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“They don’t want anyone to know that someone important can be killed inside such a protected building,” she replied. “It might stir up support for the rebellion.”

“Are you going to explain to me why you think the Ruckus is the safest place for me to go and mend a book whose contents are a mystery?”

“No.” And that was the end of it. Thorn kept everything close to her chest. “For the past couple of years, they have been taking our people in. So ask for sanctuary, and they’ll probably give it. Now. Hurry.”

While the city was dark and quiet, the fairground was loud and alive with people and Earthworld magic. And Yuletide magic was only a faint, dusting glimmer on the snowflakes—by the sixth night, the midpoint, those flakes would glow silver in the dark.

This night was the darkest night of the year, and King Malar of the Barren liked to show the Skyworld he, and therefore his subjects, didn’t care for its control of the moon and stars. As soon as the procession was over—before the town clock struck midnight—every man, woman, and child would race for home and bar the doors. They skirted a fine line between obeying their king and tempting the Yule fates.

The sky pressed down on my shoulders, warning me I was not welcome. Annatalia worshipped the Skyworld, and we would never be out on a Yule night even if it were still before the official beginning.

Most of the kings and lords of the kingdoms tolerated the Skyworld’s—the phoenixes’—power, though most did a poor job of concealing their true feelings. The people of Earthworld wanted them gone for good.

It didn’t take long to get to the fairground and sweep around the perimeter to the far edge, where all the Showman’s Wagons were parked in a large circle. Finding the fairground manager’s wagon was easy; he had painted it bright red and gold, and it sat outside the workers’ circle off to one side.

“Lights are on,” murmured Thorn.

We waited by the last wagon in the workers’ circle until the first procession bell chimed out, and then both Thorn and I were off at a sprint, hiking up our layered dresses.

There were three small steps leading up to the wagon’s gold door, which had black and white protection runes written in long lines down it. No one was getting in without being invited.

“I’m going to check it out. Keep watch,” I signed.

Thorn nodded and shifted back into the shadows by the side of the wagon, scanning the area. I lifted a hand and waved, knowing better than to touch a mage’s door. The door swung open a moment later, and before me was a man in his fifties, his long hair plaited and beaded. I wasn’t expecting to see a Celt of the Ruckus so far from his homeland.

“You have it?” His brow was furrowed as he scanned me and then up at the sky.

“We came with the stars,” I replied, one of the many rebel codes.

He stepped aside, and I hurried past him, expecting—hoping—Ember would be inside.

“Your friend is long gone.”

My fists clenched, ready to fight, ready to scream, ready to run and find her. Instead, I slowly moved back to the door. My gut told me that he was on edge when he had no need to be.

“I’m just going to…” get the hell out of here.

“Give me the book.”

“Tell me what you know of my friend, and you can have it.”

“She was taken by Riders nearly an hour ago.” He tilted his head at me as if he were trying to gauge whether I was going to be trouble. “Come and sit down.”

Reaching into the fake pocket of my dress, my hand slid all the way down to the small dagger strapped around my thigh. I readied myself to draw it and throw it at him.

“You must be tired. Have a seat. I was told that there would be three of you. Where is the other one?”

“I’m fine.” Inching back towards the door, I kept my eyes on him. He didn’t seem like a fairground manager. Nothing about this setup seemed right. Thorn needed to be warned.

“Did I give you the impression you had a choice?” His hand shot out, dark green tendrils of Earthworld magic seeping out of his fingertips, much like the fire which had come out of Kit’s fingertips. One tendril swept into my bag and pulled out the decoy book while the other filled my mouth, the smell of damp earth and salt filling my nose.

The wagon spun, and the sharp, dirt-rich metallic taste of Earthworld magic hit my tongue and fogged my mind. The wagon floor came up to meet me. My knees smarted on impact, and then I tilted sideways so hard that my bones juddered as I crashed to the floor. My shoulder blazed with white-hot pain. My legs and arms were no longer under my command. I tried to push myself up off the floor, but there was no strength in it. My heart thumped, and panic coiled deep in my stomach as some unnatural sleep tried to take me under.

No. No. No!

Everything was going wrong, and it was all my fault.

Second Night of Yule