Someone throws fabric across my back, a scratchy cloak. The heft of it collapses me, the ring pinging against the stone and rolling away. Still, my fingers dig into the grooves between stones, and I heave toward it.
Hands cover me, a gentle voice begging me. No, I will not stop. I need to go—I need to get to Lila, for this was a mistake, coming here.
“Lila,” I scream again. My body ripples, blood splattering against the walls. “Needs—”
Another spray of crimson.
My arms drop, head lolling to the side. I need to tell someone, I need—
Briar.
Briar holds me, a crowd growing behind us. Faces once familiar now look on, horrified.
“Avery, honey—”
She whispers calming words, though her eyes dart around the space. She caresses my face, just like he did, the monster in the Pith, and I recoil, hissing. I hiss and hiss at her, but my body feels so heavy. It is the only fight left, to show my canines like the day I swore the blood oath to Illusion. To let her know that I hate being touched.
“Please be still.”
Tears pour down my temples, hot and burning like the blood from my lips.
“Lila,” I weep. “My—”
Briar clamps a hand over my mouth, cutting off the words and the surge of blood magic rising up from my throat. I sob harder, wincing in her grip. What is she doing? What the fuck is she doing? Does she not see? Can she not understand that something has happened, something terribly, terribly wrong? The greatest offense, the sickest act: the Mountain crushing the warmth fromthe strongest among us, the kindest, the best of us. The best of us. He has killed the best of us.
Not yet,a voice whispers.Not yet.
I thrash in Briar’s arms. Still, she holds a hand over my mouth, blood seeping through her fingers.
“Please stop,” she begs. “You’re killing yourself—”
“No,” I groan against her hand. “That’s not—”
If she knew, if she understood—I thought she’d understand—she would try to break the oath as well. Someone kneels beside her, beside me, almost glowing in the dark of the corridor.
Kassandra.
Kassandra, impassive, lips pursed, pale eyes on me, in the servants’ space. Unfeeling, uncaring, expressionless Kassandra. What does she need now? Does she not see that there are more important matters at play? I hate her. I hate her, I hate Briar, I hate them all. I hate Versara, I hate Jeremee for dying, I hate myself for living. But most of all, I hate the king.
My limbs grow heavy with despair, drooping. My head pounds and the hallway wavers. Kassandra is ordering extra cloth and water, then snapping at someone for parchment as Briar wraps the cloak over my exposed chest. She is telling Benji to leave, to go to the Nest and stay with a friend.
“Not the stables,” I moan. “Anywhere but the stables.”
“Avery,” my mistress says, voice solid and firm. Not gentle or cooing or dismissive or angry. Just a robust sound, a sturdy foothold in my roiling fear. I grapple for it. “We have your ring. But remember, riddles.”
Riddles?
Her eyes flick to the space around us, the faeries who scrabble away. Delicate hands slide beneath my back. I squirm. I am too heavy, too tall. I am a large faerie and Kassandra is a small fae. Then phantom hands join her own, and they lift. For once, I do not resist. For once, I lean into the solid force and cry as Kassandra and her magic carry me from the servants’ hall. Briar runs ahead, grabbing the door.
Kassandra carries me to her room, to her large bed and crisp white sheets.
No.
No, I cannot dirty them with my blood and saliva and nakedness. No, I try to twist out of her grip, but she holds me firm, lowering me to the bed. No, I do not belong here, I cannot be coddled while Lila is suffering so, and still, no one knows despite how much I try.
“Her face,” Briar whispers. “It’s scratched up—”
“Lila,” I try again. “Lila, she—”
