“No. It wasn’t.” When he looks at her, she holds his gaze. “Thank you for trying to explain.”
His mouth curves into the smallest of smiles. “Thank you for letting me.”
And that, she supposes, is about as close as they are going to get to an understanding. It’s certainly the closest theyshouldget. But that doesn’t stop her from being aware of how little distance separates their thighs right now. Of how easy it would be to shift, so that they touched. To see just what sort of reaction she’d get from him.
It’s the moonflower and wine, lowering her inhibitions—but it doesn’t make it any less real. Axel is looking at her like he knows what she’s thinking. It’s like he’s waiting, not wanting to be the one to make the move, not wanting to tip over the edge of whatever this is.
Then there is a howl, breaking through the night.
The sound is haunted, desperate, animal.
She is on her feet, moving. She doesn’t know why or what—but she knows in that instant that something terrible has happened. Another howl cuts the dark, eclipsing all music. And Skylar feels the effects of the moonflower washed away by something cold.
She runs through the bark door, Axel right behind her. There is a crowd of people in one corner, next to one of the tables. The nearest vendor, selling expensive dragonglass charms, looks nervous, hurriedly packing away.
Skylar moves toward the commotion. Her heart is in her throat, a high ringing in her ears. She shoves the nearest person out of the way.
“Let us pass, please.” Axel’s voice is cool and calm. She doesn’t know if he uses his power to back it up, but the crowd parts, leaving a path for them. To see the body, lying on the ground. The blood, oozing from a wound in the midriff.
It’s the wound Skylar notices first. Before she sees the navy hair, spilling over part of the face. A face, wearing a mask with the eyes and nose of a panther, giving way to beautiful lace wings. They are too far away to see the eyes that stare vacantly through the gaps in the mask, but Skylar knows they will be the color of a deep ocean on a sunny day.
Bile rises in her throat as she stumbles toward the body. No one has got anywhere near her, as if distance means they cannot be blamed. No one has checked whether she is alive. They have just left her there. Alone.
Horrible panic surges in Skylar as she reaches out with the power that is desperate to take life, looking for energy from the woman lying on the ground. Her magic is poised, ready to draw in whatever there is left.
But there is nothing.
The white fox howls again, and Skylar sees him now. He is padding toward the body, nudging it, then away again—and she knows he is calling for help. For a second, those icy blue eyes meet hers, and although she is Vatran, it’s like he has recognized her as the only possible ally amid the enemy. His eyes plead with hers, asking her to do something.
But it’s no use.
Because Astrid is dead.
37Skylar
Axel’s expression is stricken. He is visibly paling in front of her, shaking his head frantically. He is saying something.No.She can’t hear properly, not over the ringing in her ears. But she knows why he’s looking at her like that. Because if Astrid is dead, so is she.
She feels numb. She thought she would have felt something the moment the blood bond broke, but there has been nothing.
Dead. Astrid is dead. How long does Skylar have before she joins her? Seconds? Minutes?
Axel is closing the gap between them, still speaking. “No. We’ve got to… I’ll figure this out… There must be something…” Panicked words, blending into one another. It is all distant, the world around her no more than a hum.
Then a sound, as horrible as the fox’s howl, cuts through from the back of the crowd. Skylar turns toward the crackle in the air. Zryan is already forming the word “No” as he runs. She moves to him, grabbing his arm to stop him—because she doesn’t want him to have to see this. He shoves her away so violently that she falls to the floor, landing on her back. Axel is by her side in a second, helping her to her feet. He refuses to let her go when she stands, gripping her painfully, like he’ll tether her to life by sheer force of will.
Zryan turns to the watching crowd, and fury flashes in his eyes. “Get a Curer!” Skylar doesn’t know who he is directing that to, if he even knows himself. “Who did it?” he continues, his tone lethal.
People back away from him, some turn and run the other way.
“Who hurt her?” Hurt, not killed. Like he won’t accept it. His voicelowers. “If someone doesn’t get me a Curer right now, you are all fucking dead.” The crowd scatters.
But Skylar has noticed something. Quincy isn’t pacing anymore. He is lying down next to Astrid. His eyelids flicker, his breathing seems to slow.
She reaches out tentatively with her power again, and senses it—a second life, ebbing away. She looks again at the figure on the floor. Astrid’s hair, Astrid’s clothes, Astrid’s mask.
But there were two navy-haired witches at the ball tonight. One princess. One decoy.
“It isn’t her.” She whispers it, isn’t sure who hears her.
