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Fey wanted to argue, wanted to demand answers from her, but the truth was Alice was right. She was dead on her feet. Had been dead on her feet for hours now, and she was running on fumes. Plus, the warm smile Alice gave her… it made her feel like she did months ago, before Alice had disappeared. Like everything was okay, like everything would be okay. Alice’s smile had always done that, always made her feel safe. With Alice here, with Alice alive, Fey finally felt safe enough to rest, if only for a few minutes.

Instead of demanding answers, Fey nodded.

Alice led her past shelf after shelf of crates, through that massive space, and to a small room tucked away in the far corner of the basement, with a measure of privacy from the rest of the space. Inside was a single lamp, sitting on a crate, a bedroll, and a few cushions. Alice motioned toward the bed, inviting Fey to sit, while she pulled one of the cushions closer, and made herself comfortable next to her.

“This is where I’ve been staying.” Alice smiled, looking down at the bedroll and its rumpled blanket. “It’s not as comfortable as the palace, of course, but it gets the job done. It’s warm and dry, and it’s somewhere to sleep.”

Fey sat on the makeshift bed, feeling a little of the tension in her body ease just at the thought of sleep.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Alice admitted softly. “All of you. You have no idea how hard it was to leave you all like that. How much it hurt me.”

Fey tried to respond, but there was a lump in her throat. Tears stung her eyes.

“How?” she whispered, finally. “How could you leave us, Alice? How could you put us through it?”

Fey squeezed her eyes shut against the pain, but all it did was push the tears that had gathered in her eyes out and onto her cheeks.

“I know,” Alice said. “I was so scared of you getting hurt, scared of bringing any of you into this…”

“But we were your sisters,” Fey snapped. The tears were coming heavier now, rolling down her face, and her voice was shaking. “Why didn’t you come to us? Ask us to help you?”

Alice crawled forward over the bedroll, pulling Fey towards her and into a tight hug. Fey let her, wrapping her arms around her sister, resting her head on Alice’s shoulder, and sobbing.

“You are my sister, Fey,” Alice insisted. “Please remember that. No matter what happens, you are my sister, and nothing will ever change that. Nothing could ever change that, okay?”

Fey sobbed harder, and Alice shifted to hold her tighter with one arm.

‘I’m sorry,” Alice whispered against her hair. “Fey…I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Fey insisted, swallowing the last of her tears, and shifting back to try to look at her. “It’s okay, you’re alive and?—”

Click.

Fey stopped, registering the sound of metal on metal at the same time Alice pulled back from her. She frowned at the metal cuff now attached to her wrist, confused. Stared at the chain that bound her to the floor, the chain that had been hidden under the bedroll the entire time.

Stared, but couldn’t understand what it meant.

“Alice, what—?” Too late. Too slow, bogged down with exhaustion and pain.

Alice’s hand whipped out, fast and deadly as a viper. Fey barely had time to see the glint of the knife as it struck, the razor-sharp edge cutting down the inside of her forearm.

Slicing through her Queen’s Blade’s mark.

“I’m so sorry, Fey,” Alice repeated, tears on her cheeks, as she leapt back, out of Fey’s reach.

But Fey didn’t hear her. She felt the pain, sharp on her arm, felt that connection to her remaining sisters surge and grow taut like a string pulled too tight.

Then felt it snap, as that connection was lost forever.

Her sisters were gone.

Fey stared at her arm and screamed.

Chapter 43

The soldiers appeared before the sun had finished rising. Gathering in the early hours of the morning, they moved through the city like ghosts. They visited every block, every street, and where they went, they left a message behind.

A simple poster with an image of Fey’s face, a remarkable artist’s rendition. No photos existed, not of Fey as the Crown knew her, but whomever they’d hired to depict her had done a great job. They had captured the murderous glare in her eyes. The monster hidden behind the mask.