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“I’ve a few questions for you, Clara. And, while I’m sure you would be the image of honesty, I’m afraid I simply won’t be able to take a convict at her word.” He places the selected card on his palm.

The Nine of Swords. A woman lies in bed half-covered by a sheet, nine blades pin her to the mattress, her face twisted in agony.

This card must’ve taken nearly an entire day to ink.

The level of detail—and thus the power imbued in the card—is incredible.

But horror competes with my amazement. Because I know what this card means, and I know what is about to come.

I was surprised it wasn’t used on me at my trial.

Though I’d always assumed it was because my fate had been sealed well before the trial even began.

Why would they waste a card on the likes of me?

“If you please,” he says. As if I have a choice to do anything but brace myself and lay my hand atop the Nine of Swords.

A flash of silver—then cold white flames incinerate the card. The fire transforms into nine skewers of light and shadow that painlessly impale my hand and his, connecting us palm to palm. Intensity overtakes the prince’s eyes.

A shiver rips through me, and I briefly lose myself as the magic takes hold. The tension in my neglected and abused body ebbs from my shoulders. Relax, the magic of the card whispers, give in…

“Your name?”

“Clara,” I answer. Even though he already knew that. One of the nine glimmering swords vanishes.

“And why are you here, Clara?” He’s toying with me.

“For illegally inking, selling, and using tarot cards without first graduating Arcana Academy and being placed with a clan,” I answer. The words don’t feel like my own. It’s as if they were forced from me by invisible threads moving in my throat.

Another sword is gone.

I refrain from adding that if it weren’t for him and his family and their laws controlling the teaching and use of arcana, people like me, people without money and access, wouldn’t be forced to such measures.

And that it’s only because of illegal inkers like me that the common folk of the kingdom can even see how the arcana could change their lives for the better.

“Illegally inking tarot got you into Halazar.” He clicks his tongue. “And then what did you do once imprisoned for these crimes?”

“I inked cards at the command of Warden Glavstone.” The third sword vanishes.

“You bitch,” the warden snarls, yellow eyes darting to me as if I’ve somehow betrayed him.

“I guess I am,” I answer him casually. I think I hear a snicker from the prince.

But he quickly dismisses any amusement with a shake of his head. “How many cards did you ink for the warden in the past year?”

“Hundreds, maybe almost a thousand.” The answer is vague but honest. I hardly kept track…“It was often hours a day.” The fourth sword disappears.

“From what suits?”

“Every Minor suit.” Fifth.

“Any Major Arcana?”

“I don’t know how to ink a Major Arcana; no one does,” I answer plainly. Sixth. That magic has long since been lost—if it ever existed at all—and is now relegated to folklore.

A smirk twitches his lips. “Would you have inked a Major Arcana, if you knew how?”

“I would’ve tried,” I admit. Mother, my arcana teacher, told me never to even attempt it—that no one had ever succeeded in doing it and my talents were better focused elsewhere.

And that, even if I were to succeed, such a thing would lead only to misfortune.

But I always struggled a bit with following instructions when opportunity presents itself.

If I’d had an inkling of where to start, I know I would’ve tried.

Two swords remain.

Prince Kaelis tilts his head, studying me as though I am some kind of little animal.

“Well, then, it seems you didn’t learn your lesson while here,” he says gravely.

“People like you—who risk the careful order of the arcana, who are a danger to our society by putting power in the hands of those untrained to use it…and who cannot learn from the error of their ways—must be dealt with. How do you think I should deal with you?”

“Mercifully.” Even I can’t help the slightest quirk of a grin when I say it.

He snorts, and the sly smile he’s been wearing—like that of a cat about to pounce—widens into a full, predatory grin. One sword remains, one more question. I fear he’s saved the worst for last. I brace myself.

“Who was it?”

“Who was what?” Pain rips through my hand and races up my arm. The cost of not answering.

“Who in Arcana Academy gave you and the little operation you were a part of access to my resources?”

I clench my jaw so tightly it pops. My teeth ache. No. No! I insist to myself. I will not say her name. Not even when it feels as if an invisible knife is slowly flaying the skin off my arm from wrist to shoulder.

“I…I…” I try to deflect from the question. The pain is making my thoughts hazy. My arm feels as if it’s been dipped in boiling acid.

Kaelis pulls his feet off Glavstone’s back and leans toward me. The light of the magic skewering our hands turns the pale edges of his face ghostly and deepens the shadows in the wells of his cheeks and underneath his eyes.

Looking at him, it’s easy to wonder if the rumors are true that he is void-born—a wielder of the reversed arcana, an abomination that hasonly ever lived in folklore. And that with the twisted magic of one of those cards he ended Clan Hermit, reducing it to nothing but a memory.

“Tell me.”

I clench my jaw and keep silent. I took the fall so no one else I loved would have to. I’m not losing another person who’s precious to me. Not to him.

“I admit, I’m impressed you’re able to endure this much pain, given the pathetic state you’re in.”

I bare my teeth at him. The swords beneath my skin have reached my chest. They’re routing out my lungs.

“But you know the pain will only get worse. So, tell me, Clara…Who stole the resources from Arcana Academy?”

“A…student…” There’s a brief second of respite, but the glowing sword skewering my hand doesn’t disappear, and neither does the pain.

For some reason, my stubbornness sparks amusement in his eyes. And yet he persists. “A name, you know I want a name. ”

“Clara is a name.” I struggle to think of clever ways to avoid answering. My throat aches as I dodge the truth the magic knows he wants. A thousand knives gouge into my muscles; stars explode across my vision. I’m so weak that the pain nearly makes me pass out.

His fingers tighten around mine and our hands quiver. It’s as if he’s physically lashing my fading consciousness to my body. “What was the name of the student, or students, who gave you access to inking tools reserved only for the academy?” he growls.

“Arina.” The name escapes from me like an arrow from a bowstring.

It soars all the way from Halazar Prison, across the river, to the fortress of the academy.

To where my little sister—my only living blood relation—still studies.

But probably not for long. My weakness has just condemned her to death.

Cold horror sweeps across me, more vicious than the most brutal winters.

“Good. I’d been wondering.” The prince removes his hand, and the silvery light fades. The pain vanishes, but the weight of the world crashes down on me. It takes all my strength to keep myself from collapsing back into the chair.

He stands, looming over me. “Now there’s only one thing left for you.”

As I look up at him, I do not even try to conceal the hate in my eyes. But my loathing only excites him more. Twisted bastard.

“I sentence you to death at sunset, Clara Graysword.” The declaration clearly brings him immense joy.

“What?” Shock softens my voice. I’d been condemned to die here…but I was still breathing. I had been plotting my escape. However slim my chances were, there was hope.

Kaelis starts for the door, snapping toward the Stellis, who collect Glavstone and carry him out of the room.

He glances over his shoulder. “Enjoy your last hour alive, arcana traitor.”

The door slams, bolting shut behind him.