Silas growled. Through the gaps in the train car’s walls, I spotted movement. Hunters. A dozen at least, surrounding the car, their boots crunching on gravel between the rails.
“There’s no need to report it,” I whispered, realization sinking in. “They were already here, watching the whole time. Waiting.”
Wickett’s face went carefully blank. Back to the mask I was learning to hate.
The train car door screeched as it was wrenched fully open. Three hunters filed in, their silhouettes dark against the daylight behind them.
Wickett straightened, and for just a heartbeat I saw something crack in his expression. Regret. Shame. Something human. Then, it was gone. “We report this. Now.”
He walked out, barely acknowledging the hunters, leaving Pip’s grief behind like it meant nothing. I stayed on my knees beside her, one hand still on her shoulder. She hadn’t cried, but her sorrow was so thick I could feel it as strongly as the curse.
“The Circle will want his body,” she said quietly, all her usual brightness extinguished. “To send him home proper. So his mama knows what happened. Crimson came from Brathen.”
“Then we’ll make sure that happens.” I looked at Lucette. “Won’t we?”
“You’ll turn him over. The Magistrate will decide what happens,” one of the female hunters said.
Ignoring the hunter, Lucette nodded once, her gaze shifting between me and Pip. “My friends call me Lucy. And yes, your people will get him back, Pip. You have my word.”
Pip nodded once, wings drooping. “Thank you. That’s—thank you.”
We filed out into the rain, leaving the train station behind. But the image of Crimson dying, of my magic feeding the curse, of Pip’s brightness breaking—those stayed with me.
DEC. Three letters traced in ash and blood.
I didn’t know what they meant yet. The beginning of a word, initials, an acronym—it could’ve meant anything.
But Iwouldfigure it out. For Pip. For Crimson. For everyone the Magistrate had crushed.
Even if it killed me. Or worse, exposed me.
Chapter 24
Syneca
If the kettle whistles thrice before it boils, a stranger thinks of you with ill intent.
The march back to Chancellery House felt like walking to an execution.
Lucy carried Crimson’s body wrapped in her jacket, cradling it against her chest with gentleness. Pip flew overhead in grieving circles, her usual bright chatter replaced by silence that felt heavier than any words.
We moved through streets that grew increasingly hostile the closer we got to the compound. A scorched woman spat at my feet as we passed, her face twisted with hatred. “Witch! Bringing death wherever you go!”
More circled. Not all unfriendly, but pushing in.
“Did you find the Phoenix yet?”
“Did the witch kill the sprite?”
Another man shoved forward, licking the tip of his stylus before bringing it to his small notebook. “Please... I work for theGrimora Gazette. Do you have any comments on your hunt so far?”
No one spoke; we simply moved in silence toward the Chancellery.
“How about the championship? Thunderfen Hounds are favored to beat the Banshees this year. Who do you hope to see win?”
I kept my head down and continued walking. Calder positioned himself between me and the growing crowd, his hand near his blade. A group of heretics closed in from the left, their tattered robes marking them as believers in whatever they’d decided was truth today. They chanted about cleansing fire and divine cities, pressing closer with wild eyes and grasping hands. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have wondered if they too had been cursed to believe.
“Move,” Wickett said with a growl, stepping in close enough that his shoulder aligned with mine, creating a wall with Calder on my other side. He angled his body slightly forward, putting himself between me and the reaching hands, his stance shifting into something that promised violence. The crowd scattered.
