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Soon, I realize we’re taking a covered route to connect us to Lothian Tower, which makes no sense at all.

We step into the main hallway of Lothian Tower, and relief washes over me.

The route is completely blocked, packed with demi-Fey and cadets. Raphael stands in front, his arms folded, jaw clenched in anger. My eyes skim over the crowd, but I can’t spot my friends. Still, all these demi-Fey are my allies.

“Raphael,” I say weakly. “There’s a secret?—”

One of the goons hits me, a sudden punch into my stomach, and my breath whooshes out. I feel like I’m suffocating.

I glance up. Raphael unsheathes his sword, his eyes lit with silver, but Wrythe already has a dagger pressed to my throat. The knife edges into my skin.

“Step any closer, and she dies,” he tells Raphael.

“This is over, Wrythe,” Raphael says evenly. “Let her go.”

Wrythe pauses for a few seconds. “I am merely doing my job, protecting my people from a dangerous traitor.”

“Nia is an Avalon Steel Knight. She’s done more for our cause than any of you?—”

“Enough!” Wrythe raises his voice, his knife digging into my throat. “You want to do this here? Very well. Let’s talk about your precious Avalon Steel Knight. Where’s Tarquin?”

“Right here.” He steps up beside me and shoots me a disdainful look.

Wrythe eases the knife from my throat but presses it against my back, just next to my spine. “You’ll have your chance to talk here, mongrel,” he hisses in my ear, “but if you attempt to interrupt me before I have my say, I will ram my knife through your ribs so fast, you won’t get a single syllable out.”

Hatred roils through my veins. I’ll wait for my chance, and then I’ll tell Raphael and the rest everything. I’ll risk a stabbing to get the truth out.

And then Tarquin turns and reaches his arm back to bring another woman forward, and my heart sinks.

Mom.

She looks put together, for once. Her hair is dyed blonde, her makeup is perfect. Someone’s been looking after her.

I have no idea what she’s doing here, but I know it’s not good.

“Let her go,” I blurt. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”

“Nothing to do with what?” my mom slurs.

Of course. Despite her tidy appearance, she’s still as much of a mess as ever.

“For those who don’t know, this is Brandy Melisande, Nia’s mother,” Tarquin says. “She’s a very nice woman and a famous actress. We’ve spent some time together.”

I can’t breathe.

My mother beams, her smile cotton-candy sweet. The expression sends cold, sour disappointment curdling inside me.

I want her to look at me, to think first about whatIneed. I want her to stop focusing on the audience of strangers before her. But I spent years wishing she were capable of being more, and I know better than to get my hopes up.

She flutters her eyelashes at Tarquin, and it might be the worst thing I’ve ever seen her do.

I’ve never been angrier with her in my life, not even when she smashed the table at my fifteenth birthday.

“I showed Brandy around a few days ago,” Tarquin continues, “and when we got here, she had something very interesting to say. Brandy, do you want to tell everyone?”

Slowly, the realization fills me, dark and toxic, like poison down my throat.

I understand why Wrythe made his way here, why he wanted to have this confrontation exactly here.