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“Tell me what you’ve found,” she said, her voice low, and as she spoke, the air grew heavy around me, thick and cold, and I felt pinned to my chair, bound to it with invisible chains. I could see by the others’ expressions, the way they went rigid, that it was the same for them.

“Tell me,” she repeated, looking at Gareth. Her eyes flashed—one violet, one gold. Against her wan, slick skin, the pink scar on her brow looked angry and red, barely healed. “What have you found?”

Gareth looked suddenly green with nausea. I could see him fighting not to speak, but in the face of Yvaine’s power he had no choice. The words came out of him roughly, as if tugged from the deep on a fisherman’s line.

“While I was gone,” he began, “Heldine continued our work. She is a beguiler with a particular talent for investigative spells.” He drew in a ragged breath. “Her spellwork revealed colors, sounds, all of it gibberish,” he continued. “What can a flash of blue tell you, or the shriek of a bird? But then I came back from—”Wardwell.He’d almost said it, his lips forming the word, but then he hesitated, swallowed. The tendons on his neck stood out from the strain of fighting Yvaine’s magic. “When I came back, I brought Gemma with me.”

“My power of working glamours has helped to unveil more of the crown’s secrets,” Gemma continued. Her eyes were closed; her fingers gripped the edge of the table, white-knuckled. “Just as I was able to that night in Talan’s house. I saw beyond his flesh and bone to the crown beneath. I saw the truth in the lie and unraveled it.”

She turned away, tight-lipped.

“And what truth did you see?” Yvaine persisted.

The pressure in the air grew colder, heavier. Beside me, Ryder let out a low grunt of pain.

“It’s begun to bleed shadows,” Gareth burst out, panicked. “Like furls of smoke from a dying ember. And Heldine and Gemma, they’ve managed to uncover in its shadows…shapes. Words. A flake of gold, a rod of metal. And I’ve translated the words. The shadows…theywhisper.”

Ordinarily, Gareth would’ve been elated to share such remarkable news—his eyes lit up behind his glasses, his blond hair a mess from having dragged his hands through it a hundred times. But now he looked terrified, as if each word being pulled from him was another glimpse of an approaching disaster.

“What do they whisper?” Yvaine said eagerly.

The sight of her—fervent and hungry, so clearly not herself—gave me the strength to push against the cold hand on my chest. Unbidden, an image of Ankaret flashed into my mind.

Do not fear your old power, Farrin of the gods.

You must use it even when you are angry.

You must use it even when you are afraid.

I began to hum quietly, a patchwork tune.

“Tell me what they whisper!” Yvaine shouted. “What do you see in these shadows?”

“An egg, a goblet…” Gareth trailed off.

“A key,” said Gemma, her eyes full of tears. “A black lake under a full moon.”

I couldn’t bear seeing my sister’s quiet distress. I forced open my mouth, urged my hum into a song. There were no words, and I didn’t recognize the melody. It was new, a song composed out of my own desperation. At first my voice was thin, pressed flat by the queen’s will. But then my thoughts went to Philippa: her portentous words, her broken body healing itself, the maddening calm of her voice as she sat smoking in her chair, telling us all those impossible things.Demigods is the word.

The memory gave me an angry burst of strength. My song grew, and my voice poured forth, a supple river of sound. Each wordless note made me feel mightier. I was a torrent, a storm surging toward the shore.

Yvaine’s head snapped toward me, her eyes flashing, but when she tried to rise from her chair, the wave of my song pushed her back down. Baffled, she gasped for air. Her magic shot out in all directions, diverted from its course.

I stood, my legs shaking; I took a step forward, held my arms out to her. I gentled my voice.It’s all right. It’s me, Yvaine. I’m here. Don’t be frightened.

But as she struggled there, confused and furious, groping through the fog of my song, a stray piece of her baffled magic lashed out wildly and caught me in the throat. It was like being struck by a bolt of icy air whistling down from the Unmade Lands in the farthest north.

The cold stole my breath. I lost hold of my song and staggered, stumbling into the table. Our uneaten lunch rattled. Five glasses of sparkling lemonade tipped over all at once; the tablecloth bled pink.

And when I tried to sing again, it wasn’t music I found but a question, one of many I ached to ask but didn’t dare to, one of the many secrets I had, until that moment, successfully kept from Yvaine. But even in its disarray, her magic was tenacious, willful. It found my question and tore it from my throat.

“What do you know about demigods?” I croaked.

Yvaine, reeling in her chair, grew suddenly very still. My song had muddled her; now she was fully awake, her eyes a bright fury of violet and gold. Shadows ripped across her face, contorting the sweet lines of her jaw, the delicate sweep of her brows.

“What do you know?” she whispered, her voice low and rasping. A horror. “What have you seen?”

I didn’t know how to answer, couldn’t even turn to the others and ask for help. I shook my head, tried to back away. But Yvaine was fast. She shouted, “What have you seen?” with such desolation that it sounded like agony, inexplicable heartbreak. She flew at me and tackled me to the floor. She shook me, knocking my head against the tile. I was too shocked to breathe, to speak. The impact rang in my ears, drowning out everything but Yvaine’s furious screams.