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Fifty leagues to Arnhelm, Aric had estimated. Approximately seven magical steps. This was probably a terrible idea, the kind Tatiana loved best.

I picked up the spittoon and turned it in my hands, examining the enamel embellishments. It had gotten Tatiana here safely, and her magical devices, while erratic, were strong. There was no reason to think it couldn’t get us to Arnhelm now. If only I could get images of sausage links and breadcrumbs out of my head.

“This will work,” I said, as much for my own benefit as for Aric’s. “We just need to get to the castle before sunrise. We’ll figure the rest out from there.”

Aric still looked dubious, but I didn’t let it sway me. I had to be certain for both of us.

I tightened the strap of the satchel hung over my shoulder, adjusted the poker shoved through my belt, and picked up the spittoon. Its polished surface returned a warped moonlit image of my face, stretching my features so that my reflection leered back at me mockingly. “Ready?”

“Not really,” Aric admitted, tugging at his cuffs. He’d donned Tatiana’s set of travel clothes, and they were too small and too tight for him—though better than wearing nothing but a jacket. “My prior experience with your sister’s magic doesn’t make me eager to try it again.”

I lowered the spittoon and looked at him more seriously. “If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to. It would be safer if you didn’t, come to think of it. You could wait here while I retrieve the crown and—”

“Bianca. I may be fairly useless outside of a library, but I would never abandon you to fight my battles for me.”

“You’re not useless. And I’m trained in weaponry. You’re not.”

“The latter is definitely true.” He stepped closer to me, the back of his hand tracing my cheek in a manner that seriously tested my self-restraint. “But whether or not I know how to brandish a fire iron properly, we’re married. That means we do this together.”

I leaned into his warmth, allowing myself this brief indulgence. His palm cupped my cheek.

“Besides,” Aric said, his voice low, “I already thought I lost you once. Losing you again would break me.”

I met his eyes, wishing we had time for more. Leading him into the jaws of danger was probably a terrible idea after all. But I was selfish. Leaving him twice would break me, too.

I took a deep breath. “All right. Together.”

We both looked down at the spittoon. Each of us gripped the rim with one hand, and Aric slid his free arm around my waist. I did the same, holding myself tight against him.

“Seven steps,” Aric said. “We count together. We don’t stop until we’re done.”

I gripped the polished brass so hard its edge bit my palm. “Seven,” I agreed.

We faced northwest—hopefully, as Aric had calculated, towards Arnhelm. Aric’s arm cinched more firmly around my waist.

“Ready?” he asked.

I wasn’t. I nodded. “One, two—”

The first step felt like being thrown from a balcony: a shock ing lurch that jolted my stomach into my throat. The landscape whizzed by, trees and rocks and seas have mercy entire mountain peaks hurtling towards my face. Tatiana had said the spittoon had a bit of a kick, but I hadn’t anticipated meeting my demise by mountaintop—

My foot landed on solid ground—on the crest of a boulder, in the midst of a pine grove whose trees we had somehow managed to miss. My sole slipped on the mossy granite. Before I could think I took an unbalanced step backwards, bearing Aric with me—

“Wrong way!” he gasped, but too late. Now we were zooming in reverse, the road shrieking past underfoot, foraging deer a startled blur as we hurtled by. My stomach threatened to eject itself from my mouth.

“Get ready!” Aric shouted.

Our feet landed with a jolt, this time on soft pine needles. Before I could stumble again, Aric tightened his arm around my waist and practically shoved me forward.

“One!”

This time we landed on the crumbling talus slope of a mountain flank.

“Two—” Aric said, and we stepped again, my knuckles bone-white on the edge of the spittoon.

Virtue of Mercy. Another five to go.

The world dissolved into a nauseating blur, punctuated by the jolt of each step. A village square. A road. Forest again. The icy slope of a glacier, which would have sent us careening backwards to only the seas knew where if Aric hadn’t hastily tipped us forward into the next step. I focused on maintaining my grip on both Aric’s waist and the rim of the spittoon with every shred of attention I could spare. It was all too easy to picture myself strung out over a half-dozen waypoints—as Tatiana had said, exactly like breadcrumbs or sausage links—

“Seven,” Aric gasped, and released the spittoon.

I pried my fingers loose. The enchanted object fell at my feet with a resounding clang.

We were surrounded by stacks of houses crammed side by side, shingle roofed and built of the same grey stone as the castle. The fresh salt scent of the sea filled the air, along with the riper odors of a city’s heart and the cold patter of rain. Above the houses, not far in the distance, jutted the castle’s crenelations.

“Arnhelm,” I said dazedly. “We made it.”

Then I turned and vomited into the gutter.