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The bells of the Citadel’s five clock towers began to chime. Deep, resonant tones bloomed through the air with a supple physicality, as if they were not sounds but breezes, cool and tender, utterly at odds with my rising panic. Flustered, I counted the chimes: ten, eleven.

“Shit,” I muttered, feeling sick at the back of my throat. We were meant to begin our speech now—Gemma, Ryder, Alastrina, and I. At Yvaine’s request, we would be the ones to speak to the crowd about how hopeful we were now that our families’ long feud was over, how eager we were for this new era of peace. Ryder had sent a brusque note about what he and Alastrina intended to say—a letter I had actually deigned to read—and Gemma and I had engineered our own words to echo theirs. The great evils of misunderstanding, prejudice, and distrust slain by a new generation of Ashbournes and Basks. Enemies no longer, but allies. Peace and hope.

It was all utter nonsense, the sort of thing that would please Yvaine, satisfy at least some people’s curiosity, and pique the interest of others.The great evil of misunderstanding?I could hear the onlookers now, whispering it to each other behind their gloved hands and over the rims of their glasses.They finally killed that demon, didn’tthey? How do you suppose they did it?The legends that already existed about our families would grow wings and take soaring flight. Everyone would look at us with new interest, new respect.

Never mind that we’d done this thing without the help of any of our parents and that the act had nearly killed us all and Talan too. Never mind that the very idea of me standing on a dais beside the Basks was enough to make my own father nearly crush my wrist.

Distantly, I heard a royal herald inviting the crowd to gather at the platform near the grand staircase. “And now,” boomed his clarion voice, “we welcome Lord Alaster and Lady Enid of the House of Bask and their children, Lord Ciaran and Lady Alastrina…”

Ciaran. Of course—Ryder’s true name, which he hated for reasons I didn’t know and didn’t care to.

Distracted, desperate, unable to shake the feeling that something terrible was approaching, I followed Father toward the ballroom’s eastern veranda, where guests could dine and drink out of doors. Pale curtains tied with green and blue tassels hung at each polished wooden tentpole. The tables were piled high with arrangements of black feathers, sprigs of ivy, tiny glass lights spellcrafted by the royal beguilers to float in the air like fireflies.

Ryder stood there, his back to us and his arm outstretched. He was gently petting the round breast of a fat little sparrow perched on a low-hanging branch. He looked absurd, really, huge and hulking in his finery, the tiny sparrow a mere speck of fluff at his fingers. Alastrina stood at Ryder’s side, as pale and dark-haired as her brother, her posture dripping with boredom. Both of them were clad in black and blue, dashes of silver at their waists and hems, feathered epaulets giving them the look of brooding vultures. The herald in the ballroom announced them once more; neither Bask sibling made a move to go to him.

I saw my father stride toward them and raise his arms.

“So, here we all are,” he said, his voice booming across the stoneveranda, “being feted like any other family would dream of. And yet you two seem as interested in being here as I am.”

His voice was light, jovial even. Startled, I watched as if through the haze of a dream. Ryder turned to greet my father, his gaze dark, his smile strained. Beside him, Alastrina bristled with sudden alertness. The crowd nearby tittered, practically salivating, their drinks forgotten.Here are the Ashbournes and Basks, and they all look ready to pounce!

And then came a shadow, darting through the floating lights and tinkling glasses. A blurred outline of a man, a flash of silver.

My vision sharpened with horror. The flash was a knife, and the shadow holding it was racing straight toward Ryder.

I ran for him, not thinking anything butgo. I knocked over a chair, shoved past some faceless spluttering man whose chest glittered with diamonds.

The darting shadow lunged, his blade gleaming—but I got there first, a frightened cry bursting out of me as I leaped in front of Ryder.

Something hard rammed into my stomach, throwing me back against a wall of stone. My fevered mind imagined the knife’s blade sinking into my belly, how my blood might spew. In my shock, the world ringing in my ears, I registered only distant echoes and hands firm around my arms, holding me up. My father shouting furiously, the sounds of a fight. The fall of fists, the thud of a body.

“Farrin,” said a low voice at my temple, warming my skin. “Farrin, breathe. You’re all right.”

Shaking, I looked down. The voice was right. There was no knife sticking out of me, no blood. Only a slight tear in my dress, baring a sliver of my stomach, and a pink scrape below my navel from where the blade had hit me. Alastrina bent to retrieve the fallen knife, examined it, then pressed it gently against her thigh. The blade retracted, spring-loaded. A false blade. Harmless.

On the ground near my feet, a pale man with fair hair, dressedall in black, cackled madly. His nose was broken; blood poured down his lips.

“You should see your faces!” he howled, his eyes mad and white. “It was a joke, it was only a joke!”

“Let go of me!” Father was bellowing. “I’ll kill him!I’ll kill him!” He lunged for the man, swinging his deadly fists, his face a murderous red, but ten other men held him back, straining to contain him. Royal guards flooded out of the ballroom to apprehend the man, and beyond them I saw a rush of white and splendid color. It was Yvaine, high queen of Edyn.

My breath caught as I beheld her. No matter how often I looked upon my friend, the sight of her stunned me every time. She was a slight thing, her frame delicate, but her presence was like that of a mountain: fearsome and eternal, unmovable. When the gods had chosen her to be our queen on the day of their Unmaking centuries ago, she had been a simple human girl—a shepherdess, maybe, or a bookkeeper, or a weaver. No one knew; not even I knew. Yvaine would not tell me, and every time the topic arose in conversation, her eyes clouded over, and some distant loneliness came over her.

So I did not ask, and whatever she had been, she was something else now, something more. The gods had shocked her skin and hair white, left a pink star-shaped scar on her brow, and frozen her in a youthful body. Her eyes gave her away. One iris was a deep violet color, the other pale gold. Both crackled with power, years upon years held inside them.

Tonight she wore a long gown of shimmering turquoise—cerulean one moment, emerald the next—a perfect blend of our two families’ colors. Girlish sleeves fluttered at her shoulders. Her hair streamed behind her like sea foam, unadorned and unbound.

She paid no mind to the royal guards apprehending the hooting madman and instead came right to me, her swift steps like the fall ofrain on glass.

“Farrin,” she breathed, and took my hands gently in hers. After a moment, she relaxed, the lines of fear on her face smoothing out. “You’re all right. Thank the gods.”

Then she glanced behind me, and up, and I turned and realized that the solid wall behind me was the body of Ryder Bask. The voice at my temple, the hands that held me, the chest pressed against my back, holding me up, were his.

I ripped myself away from him. “Don’t you—” I stopped myself from scolding him.Don’t you touch me, I wanted to say, and yet the loss of his presence left me cold. There were far too many people watching us, hundreds of faces crowded at the ballroom windows. I swallowed my indignation, my heart pounding with lingering fear.

Ryder met my gaze with blazing blue eyes. A small, hard smile curved his mouth. “And I thought we were friends, Ashbourne,” he said quietly. “Did fighting monsters together do nothing to elevate your opinion of me?”

I didn’t answer him, too shaken for words, and turned to find Gemma flying toward us, Illaria just behind her.