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No, these monsters seem to be... new.

I release the bottle and force myself to keep walking.

Or perhaps very, very old.

Always sleep at nightfall, darlings... always say your prayers...

The familiar verse floats around us in the October market, tangling with the stray cats in the street. One crouches behind the toads, while another meows churlishly at a shopkeeper. Two more watch a three-eyed crow on its perch, completely still except for the twitch of their tails. I hurry to catch up with Odessa. “Do you have a rat problem on Requiem?”

She glances at a nearby tabby in distaste. “Rats are not the problem.”

“These cats aren’t pets, then?”

“An infestation, more like.” When I continue to stare at her, perplexed, she sighs and snaps, “They appeared on the isle several months ago. No one knows how or why—they simply sprang into existence overnight, and no one dares to remove them.”

I crouch to pat the head of a long-haired kitten. “Why not?”

“Cats are guardians of the dead, Célie. I thought everyone knew that.”

I freeze mid-scratch. Ididn’tknow that, but somehow, admitting such a thing to Odessa feels like admitting a grievous characterflaw. Withdrawing my hand hastily, I change the subject instead. “I don’t understand. How could no one know about this island?”

“Michal,” Odessa says simply, nudging the kitten away. “He loves his secrets, my cousin, and this one he guards jealously. No one knows about Requiem unless he wishes it, and even then—they rarely know for long.”

“What doesthatmean?”

Before she can answer, however, a handful of Éternels spill from the alley ahead, blocking our path, and the merchants on either side of us scatter. Some crouch by their carts as means of protection, while others flee into their shops; fear shines through their eyes as clear and bright as the crystals in their windows. My stomach clenches as Ivan looms at my back.

“Stay still,” he murmurs.

Not a problem.

Odessa, however, lifts her chin once more—supremely unperturbed—and waves a curt hand at the Éternels. “Bonsoir, mes amis. You appear to have lost your way.”

A tall, terrifying Éternel with fiery red hair and green eyes tilts his head as he considers us. His gaze feels cold and ancient upon my face, and behind him, his companions stand still and silent. “Who is she?” he asks quietly.

“That,” says Odessa, “is none of your concern, Christo.”

“I think it is.” He points a long, accusatory finger behind us, his lip curling slightly. “The cats follow her.”

As one, Odessa, Ivan, and I turn to follow his gaze, and whatever unease I felt at the blood-soaked moss multiplies tenfold—because the Éternel spoke truth. A half-dozen cats trail me like a shadow. No. I shake my head vehemently at the ridiculous thought. Theytrailuslike shadows.Us.Beyond Lou’s pet, Melisandre, cats have never paid me any particular attention, and I have little reason to believe they’d start now. A far likelier explanation would be Ivan hiding anchovies in his pocket.

Odessa casts me a swift, appraising look—there and gone too quickly to decipher—before returning her attention to Christo. “Your imagination runs wild as ever, darling. The cats arrived long before she did.”

“Did he bring her to heal the isle?”

“All you need to know,” Odessa says, “is that she belongs to Michal, and any creature who touches her will be subject to his wrath—and the wrath of the entire royal family.” She punctuates the statement with a chilling smile, her fangs flashing sharp and white in the lamplight. Instinctively, I hold my breath at the sight of them, trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible.

Christo, however, takes a pointed step forward. “And yet, ma duchesse, Michal is still not here. How can the shepherd protect his flock if he refuses to walk among them?” A pause. “Perhaps he cannot protect them at all.”

Before I can blink, the other guard lunges, pinning the Éternel against the alley wall with a hand at his throat. Though his companions hiss softly from the street, no one moves to help him—not even when the guard pries the Éternel’s mouth open by force. Turning ice-blue eyes to Odessa, the guard awaits her command as the Éternel thrashes and chokes against him.

“Ah, Christo.” As if disappointed, Odessa saunters toward them, but her casualness belies the hard glint in her eyes. “Alwayssucha cliché, and worse—nowImust be one too. Shall Pasha andI deliver your message to Michal personally?”

Christo snarls, trying and failing to bite off Pasha’s fingers.

Odessa’s eyes spark with delight. “A most definitive yes.” Then, in a deft movement, she reaches between Christo’s snapping teeth and—and—

My eyes bulge in disbelief.