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I remember the house of the healer we visited when we were last in Hallowbane. It had graffiti scrawled on the side saying ruin maker . That healer seemed wise and cautious, and I don’t think he’s one of the dryads Corrin’s talking about, but someone certainly seems to think he is.

“So what is this medicine? What’s it supposed to do?” I ask.

“It’s called ephilin. Once taken, the user is condemned. They will die in a matter of months, and there is no way to save them. But during that time, they’re consumed by a constant euphoria and feel no pain.”

I stare at him. “They didn’t seem very euphoric to me.”

“Maybe not outwardly, but in here,” he taps his head, “it’s supposed to be all sunshine and rainbows.

One dose is all it takes—they don’t actually need more.

But they’ll still go after more of the drug if they see it.

And when it’s not there to distract them, they’ll give in to other impulses.

The drug makes them intensely strong and violent the closer they get to death. ”

“Why would someone take a drug like that?” I ask, appalled.

Corrin smiles at me sadly. “Your Highness, people will find all manner of ways to abuse themselves for a few moments of happiness. And for someone in unimaginable pain, ending their life in blissful oblivion might sound worth the price.”

“I’ve heard of drugs like this,” Leon says, joining in. “But I’ve never seen it in action. Why isn’t anything done to stop it? Surely no one wants these things roaming the streets like this.”

“Today was a particularly bad swarm,” Corrin concedes.

“Not that there’s any such thing as a good number of ruined.

But nothing ever gets done about it because this is Hallowbane.

The city has already been abandoned by the authorities.

Occasionally, the Temple sends some cleavers to purge the city of the ruined, but there’s always a new crop of fools seeking out ephilin. ”

“I bet you could stop it,” I say quietly. “Couldn’t you scare these healers, tell them there’ll be consequences for making it?”

“Your Highness, you’ve been back in Hallowbane ten minutes, and you’re already telling me how to run my business,” Corrin says archly.

“Of course I’ve considered it. But that’s the problem with exiled dryads.

My threats don’t have much bite when they’ve already lost everything that’s worth losing to them. ”

We fall into silence as I think about the attack and what it cost us.

Lafin’s limp hand bounces against the flank of his horse.

The rebels have accepted their loss stoically, but I shudder when I think about how close Tira came to joining him.

I fall back beside her now, eyeing the scratch on her neck.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Fine,” she says, though her hand automatically goes to the injury, as if she’s trying to cover it.

“It’s okay if you’re shaken up,” I murmur. “Those things were horrible. I really thought…” I don’t finish my sentence, not wanting to give voice to my worst fears.

Tira shrugs and gives me an awkward, strained attempt at a smile.

“How many times did it take someone trying to kill you until you got used to it?” she asks. But I can’t turn this into a joke, even if that’s clearly what she wants. I drop eye contact and notice the empty scabbard tied to her belt.

“What happened to your knife?” I ask.

She flushes. “I lost it in the fight. The ruined knocked it out of my hand.”

“We’ll have to get you another one. It’s not safe for you to go unarmed.”

“I’m fine, Ana, really,” Tira says, an edge to her voice.

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” I reply, taken aback.

We fall into silence after that, but the quiet only gives my thoughts more room to wander.

By the time we reach the gambling den, I’m certain bringing Tira on this trip was a mistake.

She has no idea how to defend herself—has barely even held a weapon before—and I’ve been selfishly dragging her around just so I can have the comfort of my friend beside me, no matter how risky that is for her.

I won’t make the same mistake again, especially when our lives are only going to get more dangerous.

Leon

“Warren, will you take our guests around the back to my office?” Corrin directs his bodyguard when we reach the gambling den. It’s nearly night now, and the windows of his establishment are ablaze with light, music spilling out of the doors as a uniformed boy exits to meet us and take our horses.

