(Eve's POV)
The rune appeared in one corner of my workshop in Tuscany. Northern magic darkened the sunlit wall around it.
For two weeks, reports of the disgraced prince’s broadcast had moved through the magical underworld. I had expected the North to find me eventually.
I set down the mortar, wiped my hands on my apron, and touched the rune.
The image of a stone cell opened in the air.
Cassius knelt on the floor. Gray skin clung to his bones, and black veins pulsed across his face with each weak beat of his heart.
Torn royal clothes hung from his shoulders. He lifted his head, showing crimson eyes sunk deep in their sockets.
When he saw me, he crawled forward on his knees until the projection stopped him.
“Eve? Is it really you?” His voice broke. “I’m sorry. I deserve what’s happen
