnawed at my gut. Zuriel was right. If I wanted to maintain my freedom—what little I had—we needed to go. Now.

I glanced back at the estate, where another couple had managed to escape the panic of the interior. They raced in the opposite direction of us. Better to split up and regroup later than to all be captured together. The fewer of us they could catch, the better.

Black horses surged through the thick trunks of the forest. White frothed against their bits, their riders leaning low in the saddles. Bridles gleamed with polished gems and silver adornments.

Tingles spread from my scalp to the tips of my toes.

Zuriel hadn’t been lying. The royal hunters were here.

The couple screamed, white magic exploding from their hands in an attempt to shield themselves against the oncoming group.

One horse reared, his scream echoing through the clearing. His rider gripped his long, black mane, mouth set into a firm, furious line.

My hand flew to my throat. My vision tunneled into a single pinprick, focused solely on the male I’d seen far too many times—but only ever in the torturous throes of my power.

Iron gray hair. Scarred brow. Eyes like a glacier.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t coerce my feet into unsticking from the ground. Horror had pieced my toes to the soft grass beneath my feet.

No. No. No. Please no. It can’t be him…

The lake shimmered beside him. But to me, it was a mirror shattering. A thousand shards of my fate. Glittering. Falling. Too late to catch.

After all this time, I finally knew who my mate was.

The male who haunted countless visions. Who drove me to drug my mind into silence.

The male the Goddess cursed to be mine.

The Issaraeth.

And so the breaking began.

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Author’s Note

One of my main goals in writing this duet was to explore the way belief—personal, political, and religious—shapes entire societies. Propaganda is merely a story told with enough conviction and emotion that it becomes truth. It can create massive change—both divine and detrimental.

“For those who stubbornly seek freedom, there can be no more urgent task than to come to understand the mechanisms and practices of indoctrination.” —Noam Chomsky