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Out of nowhere, Agenor’s large hand landed on my shoulder, gold-flecked fingers squeezing tight. ‘Best leave that to me, Em.’

I sank back to the floor with more relief than I wanted to admit. So close to Creon’s spine and wings, I wasn’t sure if I trusted myself not to leave any damaged nerves or muscles behind; after a few centuries spent dealing with the consequences of battlefields, my father might be the better candidate for this job.

Ylfreda quickly removed the second arrow, informing us with stern relief that it had just missed the liver. Creon healed the wound it left behind while Agenor worked on his back, restoring layers of bone and skin and muscle with grim-faced precision. Lyn trotted back into the room with sponges and a tub of steaming hot water, and by the time Creon had rinsed the drying blood off his face and arms, he at least no longer gave the impression he might topple into his grave any moment.

I sat and breathed. Lyn pushed a drink into my hand that tasted like molten iron, and as I sipped it, the black blotches before my eyes slowly crawled away.

By the time Agenor declared all vertebrae unharmed and Ylfreda moved on to the third and last arrow, my heartbeat was finally coming down a fraction. Creon still managed to look like there was nothing unusual going on as he chucked his bloodied sponge into the tub with equally bloodied water and began flashing blue magic at the tears in his wings; he barely even flinched as Ylfreda dug a knife into his thigh and began carving out the barbed steel that had buried itself into his muscles.

I didn’t want to think about any of it – what pain levels he must be used to, for this to mean so little to him – and couldn’t help thinking of it all the same.

He knew, of course. His dark eyes found me with just a glimpse of apology as he interrupted his work on his wings to heal the arrow wound that Ylfreda’s handiwork had left in his thigh; for a moment, his smile was not so convincingly careless. ‘I’m fine, Em. It’s mostly scrapes and scratches from here on out.’

The remaining rips in his wings didn’t look even remotely like scratches to me, but Tared cut in before I could reply, with a speed that told me he’d been holding back since the moment we’d faded into this room. ‘If you insist you’re bursting with health again, would this be the moment to explain what for Orin’s fucking eye you weredoing, Hytherion?’

That wasangerin his voice – not the vicious grudge from before but raw, genuine anger, the sort of rage that sprouted from worry rather than hate. I turned and found him collapsed on the nearest couch, still holding on to his sword as if an army might burst through the front door before the hour was over. The small wounds on his arm were still bleeding, but he didn’t appear to notice, glaring at Creon with a ferocity I had trouble matching to his vehement attempts to save the other’s life a moment before.

‘What?’ I said.

Creon merely shrugged, looking not in the least surprised. ‘Thought I’d try a little experiment.’

‘Anexperiment?’ I’d rarely seen Tared like this – furious with fear in a way that reminded me of the day Edored had walked into plague territory at Zera’s temple. ‘What were you trying to find out – what would happen if you threw yourself at an entire damn fleet on your own?’

‘Beg your pardon?’ Agenor said sharply.

‘We were fading the last fae out, and His Highness decided that would be the perfect moment to charge head-on into the nearest battalion,’ Tared snapped, finally flinging his sword aside and burying his face in his hands. ‘Tried to reach him, couldn’t, had Beyla fade Em in to save our arses. And then westillcould have all died.’

So sorry, cactus.The apology in his glance. Slowly, the pieces of the puzzle started sliding together, leaving a gaping hole in the middle –an experiment.

What in the world?

‘Consider it from the bright side,’ Creon said, systematically working his way through the slashes in his wing. ‘I’m pretty sure you’ve settled that life debt now.’

‘Rot in hell,’ Tared muttered, sounding just a little more relieved than he likely wanted the world to know. ‘So what was the damn experiment about, then? Arrow sampling?’

‘The bindings,’ I said with a gasp, understanding everything and nothing at once. ‘You wanted to know what the bindings would do?’

Creon sent me a wry, rueful smile.

‘What?’ There was an unmistakable edge of straining self-control in Tared’s voice. ‘You threw yourself at the entire bloody Moon fleet just to find out …’

‘If I could harm them,’ Creon helpfully finished. His grin was perhaps not as deliberately infuriating as before, but the bite was still there, that unspoken challenge. ‘I figured we’d better find outbeforeour first actual battle, you see. Which I would say was confirmed by, well …’ A loose gesture at the pool of blood on the floor. ‘This.’

At least I wasn’t the only one gaping at him as if he’d abruptly started speaking Old Kurrian; it seemed even alves could be impressed by sheer recklessness. Tared let himself fall back into the couch cushions, cursing under his breath. Ylfreda glaredpointedly at the blood-stained arrows on the floor. Only Agenor sank down in the nearest wooden chair with narrowing eyes, scooping Coral from the floor in a motion as ominous as an alf drawing their sword.

‘Could you elaborate?’ he said slowly.

‘The first problem is that we were right the bindings would take wider effect once the Mother started caring about keeping people alive,’ Creon said, sitting straighter, and at once every trace of the wounded, arrogant prince was gone. In the blink of an eye, he’d morphed into a predator with only one goal on his mind: to completely eradicate any enemy challenging him, in the most efficient, most ruthless way possible. ‘They’re protecting about a quarter of her army, if my sample at the court was in any way representative. Far too many people my magic couldn’t harm. Furthermore, it appears my binding also blocked me fromhealingmyself at regular occasions. Seems like merely keeping myself in a condition fit to kill them was considered enough of a threat.’

I’d known, and yet I felt the blood leach from my face as I stared at him, remembering Doralis and the gaping wound in her leg. Tared cursed again – an impressive string of muttered syllables that seemed to have something to do with the Mother’s forebears and rats.

‘Thirdly,’ Creon continued, unperturbed, ‘they are aware and were aware of it before I attacked them. They deliberately sent individuals my way they seemed to think were protected, and they were right on most counts, which was why they surrounded me so easily. Fourthly—’

‘Gods have mercy,’ Agenor muttered, rubbing his face. ‘Do you have any names?’

Creon did – about thirty of them, none of them familiar to me, but enough reason for several darkening faces around the room.Not all of them were high-standing fae at the Mother’s court, I gathered. If anyone bound wouldn’t be able to hurtthem…

It might indeed be a quarter of her people our forces wouldn’t be able to harm. It might be worse than that at the Crimson Court itself, where even more individuals would be personally known to her.