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Discouraged, she pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. What had she been thinking? Less than five minutes ago, she’d planned to crawl into the back room and open a door.

Open a door.

Something she had no idea how to do. So, yeah, in all seriousness…what had she been thinking?

With bullets flying, reaching for the power had seemed like the best option. Now, with the quiet stretching and her mind spinning, stress tightened its grip. No way would she be able to do it. She needed guidance. She needed practice. She needed to be in a place where bad guys weren’t aiming heavy artillery at the front door. A minute to breathe. And think. And figure her way through without feeling as though she stood inside a pressure cooker.

She shook her head. “I want to help, Rosy. I really do, but —”

“Open a door, Triple.”

“Listen —”

“Concentrate, Truly,” Westvane said.

Anxiety tied a knot in the center of her chest. “I can’t.”

Westvane flicked his fingers. The sword and shield disappeared. “You can.”

Holding her hands up, she pressed her palms toward him. “Forget about doors, Westvane. You have wings. If we get to the roof, you can fly us out of here.”

Shrugging his shoulders, he flexed his wings. Black feathers fluttered, the inky sheen mesmerizing in the low light. “I don’t know how to fly.”

Her mouth fell open. “What?”

“A fine pair you two make,” Montrose said, laughing.

“Shut up, Rosy.” Not understanding, she pointed at Westvane’s wings. “What do you mean — you don’t know how to fly?”

His expression grew stark. “I have yet to learn.”

“How can that be?”

“The wings are new to me, a recent addition to the magic I command. Like you, I’ve had no one to teach me,” he said, his tone tight. “I couldn’t test them or practice in the cage. I’m watched too closely by the queen’s guard for that. Lyonesse —”

Montrose snarled. “She put you in a cage?”

“The Parkland.”

“Alone?” her boss asked, brows drawn tight.

“But well-monitored.”

“The faithless witch,” Montrose said, sounding raw, as though he’d swallowed a glass full of acid. “Must have been torture.”

Westvane’s chin dipped in acknowledgement. “Close to it.”

Interesting information. Curious exchange. Every bit of it making Truly want to know more. She wanted to know how someone as strong as Westvane ended up in a cage. His skill and strength were formidable. What would it take to subdue him? How had the queen managed it? What had Lyonesse done to keep him contained in a place he didn’t want to be? Imprisoning him seemed unfathomable. Impossible, even.

Truly frowned.

Lyonesse must possess tremendous power. The kind a smart person would avoid.

Come to think of it,shewas a smart person. Westvane might be right. Escaping into theEcotonemight be the best way to avoid the army of men outside, but it also came at a cost. The biggest one entailed her being brutally murdered.

“Truly,” Westvane murmured, using his voice to soothe her.

She drew a shaky breath. “I’m not ready.”