“Suri found it.” My voice is hoarse, choked.
Sabine’s fingers hover over it, as if she’s afraid it will bite if she touches it.
My ribs feel too damn tight as I pace, needing to move, my hand flexing in and out of a fist. “The copy Woudix gave you was a fake. He set you up, Sabine. Poured promises of peace in your ear and gave you a book filled with puzzles to distract you. Tonight? That fucked-up puppet show? Vale knew it was goingto happen. Rian clocked it immediately—said Vale’s anger was just an act. Sabine, this entirethingis an act. The Fae Games. It’s all a trick. It was a means for Vale to take Old Coros by force, easy entry to the city. And I can prove it.”
I expect her to deny it. To defend her father once more. Or maybe not—maybe just to show shock at his betrayal.
The last thing I expect is for her calm, still silence.
I flip open the book to the page where the murals in Drahallen Hall’s basement left off, and jab my finger on it. “Thisis their plan. That bastard Woudix was behind it all along. And the puppet show today was part of the plan. To shock the public once with the resurrected dead, so that when it happens again, panic won’t immediately set in. They’ll think it’s just Artain’s buffoonery again. And when they realize it’s an attack, it will be too late.”
I flip through the illustrations:
A life-sized puppet show with human prisoners.
Dead bodies, brought back to their feet, terrorizing a city.
The fae court seated on thrones forged out of the rubble and violence.
She barely glances at the illustrations—the blueprint that lays it all bare, that shows us exactly what’s coming.
“I…” She swallows, voice catching in her throat. Then, more firmly, “I already know, Basten.”
A muscle twitches beneath my eye. I breathe deep, try to keep my voice level. “What do you mean, you know?”
She hesitates, then grabs my hand and pulls me toward the window. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. I had another dream. Only—like before—it wasn’t a dream. It was a memory. A recovered one from a Return long ago. I heard them speak about this plan. When I woke, I looked outside… That light? That’s fey. It’s aportal. Look.”
A cold dread coils up my spine as I follow her gaze to the dark city skyline. Sabine points toward Valor Circle, where the Valor Bell tower rises over the rooftops. Where a flicker—bright and wrong—shimmers at its peak.
Fey light.
A portal.
Open.
And then I hear it.
The scrape of desiccated flesh and bone against stone. I know that sound because, unfortunately, I’ve heard it before.
It’s the dry rasp of the walking dead.
Chapter 31
Sabine
The streets of Old Coros are so packed with midnight revelers that Basten and I can barely push our way through. Even without disguises, no one stops their merriment to bat an eye at their king and queen breathlessly stumbling toward Valor Belltower.
Except—
“Hey!” A cloaked beggar on the street corner, crutch at his side, suddenly shoves to his feet, moving toward us without a trace of a limp.
Rian shoves his hood back, darting glances at the crowd. “What the fuck are you two doing out here?”
“Rian?” I say.
“I told you to go to bed,” Basten growls, shoving Rian in the chest.
Rian catches his balance, combing his fingers back through his hair. “Are you my mother now, Basten? Of course, I’m not going to heed your orders—not when those Blades are prowling around, suspicious as fuck.” He tosses his hands in the air. “And gods, don’t arrest me again! I’m so fucking tired of shackles. So, I slipped my guards again…you’d have done the same.”
