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“The sister of Speech’s answer was no different. She told the little star that the language of the heavens was too dangerous uttered by mankind’s mouths. That they lacked the ability to control it, finite and fickle as they are, and it would eventually destroy them. Still, our dear little star was ever the optimist, and her hope shone bright, and so she visited the third and last sister. The sister of Sound.”

Seph’s heart thumped against her rib cage.

“The sister of Sound did not say no. She had taken great interest in the little star; the little star gave this Fate a new kind of hope. That, perhaps, if the star could find a way to exist on the earth, perhaps this Fate might also find a way to take human form and dwell amongst humans. And so Sound made a bargain. She said, ‘I will give you form, and I will weave your hair from starlight. I will give you a kingdom and write your destiny into life below, but in exchange, you will give me your second-born son. He will be mine—my vessel and my servant, to use as I see fit.’”

Horror bloomed within Seph, and she stared at the witch while the witch stared back, a cruel smile upon her lips.

No, not the witch.

AFate.

This was why she had such great power. She was Sound, and the little star was…was…

Seph’s great-grandmother.

Thatwas why Abecka had recognized the witch in the tower.

Seph’s stomach turned over violently, and she thought she was going to be sick all over the floor.

The Fate approached Seph and pinched her chin firmly, her face contorted with fury. “My sisters cursed me the day they cursed Canna. They banished me to this world the day they stole back the light I had given. They left me without form, with only a fraction of my power, and no way back. I was left to feed off this land like a common parasite, and I am fading away. Light is my only hope now, Josephine Alistair, and I will tear this world apart before I let you take it from me.”

Seph stared at the witch—the Fate—her heart pounding hard and fast.

“She tried so hard to hide her Jakobián from me,” the Fate continued. “She realized the depraved were my own creation and that it would not be long before my children overwhelmed them all. All she needed to do was hand over her son,as promised.”

Just then, another bone-masked kith appeared at the top of the stairs, winded and heaving, and the Fate’s face whipped around.

“Forgive the intrusion, Your Majesty, but Prince Alder…” He paused to catch his breath. “He is here.”

Seph’s world spun to an abrupt halt. She looked at Alder—the one standing beside her—who had gone pale. His gaze met hers, albeit briefly, as if he hadn’t meant to.

“The Weald Prince ishere? At the gate?” the Fate demanded.

“At the bridge, Your Majesty,” the kith replied.

“How is that possible?”

Seph wondered too: How had Rasia managed to hide the truth of Alder’s location from this Fate?

The messenger gave no answer, but Seph’s hope surged. Alder had come.

Alder washere.

“How many are with him?” the Fate snapped.

“Somewhere around five hundred, Your Majesty.”

His words settled in the silence, and the shadows warped and thickened.

The Fate looked at Massie, who stood beside Fake Alder. “If anyone gets through that door, you will regret the day you were born.”

Massie’s silvery scar tightened as he bowed his head. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He caught Fake Alder’s gaze before sprinting through the door.

“Evora, you are in charge of Josephine now,” said the Fate.

Seph must not have heard correctly.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” His voice—still Alder’s voice—sounded thin.