Corrin waits patiently, not batting an eyelid as the rebels remove Lafin’s body from the back of his horse. But as much as his people might be used to dead bodies turning up, I understand why he wants to protect his patrons from the sight of us. Even in this city, corpses are bad for business.

Warren takes us to a room that doesn’t look much like an office to me.

Bedecked in purple wallpaper, there’s a desk in the corner, but most of the space is taken up by plump armchairs and low tables with cigar boxes on them.

I count three separate drink cabinets, each with a different selection of spirits and set of glasses.

The way Wadestaff does business looks more like entertaining people than anything else.

The rebels lay Lafin down on one of the long sofas.

His face is already waxy with death, and Warren the bodyguard finds a blanket to drape over him.

I feel Ana’s eyes on me and wonder if this small act of kindness has her evaluating again how I could be so cold.

My thoughts are interrupted when Wadestaff enters, straightening his cuffs and leaning against the edge of his desk.

“I’ll cut to the chase,” he says coolly, addressing Ana and me. “I currently have multiple Temple officials upstairs, enjoying the pleasures my business has to offer. I know we’ve been friendly in the past, Your Highnesses, but I can’t really afford to host you right now.”

“What kind of officials?” Esther asks abruptly.

Wadestaff gives her a hard stare. “Not that it’s any of your business, ma’am, but senior clerics. Meaning that if you’re caught with Trova’s fugitive princess, your fate won’t be much better than hers.”

I shift at the hint of threat in his tone.

“We don’t want to stay,” Ana says. Relief passes for a moment over Corrin’s face, but it’s quickly replaced by suspicion.

“Then may I ask what your business in Hallowbane is?”

“You,” she says. “Or at least, something you can help us with. Esther?”

She gestures for the redheaded woman to take over.

“Mr. Wadestaff,” Esther begins. “We’re members of the Hand of Ralus and?—”

The change in Wadestaff is immediate. His mild expression twists into anger and he leaps up from the desk.

“Not this again. I told you to stay away from me and my businesses. Now get out .”

Shadows swirl around his feet like hungry sharks, and the rebels stiffen, but don’t move.

“They’re here with me, Mr. Wadestaff,” Ana reminds him.

He turns his rage-filled stare onto her. The veneer of charm is gone, and in its place stands a violent, dangerous man. I step between them, my hand wrapping around the hilt of my sword, still bloody from the ruined I slaughtered less than half an hour ago.

“Watch yourself,” I say, my voice rumbling like thunder. “Or I’ll bring this whole building down on your precious customers’ heads.”

It’s enough to remind Wadestaff who he’s dealing with, and he steps back, working to pull himself together again.

“Smart,” I say.

He glares at me but turns back to Esther. When he speaks again, his voice is ruthlessly controlled.

“I’ve told you people I’ll have nothing to do with you.

Not after what you did to Marina.” I blink in surprise.

His control broke on that last word, and there was so much pain in the way he said the name—a deep, raw hurt.

It’s like someone’s taken a piece out of him and left a gaping hole I couldn’t see before. It unsettles me.

“We didn’t do anything to her,” Esther snaps. “It was the Temple that slit her throat, not us.”

“You’re the ones who put her in that room, trying to get answers. You’re the ones with her blood on your hands.” Wadestaff rounds on the rebels. The shadows are climbing the walls now, swallowing up the purple wallpaper.

“Marina was the informant you told me about before,” Ana says in a tone of realization. Ah yes, she’d said Harman had had a spy in Hallowbane who was murdered by the Temple. But I don’t recall any mention of the woman being someone close to Wadestaff.

“Yes,” Esther continues. “And she was a brilliant asset. We were all devastated to hear what happened.”

“She was more than an asset ,” Corrin spits. “She was everything. Don’t talk to me about devastation. You didn’t have to find her, or hold her cold, blood-soaked body as you closed her eyes.”

Tears are shining in his own eyes, and agony radiated from him.

Agony and love—the gut-wrenching, bone-aching kind you feel when a gory memory is all you have left of the person you adored.

