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“Good morning,” she blurted as the door swung open and hit the wall. “How can you help me? I mean...” She shook her head; her fake smile hurt. “How can I help you?”

Five members of the royal guard were towering over heron snorting, beribboned warhorses. The guards wore sky-blue cloaks and felt caps topped with mistbird feathers. There were two female guards and two male, including the stout, stern captain on the lead horse—and bringing up the rear was a bony, gangly, huge-eared seventeen-year-old boy with curly brown hair and a few pimples on his pale cheeks.

Thorn was so relieved to see him that she felt lightheaded. “Bartos? What’s going on?”

Bartos’s face was stern, but his eyes were kind. He had been a friend of their family for years, ever since Thorn’s father hired him to help tend the gardens. Bartos had eaten suppers with them, and given both Thorn and Brier piggyback rides before they grew too big for such things.

But then Bartos became a member of the royal guard. Many people were dying in the war. More darkness flooded out from the Break every day. The queen needed more soldiers.

And Bartos had always been the sort of boy to go where he was needed most.

“We have come to bring Brier Skystone to the queen,” said the captain. His silver sash glinted impressively in the pale morning light. His tawny brown skin shone with old battle scars.

Perched on the coat rack, Mazby bleated in alarm.

“It’s all right, Thorn,” said Bartos, a little nervously. He scratched behind one big ear. “The queen only wants to talk to her.”

“But why?” Thorn asked.

The captain of the guard raised a single black eyebrow. “It doesn’t matter why. The queen orders it.” He peered more closely at Thorn. “Are you Brier?”

“Brier? No! No.” Thorn resisted the urge to wipe her palms on her trousers. “I’m her sister, Thorn. I can fetch her for you, though. She’s sleeping. I’ll wake her up. I’ll get her. If you don’t mind waiting? You can just wait right here, I’ll only be a moment.”

Desperate to cut off her own blabbering, Thorn glanced frantically at Bartos before slamming the door shut.

She waited, catching her breath. She counted to ten.

Then she ran upstairs to the attic room she and Brier shared, stubbed her toe on the iron frame of Brier’s bed, and shook her sister awake while hopping around on one foot.

Brier moaned and turned over, blinking awake.

Thorn gasped and stopped hopping.“Brier.”

“Is it bad?” Brier coughed.

Gingerly, Thorn pushed aside the collar of Brier’s flannelsleep-shirt. Mazby fluttered down to Brier’s pillow and chirped sadly. Tears sprang to Thorn’s eyes at the sight of Brier’s burn. It looked as if it had gotten worse overnight—larger, shinier, shiftier.

Brier yanked her shirt closed and sat up. “I’m the one who’s burned, and you don’t seemegetting all snivelly.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just...” Thorn wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, her chest aching. Why couldn’t she be dry-eyed and square-jawed and strong, like Brier? “You look awful. Your skin’s so pale, and you have big shadows under your eyes.”

“Well, I feel awful too, so that makes sense. What was all that noise downstairs?”

“The royal guard is here. The queen has summoned you.”

Brier’s dark eyes widened. “Why?”

“Maybe she knows about the...” Thorn gestured at Brier’s chest. “Maybe she wants you to tell her what happened.”

“Or maybe she wants to shut me up so I can’t talk about it,” Brier said grimly. “Lightning fighting back? People will panic. Better to get rid of me and not risk it.”

Brier flung back her covers, swung her legs out of bed, marched toward the door—and stopped. Swayed on her feet. Clutched her chest and moaned.

Thorn hurried over, and Brier leaned against her.

“It’s like there’s this giant icy fist, clutching my lungs,” Brier wheezed.

“You have to stay home,” said Thorn.