POV EMMA BELLE
The Obsidian Spire rose from the jagged earth like a rotted tooth. It was a fortress of shadow and bone, the air around it thick with the sulfurous scent of Council magic. My heart was a frantic bird in my chest, but it wasn't just fear driving me—it was the tether. I could feel the children's terror vibrating through the ground, a low, mournful hum that only a White Queen could hear.
"Quiet," Damon breathed, his voice a low vibration against my back.
We were pressed against the cold, jagged exterior of the Spire's lower levels. The Council's sentinels, hulking warriors with eyes clouded by dark enchantments, patrolled the battlements above. We couldn't fight our way in—not yet. Not while the children were being held with silver knives at their throats.
"Nathan