As he describes the scene, I find myself picturing it, only instead of a stranger’s face there’s Ana, fatally pale and splashed with crimson.

I shove the image from my head. It doesn’t bear thinking about.

No matter what it takes, I will never, ever let that happen.

“I’m sorry, Corrin,” Ana says softly. “Many of us have lost someone at the hands of the Temple. That’s why we’re here.”

Wadestaff’s shaking his head violently. “And how many more have to die before the Hand’s crusade leaves us in peace? You’ll accomplish nothing but a bigger body count. The Temple owns us all, and you’re fools to think otherwise.”

“Marina thought otherwise.”

We all turn to the door, and I recognize the speaker as the hostess from our last visit here. The pretty smile she usually turns on Wadestaff’s customers is gone, replaced by a determined stare.

“Rosa, what are you doing here?” Wadestaff demands.

“Warren told me what was going on. And you can’t get mad at him either. Marina was my sister, and she’d want someone speaking up for her in all this.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” he bites back, but Rosa shakes her head.

“She knew what she was getting into with the Hand. She was sick of us all bowing, scraping to the clerics and their lies. She knew things needed to change—and she wanted to be a part of it. She’s not the only one, either,” she says.

“What are you talking about?” Wadestaff says, wary.

“A lot of the girls want to pick up where Marina left off. I have four of them waiting out there, ready to talk to these people. They want to help the Hand. Are you going to forbid them doing it?”

Wadestaff gapes at her. “These people just want to use them.”

“And you don’t use them?” Damia pipes up scornfully.

He turns to glare in the soldier’s direction. “I keep them alive. I keep them safe .”

“You’re a hypocrite,” Damia says, her voice rising until she’s almost shouting. “If you’re happy to take the blood money of the people who killed your lover, then that’s your choice. But you shouldn’t take away these women’s choice to fight back in their own way.”

There’s silence. Damia can often be cutting with her words, but right now I can tell something more is bubbling close to the surface.

She took a stand against her clerics—only they took the form of her family and their group of Morelium fanatics.

She can’t stand it when strong people stand back and do nothing in the face of corruption.

I can see her words have touched a nerve. The look Wadestaff gives her is full of both fury and pain, and when he speaks, his voice vibrates with emotion.

“You can think what you want, fae, but I see my people as something more than kindling to throw on the fire of someone else’s cause. I value them too much for that.”

Rosa sighs. “But what about what Marina valued, Corrin? What about what she’d want?”

“She’s dead ,” he snarls.

“Exactly! And don’t you think she’d want her death to count for something?” Rosa throws her hands up, tears dripping down her cheeks. “You can make that happen. Let me bring the girls in. Let them hear what the Hand are proposing and decide for themselves.”

Wadestaff’s shoulders sag. He looks like a hollowed-out man who realizes he doesn’t have the weight to stand against this tide. Finally, defeated, he nods.

“Thank you,” Rosa says, wiping her face and stepping quickly to the door. She beckons in some scantily clad women, who look around excitedly.

“Don’t thank me,” Wadestaff murmurs, turning away from us all.

I feel sorry for him, uncertain I could survive the loss he’s endured.

More than that, I understand him, because I think he has a point.

The women Esther’s sitting down to talk to look too full of life for this dark, dangerous task.

They nod eagerly as the Hand members go over the information they’re looking for, and they preen with pride when Esther brings up their ability to discover Caledon’s plans.

The rebel is good at making them feel important, emphasizing the contribution they’ll be making by seducing the clerics and asking the right questions.

Ana watches on, and I see the discomfort in her face too.

Now that they’re in front of her, she’s realizing the danger these women will be in.

But she doesn’t interrupt. Maybe she’s finally grasping some of the hard, necessary costs of the battle ahead.

The lesson she’s learning is one I picked up long ago: In war, you always find the price you’re willing to pay for victory—for survival.