Valtira.
My head throbbed mercilessly, each pulse striking like a hammer against the inside of my skull.
The sharp burn in my throat scraped away what little strength remained in me, as though the very air had turned against me.
It pressed heavily against my skin—against every bare inch my dress did not shield—cold and suffocating.
Then memory returned.
Ivanka.
The cup.
The sweetness.
The betrayal.
Wolfsbane.
A tremor of fury rolled through me.
Oh, she would answer for that.
My hand shifted weakly across the ground, fingers grazing ash.
When my eyes fully opened, the first thing I saw was Raven’s face hovering above me—wide, frightened, hopeful.
“Mother… you’re awake!” she breathed, her small voice trembling, unable to rise above the charged silence in the chamber.
“Raven
