Ezekiel found his grandfather in the library.

The Duke sat behind a desk crowded with maps and ancient books. Even while reading poetry, he looked like a man preparing for war.

“You have been dreaming,” the Duke said before Ezekiel could speak.

“How did you know?”

“You have the same expression Lana wore when the gift first awakened.”

Ezekiel sat across from him.

“Rue said our family can see the past and future.”

“The Demon’s Sight,” the Duke said. “Our blood remembers what the world prefers to forget.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Extremely.”

He closed the book.

“The dreams may show truth, but they rarely explain it. A memory can be distorted by grief. A future can disappear because of one decision.”

“Did you ever dream of my father?”

“Occasionally.”

The Duke’s expression softened.

“More often, I dreamed of Lana when she was young and needed me.”

He placed a hand on Ezekiel’s shoulder.

“Use what you see as a guide, not a chain.”

That night, Ezekiel could not sleep.

Ermes’ warning repeated inside his mind.

Stay close to Lana.

He left his room and wandered into the garden.

Moonlight shone across the fountain. Lilies perfumed the cool air.

Lanastha stood alone beside the water.

She wore a white nightgown and a crimson shawl. Her dark hair fell loose across her shoulders.

She was crying.

“What am I supposed to do, Ermes?” she whispered toward the moon. “I do not know how to live without you.”

Her voice broke.

“I am so tired.”

Ezekiel’s chest tightened.

She was not the Witch of Bonaventura in that moment.

She was simply a grieving woman.

“Mother?”

Lanastha spun around.

Her mask returned too late.

“Ezekiel. Why are you awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“You should not be here.”

“I heard you.”

Her lips pressed together.

“You miss him.”

Something in her expression cracked.

“Every day.”

Ezekiel walked closer.

“I have been avoiding you.”

“I noticed.”

“I was frightened.”

He looked down at his hands.

“I heard what you said to the assassin. Then I saw what you did.”

Lanastha’s crimson eyes were fierce, but not cold.

“You believe I am a monster.”

“No.”

He lifted his head.

“I think you are my mother. I did not understand you before.”

He swallowed.

“I am beginning to.”

For several seconds, only the fountain spoke.

Then Lanastha knelt and placed her hands gently on his shoulders.

“Everything I do—every bloody and unforgivable thing—I do because I refuse to lose you.”

Her voice trembled.

“I lost Ermes. I will not lose you too.”

Ezekiel’s eyes burned.

“I think Father knows.”

Lanastha went still.

“I saw him in a dream.”

Her grip tightened.

“He told me to stay close to you. He told me to trust you.”

Ezekiel wrapped his arms around her.

“And I do.”

For the first time, Lanastha embraced him without hesitation.

She held him so tightly it almost hurt.

Neither spoke again.

Beneath the silver moon, mother and son remained beside the fountain, clinging to one another as if they had both finally found their way home.