Page 43

SHE DIDN’T REMEMBER walking back. One minute, she was at the edge of the pond, staring into dark water that reflected nothing. The next, she was passing beneath the silent archways of the palace, trailing mud across the inlaid floors.

Her hand hovered over the latch to her bedchamber. She should go inside. Clean herself up. Sleep. Or pretend to. Tomorrow—the ceremony—was nearly here.

From within her room, she heard humming. It was Poppy—dear, sweet, silly Poppy. Willow burst into the room and into tears.

Poppy dropped the folded robe she’d been carrying. “Oh, miss,” she said, rushing forward. “Oh no, no, no. Come here, come here.”

Willow let herself be folded into her friend’s arms, her face pressed against linen that smelled of mint and chamomile and the strange flower-polish used on the windows.

Poppy rocked her, not unlike a mother might. “There now. These are big feelings, aren’t they? And you’re just a mortal! It’s perfectly normal to be scared.”

Willow let out a small, hiccuping laugh.

Then Poppy sniffed. She pressed her nose right up to Willow’s neck and sniffed again. She reared back, her eyes watering. “Stixie pix, miss! You stink worse than a sowbelly’s droppings.”

Willow wiped her nose on her sleeve and said thickly, “It’s just mud.”

Something loosened in her chest as she said it, and the memory came fast—that first ride in Cole’s truck, how he’d reeked and how she’d recoiled. How he’d huffed and said, It’s just mud.

Tears welled up all over again, spilling down her cheeks.

“No, no, no,” Poppy said. “Absolutely not. No more crying. You don’t want to be all puffy for tomorrow! Come on now, miss. Come on with me.”

Willow allowed herself to be steered toward the bath chamber, dazed by the warmth, the routine of it.

The rose-scented water was already drawn, steam curling like silk above the surface.

Poppy peeled her out of her muddy gown and helped her into the tub, her motions gentle but firm, like someone tending a wounded bird.

When Willow emerged, clean and pink-skinned, Poppy was waiting with a towel the size of a small sail and a kitten-blue nightgown edged with silver thread.

“There, now,” Poppy said, brushing a strand of hair from Willow’s face. “Isn’t that better than thrice-spun foglace?”

Willow smiled. She couldn’t help it. “Yes, Poppy. It is.”

They moved back into the bedchamber, where the fireflies in the quilted coverlet blinked lazily, as if half-asleep themselves. Jace wasn’t there with hot chocolate, but Poppy made tea, and it was... acceptable.

“Poppy?” she said once they were settled in front of the fire.

“Mmm-hmm?”

“I disappointed the queen.”

“Oh no!” Poppy exclaimed. “How, miss? What did you do?”

“She asked for...” Willow hesitated. “Well. I couldn’t do it. That’s all that matters.”

“I see,” Poppy said, her brow furrowed.

Willow read it as confirmation of all her fears. “What if she changes her mind? What if she decides I’m not suited for Serrin after all?”

“It’s not her decision, though, is it?”

“But the ceremony. The ritual. What if I’ve ruined everything?”

“The queen doesn’t choose. No one does.”

“No?”

Poppy shook her head. “That’s not how the ritual works.”

“Then how does it work? No one’s ever told me—not really.”

“It’s old magic,” Poppy said, her tone reverent. “Serrin will stand above the scrying basin—a great big thing, carved out of moonrock, deep as a well and always full. He’ll offer a drop of his blood, freely given, and the basin will show him his match. It’s as straightforward as that.”

“And he does this in front of everyone?” Willow asked. “There’s no one whispering in his ear, trying to convince him to speak another name?”

“Impossible,” Poppy said. “Everyone will be there: every noble, every diplomat, every steward and scribe. Me and Jace, too. We’ll all gather as witnesses. It’s the realm’s future, after all!”

“Oh,” Willow said. “That’s good, then.”

“Not one bad thing about it,” Poppy agreed.

Willow stared into her mug and imagined her face smiling up at Serrin from the scrying basin.

Would she appear radiant and calm, her hair just so?

Or would a great big smile break across her face?

She imagined Serrin—the real Serrin, in the flesh—looking up from the basin and finding Willow in the crowd.

Going to her. Reaching for her hand with awe on his face because fate had declared that she was for him and he for her.

And yet . . .

She finished her drink and set down the mug. “I think I’m going to go for a walk.”

Poppy frowned. “Oh no, you don’t, miss. Not through the mud again.”

“No, not through the mud,” Willow replied. “Just a stroll along the halls. I won’t be gone long.”

She stepped into the corridor and let the door ease shut behind her. Candles flickered low in their sconces. Tapestries rustled slightly with unseen drafts. She walked slowly, trailing her fingers along the carved stone walls.

