Dawn filtered through the cracks of the cell, a faint light that did nothing to drive away the cold lodged in my bones. I woke with a groan, the pain of the beating still throbbing in every muscle, every bruise a reminder of the night before. Sigvar growled in my mind, his fury a constant echo, but weakened by the silver that still burned my wrists. The cell smelled of mold and defeat, and the memory of what I had done with Mara hit me like a punch to the gut.
Eva.
I had conjured Eva in her features—her creamy skin, her spontaneous smile—in order to perform. But she wasn’t Eva. Mara was a shadow, cold calculation, and I had yielded, betrayed Hilda, betrayed myself, just to save her. The broken bond with Eva throbbed in my chest, a sharp pain that made me question whether it had been wort
