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I pulled Bennum Wellebourne’s crucible cage out of my bag, setting the severed, shriveled hand on the floor beside Nessie.

Next, I needed the iron forged from the blood of a person who loved me. My parents loved me. They loved my sister. They would want this.

I told myself,They would want this.

I carefully held the waterskin of my parents’ ashes over the palm of the crucible cage, pouring the blackened flecks in the center and chanting the runes as they landed. There was far more ash than should fit in the open hand, but as I spoke the runes, the ash swirled in the center, condensing, becoming a hardened black lump. I didn’t stop until all the ash had been poured.

I finished speaking the runes.

In the center of the mummified hand of Bennum Wellebourne was a small lump of blood iron. I reached for it with trembling fingers.

I turned to show the creation to my sister, to prove to her that it had been worth the wait.

But Ernesta was no longer breathing.

FIFTY-THREE

Nedra

“No, no, no,”I said, scrambling over to my sister’s body.

I pressed my fingers against her pulse points, but her heart was silent.

Her skin was already cold.

My empty stomach churned. Had I imagined hearing her say my name? Had I imagined her breath, shallow but steady? Had I, in my exhausted state, pretended my twin was alive as I pulled her body up the stairs? Or had she passed as I knelt beside her, playing with a darker magic than she’d ever dreamed existed?

“Nessie, Nessie,” I begged, tears blinding me so much that I could almost pretend her chest rose and fell, rose and fell again.

It’s not too late.

I turned back to the crucible—not a crucible. Not yet. The iron was made, a hard lump in my hand. But there was still one step left. I dropped the iron bead into the palm of the crucible cage.

A sacrifice.

I grasped for my father’s book, flipping through its worn pages. I remembered what Master Ostrum had said about Bennum Wellebourne, how he’d almost been bled dry. How there needed to be death in the blood.

I found it. My eyes lingered over the runes, but when I opened my mouth to read them aloud, no sound came out. I took a deep, shaking breath and forced myself to begin chanting.Take what you must.Leave me the power. Take what you must, leave me the power.An open promise, a blanket offering.

My mouth kept moving as I crouched over my sister’s remains.

Take what you must, leave me the power.

Ernesta’s body glowed, tiny bits of bright gold flickering over her body, rising like fog on the water.

Take what you must, leave me the power.

I felt the burning in my fingers first, fire traveling up my arm, past my elbow. My nails melted, white hot. I hissed in pain, but kept chanting.

Take what you must, leave me the power.

Anything for her.

My blood boiled. My skin ripped apart as tiny bubbles of red burst through, spilling out over my arm. The veins of my left wrist cracked open, a fountain of crimson spilling over my fingers. I screamed in pain, but through the sound, I did not stop chanting.

Take what you must, leave me the power!

My flesh unwound.