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P OLES TUCKED UNDER MY ARMS, I SPEED DOWN THE MOUNTAIN.

My momentum builds. I keep my balance and lean forward. Falling in fast motion.

I need to get to the bottom of the mountain.

Wind whips my face, my clothes, while my mind whirls. Ernest mentioned Leonie’s rooms to Mia. Was he giving her a tip or conveying his own plans? Did he go for the ring?

Did he get it?

I can’t search him, but I need to know who has that combination.

When I reach the bottom of the mountain, I cut hard to the right, spraying powder explosively. The chairlift is off now. No one is being let back onto the slopes. Instead, every guest of the chalet is unclicking from their skis.

The deck Leonie reserved is packed with family.

I ski closer, picking up snatches of conversation.

People ask who fell, but then conversation moves on.

The topic of Ernest bores them, even in tragedy.

Instead, they’re making plans for the rest of the afternoon, wondering how long it will take to be ferried back to Volenvell.

I slow when I find Leonie and Otto, far from the crowd. His face, at least, is dour.

Nearing them, I busy myself with my skis while I listen in.

“We won’t know how bad his injuries are until he reaches Visp Hospital,” Otto relays grimly. “He’s alive, but not responsive.”

Leonie clicks her tongue. “I certainly don’t care if he should ever wake up.”

I nearly fumble my pole, shocked by her open cruelty. Surely this isn’t just because he’s interrupted her ski day.…

“How convenient for him that he managed to get himself a helicopter ride to the hospital before I could throw him out,” she continues.

“Very neatly handled for him, yes,” Otto replies, sounding… sarcastic?

Leonie doesn’t notice, or if she does, she doesn’t care. “Has the ring been returned to my room?”

“I will do so personally,” he promises.

My heart pounds beneath my parka. I was right. Ernest went for the ring. That’s why he was so nervous today. It had nothing to do with me or my inquiries into his cuff links.

Horror grips me. He sat next to an outsider on the chairlift. Did he give the outsider the combination?

I don’t get the chance to chase the thought to its worrying conclusion. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out— Kevin , the screen reads.

Stepping away from my skis and the deck to avoid Leonie’s notice, I pick up.

“Bishop,” I say. “What is it?” I swear, if he’s calling to express his exuberance for Puss in Boots movies or Swiss cheese…

“Sorry to call,” Kevin rushes to reply, “but I think we have a major problem.”

I close my eyes in exasperation. I don’t have time for this. “You’re in charge of the car ,” I say. “That’s it. I’m failing to imagine a vehicular problem major enough to merit—”

“I saw Queen.”

I blink.

“You… saw Grace?” I clarify, confused. In Rothbad? Is Grace playing me?

Or what if it’s not just Grace? What if Tom brought her in as part of some side agenda?

“No, uh. Sorry,” Kevin stammers. “I was trying to use the code names. I mean other Queen. Former Queen.”

Former Queen—

“Abigail,” Kevin says. “Your sister. She’s here.”