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Yvaine burst out laughing. “Oh, Ryder. There’s no need to lie. It’s awful here—everyone’s far too loud, and they’ve made a mess of my rooms. But Thirsk is funny like that. All my advisers are. They seem to think a party is less of a danger to me than an Ashbourne on her own. Isn’t that odd?” When her eyes cut to mine, their hard glitter softened. “So, a party it is, if that’s what I must do to see my friend. I do hope Gemma will join us too, and Gareth as well, if they can bear to pull themselves away from their books.”

Then, before I could reply to any of this, Yvaine grabbed my hand and pulled me into the room, past the crackling hearth and the tables piled high with plates and goblets, the fiddlers in the corner, the dancers spinning beside them. There was laughter everywhere, and someone was playing a jolly reel on a piano in an adjoining chamber. Yvaine’s guests called out to us in greeting as we passed; I gave them only the barest distracted replies. I was too focused on Yvaine. She darted through the room like a newborn lamb, her gait unsteady. Her hand was sweaty around mine, her grip hard. I glanced back once at Ryder, who was following us, and saw in his thoughtful frown that he was thinking the same thing: something was wrong. Yvaine was not as well as her letter had said. My stomach dipped, unsettled; I wondered what exactly she’d said to her advisers—what she’d done—to make them relent and allow my return.

She led us to a corner of the room adorned with cushions and blankets, lit by a crystal chandelier that spun slowly, casting soft fragments of light across the floor. She sat on a tasseled burgundy chair, grabbed a flute of sparkling wine from a passing servant’s tray, and knocked it back in one gulp.

I reached for her in alarm, words of caution on my lips, but she started talking before I could say a word.

“So, tell me, my gallant champions, my eyes and ears,” she said, looking back and forth between us, “what is the latest news from out there in the world? What evil forces have you rooted out and conquered in my name?”

Flummoxed, I at first said nothing. A hundred different answers came to mind—resurrected gods, Ankaret, Wardwell tucked away in the northern forest, Gemma and Mara and me, all demigods—but I dared not voice any of them.

Ryder spoke first. “This is hardly the place to discuss such matters, Your Majesty. With so many people about—”

“No, of course, you’re right.” Yvaine waved her hand, silencing him. She watched two dancers whirl by, something pensive on her face. They were drunk and laughing; they knocked over a small table and sent glasses crashing to the floor, which made them laugh harder.

The sound made me flinch; I thought of Father locked in his rooms at home, the glass flying against the mantel, his roar of fury.

Yvaine jumped to her feet and reached for me, her eyes shining. “Dance with me,” she said abruptly. “Won’t you, Farrin?”

Quite lost for words, I glanced at Ryder, who looked deeply unhappy, and let Yvaine pull me to my feet with a flutter of fear in my chest. We whirled about the room, and those gathered cheered us on, raising their glasses to us, urging the fiddlers to play faster, and faster. The musicians were competent enough, though their instruments could have used a good tuning, but I didn’t have time to ponder that for long. Yvaine didn’t allow it. I could hardly keep up with her; she was so light in my arms I thought she might fly away with every step. The changes in her made me feel sick at heart—how thin she was, how her every movement was frantic, edgy. At last, the song finished, and we returned to our little corner. Yvaine grabbed another drinkand flopped down onto a luxurious emerald-green cushion. Panting, grinning, skin damp with perspiration, she looked up at me, then at Ryder.

“Now you,” she said, gesturing at us. She shot Ryder a playful smile, but her fingers trembled. “I know you want to. Dance, and show me how good you look together.”

I wanted desperately to do anything else; Yvaine’s snappish voice belied her indulgent smile. But what were we to do? Our queen had commanded us to dance.

Ryder stood, and so did I. I couldn’t look at him; in his direct blue gaze, I knew I would see all my discomfort, all my worries, reflected back at me, and I wasn’t sure I could bear that. What was happening here? Yvaine was even less herself than she had been the last time I’d seen her, when she’d murmured those strange words:Moon by day, fire by night. Come and dance. Don’t try to fight. The beauty of shadows, the garish sunlight. Spin for the watchers, their revels so bright.

Moonhollow.The word danced through my mind on slippery heels. The fiddles were playing a slower song now, a little melancholy. I clung to Ryder as we danced, letting him lead me with his easy strength. He was a surprisingly graceful dancer, sure-footed and confident. His hand at my waist was firm, and the heat of him was intoxicating—not fevered and strange like Yvaine’s, but steady, comforting, like a lit hearth in winter. When we finished dancing, I squeezed his hand gratefully. Moving with him had cleared my mind.

