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If Celestyna would just find her sister a knife—any knife would do, the curse assured her—and tell her the whole truth, surely sweet, tenderhearted Orelia would want to give her sister an escape from the burden she carried, just as Celestyna had relieved her parents of theirs.

“No!” Celestyna shoved herself away from the bed, knocking over her chair.

The curse lashed against Celestyna’s bones, from her skull to the tips of her toes.

Orelia scrambled upright. “Tyna?”

“Get away from me!” Celestyna snarled. “Where I have gone, and what I have done, are not your concern.”

Orelia’s worried gaze dropped to Celestyna’s gloved hand. “Tell me what’s wrong. I’ve heard people saying...Please,Tyna tell me.”

Celestyna twisted the lace trim of her silk glove. Past the lace, a slim band of charred skin stood out starkly against the rest of her wrist.

“Tyna...” Orelia crept closer. “What have you done?”

Celestyna spun away from her. “Nothing! I’m perfectly well.”

“You’re lying to me. You’re hurt!”

Celestyna whirled back around, flinging out her unhurt arm. Her hand hit Orelia’s cheek with a loudthwack.

Orelia staggered back and fell to the carpet.

The sisters stared at each other—one breathing hard, the other with the breath knocked clean out of her.

Orelia, eyes shimmering with tears, cradled her cheek in one hand.

“Tyna?” she whispered, her mouth trembling.

Celestyna fled—out of Orelia’s bedroom and down the hallway. Windows full of night on one side, portraits of queenson the other. She flew down the stairs and through her castle’s silent halls. Pain shot through her like arrows, but that didn’t stop her. She clenched her blackened fist and punched the air.

Hurt him,she instructed the grinning curse.Punch him. Make him fall.

The polished floor beneath her feet shuddered—as did the castle, the quiet wet streets of Aeria, the lonely green-and-gray slopes of Westlin.

And so did the Break, far below.

And the monster living inside it.

Celestyna heard the distant angry roar of the Gulgot, felt the crash of his body against the rocks as he fell—down, and down, losing all the ground he’d gained that day.

She ran, thrusting her ruined fist into the air again, and again, and again, and smiled past her tears.

.26.

The Sharpening Twin

Tavarik was the name of the colorful city by the sea. Thorn now knew that much.

She also knew that the room in which Zaf was currently sleeping was one of several rooms given to the witch Quicksilver and her friend Sly Boots whenever they visited Lord Vilmar.

She knew Lord Vilmar ruled the country of Koreva, and the roof Thorn was lying on was part of his castle. Lord Vilmar was a jovial brown-skinned man, with bouncy black curls and a generous smile. His husband was a witch, as were his five children. Quicksilver was teaching them, and Lord Vilmar’snewest witch knights, how to work more effectively with their monsters. That entire day, they had all been experimenting with using their monsters to travel, like Zaf had done.

Thorn knew all of that.

But this Thorn knew most vividly and horribly of all:

The witch Quicksilver hardly deserved the name.