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I don’t know how long I am in the coffin, how the minutes stretch. I don’t know when my body finally goes quiet, settling into some terrible state of catatonia. I might’ve slept briefly or passed out. But at some point, I am brought back to the present by the sound of scraping.

At first I think the centipedes are back, and terror returns fast as a whip. But then I hear a voice—gruff, male. A moment later, there is Light.

Deep blue light breaks into the coffin, and a moment later the lid flips open. Hovering over me is the grumpy, glowering face of Nurse Verne, and he’s holding the strangest Light anchor I’ve ever seen—a knotted wooden cane glowing that gentle blue.

Chapter Eighteen

“Of all the damned places. Get out,” Nurse Verne grumbles.

I eye the blue glowing cane. “What’s that?”

“It’s my Light anchor. What does it look like?” He taps it irritably against the rim of the coffin. “And you can skip the giggles about it. Mighty useful, it is. Can flog you lot on the backs of your scruffy heads as well as any fiendling.”

I gingerly push myself to my elbows. Every muscle in my body is weak. I feel like I’ve been run over with a carriage, pushed down stairs, attacked by bees, and buried alive all at once.

“Sorry, sir. I’ve just never seen your Light anchor before.”

He folds his hands on top of it. “Used to have a table leg. Excellent for bludgeoning. But then I lost it, and the Saints granted me this. Great cosmic joke. I’m no spring chicken, but I ain’t dead. Bastards might as well have given me false teeth for an anchor.”

I pull myself all the way up, and then Orla is there, stern-faced as she helps me out of the coffin. Ollinde stands beside Nurse Verne, their arms folded over their chest. They, at least, look none the worse for what we’ve endured tonight, but I suppose that’s the benefit of being a changeling.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere,” they say, looking peeved, like I’ve been skipping class and not fighting for my life.

“Sorry to inconvenience you. I was abducted.”

Orla gives me a once-over when I’m out of the coffin. “You look terrible.”

“Really? How odd.”

She rolls her eyes. “I was just making an observation.”

“An astute one,” growls Nurse Verne. “You’re covered in strange bites, girl. What did you run into? You’ll need to have those treated. Perhaps a dose of antivenom. And peppermint, just to be sure.”

“How did you find me?” I ask.

“Lonan said that prince took you. Doesn’t take a genius to try his chambers,” Orla says. “We found Nurse Verne along the way, and he insisted on coming with.”

“Demanded, more like,” drones Ollinde.

“And lucky for you lot that I did!” He wags his cane at each of us. “You speckle-faced scraplings have no business meddling in this. You should see what I’m dealing with in the infirmary—had to knock out each and every victim or risk further infection. And that’s not to mention the bodies. It’s that sickness, that Dark trickery that could only come from Imaelhain—”

“It’s not Imaelhain,” I interrupt. “The prince confessed it. He’s a siphon who believes it will give him the power to finally defeat Imaelhain and rule Gault indefinitely.”

Nurse Verne’s lip curls. “Then he’s a fool and a traitor. Blasted royals. Cause more trouble than they’re worth. Brains curdled by inbreeding.”

“But why did you come looking for me?” It seems too big of a risk after I was carried off in the arms of a siphon.

“Despite what you might think,” Ollinde cuts in, “we do not want to see you dead.”

“We can have a big happy family reunion later. Let’s get out of the viper’s nest, thank you,” says Orla.

“Where are the others?” I retrieve my scythe from the floor, immediately relieved by the feel of it in my hands.

“In a safe place. Or safer, at least,” Orla says, ushering us all out the door. “Lonan nearly lost it when the prince took you. He’s been tearing the school apart.”

I don’t know how to process that information, so I tuck it away, possibly to be examined later . . . or left forgotten.

The halls are too quiet. Too calm. There is a distinct lack. Lack of bodies or injured students. Lack of panic. Lack of sound or anything amiss. That is what sets me on edge more than anything. I’d rather have a monster to fight. I’d rather have terror in my face and at my throat than cope with this walk on a tightrope.