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Seph dropped her head into her mud-sodden hands. “I’m sorry, Rys…I wish it’d been me instead of you…you were always the strongest of us all, and now…now you’re gone…” Her voice broke, her throat closed around her words, and her shoulders shook with long suppressed sorrows.

And once that well was depleted, once every tear had dried and she was left with nothing but the present, her circumstances chased after her like an avalanche. What was she supposed to do now? She’d offended akith high lord. No one could save her from the baron’s wrath, and if it weren’t for Nora, Seph would leave. She’d run far away from this place—maybe even to the warfront, where she could search for Levi and Papa and fill the position Rys had left behind. To make sure the depraved and their leader and this Prince Alder suffered as much as possible before the curse came for them all.

Three months. What could possibly be done in three months?

Seph rubbed her aching eyes, and she was just pushing herself to stand when she noticed an edge of frayed leather amidst the mound of dirt she’d unearthed.

Seph stopped breathing.

Could it be…?

Heart pounding, she reached forward, pulled the bundle from the pile, and unfolded the wrapping with trembling hands.

To find the coat within.

A flash.

Seph saw light, blinding white, and it engulfed her body with heat.

She dropped the wrapping, and for a moment, she simply stared, dumbstruck and terrified. It resembled the coat Lord Massie had taken. Yes, it was very clear that someone had gone to great lengths to replicate the original, but had the coats been side by side, anyone would have known the lie from the truth, because the truth wasalive. Seph could not explain it any other way. This coat had a pulse. Power radiated from its iridescent mahogany fibers, from the embroidered kith symbols thatmoved, whispering softly as they slid over and around the coat like rivers of liquid gold.

Enchantments.

The language ofeloit—the thread that tied the kith to the vast well of Demas’s power.

The symbols twinkled and blazed, as if they’d been woven from starlight. What were her grandparents doing with such an object, and why had her grandfather wantedherto take it?

“Well, well, well, what have we here?”

Seph jumped back as the baron and two of his guards stepped into view.

Seph shoved the coat behind her back, but it was too late. The baron had already seen it, and his beady eyes reflected silver. His guards waited behind him: Hayworth and Kole, his faithful hounds, always sniffing around Harran for contraband, hoping the baron would toss them the choicest meats as reward.

“What do you want?” Seph demanded, though her voice trembled more than she intended.

The baron slunk forward like the weasel he was. “You didn’t actually believe I was going to let you get away with that little stunt earlier, did you?” His words slurred a little, as did his gait. The sot. Apparently, he’d been enjoying those four barrels of mead that he hadn’t paid for.

Whichcouldwork in her favor.

“Go home, baron. You’re drunk.” Seph took note of her shovel. It was just within reach, should she need it, though she hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Her hopes were short-lived.

“You don’t tell me what to do, you seditious little vixen,” the baron snarled as he took another step forward, and another. “What is that in your hands?”

“None of your business.”

The baron backhanded her before she could register the movement. Seph staggered back, gasping in shock and pain. She flexed her jaw and caught the metallic taste of blood just as the baron ripped the coat from her hands.

“Give that back!” Seph demanded and lunged for him, but Hayworth was there, grabbing her arms and restraining her. “Let go, you—!” she screamed, but Hayworth’s large hand clamped over her mouth. She squirmed and pulled, trying to break free, but Hayworth was unshakable.

The baron’s gaze slid over the coat’s shimmering fabric. “You crafty girl…now this isn’t the same coat you gave the high lord, is it? Which means you gave him a fake, but…” His gaze lifted to hers, where it probed. “How could you know that he would come?” His eyes narrowed, and he leaned nearer. “Are yousaints-touched?”

When Seph didn’t answer—mostly because Hayworth’s hand was still clamped over her mouth—the baron said, “Let her speak.”

Hayworth promptly lifted his hand.

“You greedy, pathetic son of a?—”