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“That’ll stop in a moment.”

I stare at the spectacle, at the impossibility of what I’m seeing. The shadows look so much like the Shadow King’s, and yet they clearly work differently.

I’ve still got the bullet grasped tightly in my fist.

Running footsteps come from down the hall. I throw myself in front of Eryx, as though I can shield him from the staff seeing his abilities, but it is only Argus and Dyson.

“What do you need?” Argus asks.

“Send for a doctor. Chrysantha is hurt badly.”

Argus looks like that’s the last thing he wants to do, but Dyson says, “I’m on it.”

When I look back to Eryx, his wounds close up, and the shadows dissipate. His eyes fade to a deep brown.

“Damasus,” I prompt as my vision starts to fade in and out.

“Right,” Eryx says, “Argus, go find all the staff. Assess who needs the most help. Then go—”

I don’t catch the rest.

WHENIOPEN MY EYES,it’s to the feeling of a sharp pinch in my already-throbbing arm.

The wound hurts worse than when it was first administered. It smells of alcohol, and as I turn, I find a needle in my flesh, the start of a single stitch. I’m no longer in my bedroom but back in the duchess suite yet again, presumably because there are fewer dead men in here.

When I look up, I find some kindly old doctor observing me. “Good, you’re awake,” he says, pulling the needle the rest of the way through my skin. “I’m sorry for the pain, Your Grace, but I couldn’t have you drink this until you were conscious.” He holds out a glass for me.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Laudanum. For the pain.”

“I can’t have it. I have a terrible reaction to it.” I have since I was a child.

“Then I’m afraid this is going to hurt quite a lot. At least you were out of it for the cleaning portion of my administrations.”

The longer I’m awake, the more my memories surface. “Damasus,” I blurt. “Have you seen my butler?”

“Not yet, Your Grace. The duke was very clear that you were the priority.”

I snatch my arm away and then grimace at the bout of pain that brings on. “Go to him,” I demand.

“Your Grace, you have an open wound.”

“Which you just said you’ve already cleaned. I can wait. You will see to all of my staff first.”

“But the duke—”

“Will be upset by the delay. Now move. I assure you I will not allow you to work on me until my staff have all been seen to.”

His faces bunches up tight, but he finally says, “Yes, Your Grace, but I’ll have to inform the duke you are refusing care.”

“You do that. Just go.”

I try not to look at my arm as I gently settle it on the bed beside me. It throbs sharply with every beat of my heart. I let out a soft groan, but I stand by my decision. Damasus can’t die. No one is allowed to die. They can’t—

The door slams open, and I startle, then gasp in more air at the pain.

“You’re refusing treatment?” Eryx barks.