We returned to Yvaine, who sat regarding us over the rim of her goblet. Her expression was troubled, wistful; her eyes no longer held that hard gleam. Then she nodded to herself, as if something had been confirmed for her, and said to Ryder, “Tell me about Ravenswood.” Her voice was grave now, almost solemn. “I’ve been there before, but it’s been many years.”

Ryder looked surprised. He glanced at me, then back at Yvaine.“It’s…cold. Not as far north as some other places, but high enough in the mountains that the wind often cuts you. The mansion has forty-two rooms, and everything is made of black stone. We have five stables, and our forests stretch for miles—”

“No, no. Not the house. Tell me about your life at Ravenswood. Your…” Yvaine hesitated, and I saw a glimmer of her normal, steady self, a flash of pity and kindness. “Your sister, Alastrina. You grew up together in those halls. You were close. You always have been.”

At the mention of his sister, Ryder’s expression closed. “Alastrina,” he repeated flatly. “You want to know about Alastrina.”

Yvaine looked away, took a sip of her wine. “They’ve been coming to the Senate hall every day,” she said quietly. “The families of those who were taken. They tell me everything about the lost, trying to make me love them as they do, I suppose. They don’t understand that of course I already do. The whole world is my home, every creature my child.”

She took another sip, and her voice hushed even further, her gaze distant and flat. “They plead with me to do something, and every time I must deflect them without frightening them. I can’t tell them how I search and search for the taken, stretching my power as much as I dare, and yet find nothing. I can’t tell them about the sinkhole, about my illness. What would they think? They would be even more afraid, and there are already rumors enough.” She touched her temple, her fingers unsteady.

“More recently,” she went on, “these people have been making petitions to my councils, because Thirsk and the others, the Royal Conclave, haven’t let me attend their sessions. They fear the distress of these people will distressme. And of course it will. Itdoes, and it should. I went to the Senate hall today, despite their protests. I told them I would banish them from Gallinor if they tried to stop me. They believed me. I think I sounded very fearsome when I said that.I knocked Lady Bethan off her feet with only my voice. I didn’t mean to. She cried for hours afterward.”

The matter-of-fact way she said it made my blood run cold. Yvaine was usually careful to disguise her might from us all. It was a kindness, I’d always thought, a way to make us feel safe in the presence of something unthinkable—a human chosen by the gods to be a queen. But tonight she seemed almost relieved to speak of such things so candidly. Her words were tired, blunt.

She looked up at Ryder, silently imploring. “But no one has come to speak for Alastrina—not yet, anyway. So I want to hear it from you, if you’ll grant me that gift. Tell me about her, and about you.”

Ryder sat in silence for a moment, his mouth thin. Then a cold ripple of power swept over us—a power of compulsion, urging us wordlessly forward. Yvaine didn’t look ashamed; she fixed Ryder with an even, unblinking look.

He spoke then, reluctantly, which made me think the nudge she’d given him was only a small one. Yet still I felt sick to see it happen, to hear his rough voice and know he had no choice but to use it.

“There isn’t much to tell,” he began. “It’s a simple story. My father is a cruel man. He always has been. Like Lord Gideon”—he glanced at me, a slight apology in his eyes—“he was ruled for years by Kilraith’s will, by the machinations of every demon he held in his thrall. And so was his father before him, and his father before that. When you are raised in a house of violence, it is all too easy to become violent yourself.”

Ryder drew in a shaky breath. “My father’s moods were capricious. I woke every morning not knowing if it would be a day of terror or of peace. If a blizzard came, would that be enough to send him raging? If he slew a big enough stag while on a hunt with his men, would that buy us a few hours of quiet? Mother took the brunt of his anger, when it came. When we were little, Trina and I were too frightened to fight for her. We quickly found all the best places tohide—every cupboard, every dark corner, every loose floorboard. This was how I learned to be quiet, to move with stealth. Trina made it a game. The worst days were when Father sent his men to search the house for us while he roared at them from downstairs to hurry up, to not be so stumbling and stupid.Just be very quiet, she told me on those days, both of us crammed into a kitchen pantry full of pots and pans, or a wardrobe behind our dead grandmother’s dresses.Be very quiet, and they won’t be able to find us. Not here. Not ever.”

Listening to him, I could hardly breathe, my chest knotting up with breathless sadness. I had known none of this. Had my parents known, and walled up Ravenswood in that cursed forest for years even so? My stomach dropped to think of Ryder and Alastrina and poor Lady Enid trapped in a house they couldn’t escape, locked up with a father and husband who was more terror than man. It was suddenly, heartbreakingly clear to me why Ryder had chosen not to use the name his father had given him.

“She protected me,” Ryder said, quieter now. “She was afraid too, of course she was, but she didn’t let me see it. I was her little brother. Protecting me was more important than being afraid. Later…”