Was this her home now? Was she meant to belong here?

She turned a corner and drew up short. She heard voices—two of them, low and urgent. She tiptoed forward and saw Jace speaking urgently to Maeve.

Willow froze. Her first instinct was to turn back, to give them privacy. But their serious expressions made her pause. She remembered the story Jace had told of how she’d stepped in when a lecherous guest had tried to force himself on Maeve. If I didn’t help her, who would? Jace had said.

Whatever they were discussing now—what if Willow could help?

To help, she’d have to know what they were up against, what they were discussing. But they’d shut down the second they saw her—she knew they would. Just like they had the last time she’d seen them sharing a private chat.

So . . . if she really wanted to help . . .

She pressed her palm to the wall and closed her eyes, remembering the first time she’d experienced the Fade.

It had happened in Hemridge when she’d been desperate to escape those creepy deacons.

She pulled up the memory as best she could.

The shift. That subtle loosening at the edges of her body, like fabric soaking in water and becoming something else.

The world tilting—not with force but an invitation.

This time, it wasn’t fear that opened the hinge. It was longing—not to escape but to witness.

A breath curled behind her ribs. Her fingers tingled. Then came the shimmer—not a visual thing exactly, but something behind her eyelids, like moonlight turned to thread. She reached for it, and the seams of the hall fell open.

She was in. The air around her softened, turned syrup-thick, and her breath no longer made a sound. She was there , and yet she wasn’t. A girl in a story, slipping between the pages. A breath caught between two verses of a hymn.

Ahead, in the shadowed alcove, Maeve shifted her weight. Jace ran a hand through her short curls and leaned in.

Willow crept forward, weightless as a dream.

“I followed her,” Jace whispered, eyes bright. “After the pond. After she didn’t get what she wanted.”

“And?”

“Maeve, she was so angry. Unhinged angry. She sent Aesra off and stormed back to her chambers. So I followed.”

Maeve stiffened. “You went into the queen’s wing?”

“Well, no, I’m not an idiot. I watched through the window slats.” She grabbed Maeve’s hands. “Do you know what I saw?”

Willow inched closer.

Jace dropped her voice even lower. “She was eating it. The goat. The one from the pond. She’d torn half the hide away and was chewing straight off the bone.

Blood everywhere. It was—Maeve, it was feral.

This queen —she was crouched over the carcass like a wild woman. It was bloodlust, pure and simple.”

“We knew it, didn’t we?” Maeve said.

“But now, with what I saw...” Jace’s eyes gleamed. “I have to get the message to Brody, that’s all. This is it. Proof. She’s neither fae nor mortal—just monstrous. We send this to the rebels, and the realm changes forever.”

“You have to leave tonight,” Maeve said.

“I know,” Jace said. “I will. After last rounds.”

Willow’s heart pounded because, yes, she’d meant to eavesdrop.

.. but she hadn’t meant to overhear this.

The image of Severine gnawing flesh, the gleam in her eye as she tore into raw meat—it was too easy to imagine.

Even so, it knocked something loose inside her, and her grip on the magic wavered.

Maeve gasped. Jace jumped around like a boxer, fists raised.

Willow held up her hands. “Sorry, sorry!” In Maeve and Jace’s expressions, Willow saw what they saw: a girl made from thin air, staring at two girls who now stared back.

Maeve’s face drained of color.

“Go,” Jace told her. “Go!”

Maeve nodded and hobbled past Jace, her gait crooked but determined.

“Maeve, wait—” Willow started.

“Let her go,” Jace said.

Willow turned to her. “Jace—”

“Don’t tell me it was an accident,” Jace said quietly. “You did something. You... you disappeared. Like—” she waved a hand at the air, her face wary, awed. “You slipped through.”

“I did.”

Jace studied her. “And that’s... something you’ve always been able to do?”

Willow hesitated. “Not always. Not exactly. It started after I touched the trunk of the Stillwood Tree. But even then, it only came when I was scared or desperate. Or determined.”

Jace’s expression shifted. “Determined enough to spy on us?”

“That’s not what I was doing,” Willow said. “Not really. I just... heard voices. And I was curious. I thought maybe I could help.”

Jace didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry I startled Maeve.”

“She’ll recover.”

A pause stretched between them.

Then Jace narrowed her eyes. “If you’ve had this... ability... all this time, why haven’t you used it to slip into Serrin’s wing?”

Willow blinked. “What?”

“To see him. To know for yourself.”

The question hit Willow hard. She opened her mouth. Closed it. “Because...”

“You didn’t want to,” Jace said, comprehension dawning on her face. “You could have at any point, but you didn’t. And I’m not criticizing—I’m really not—but I think maybe you like the fantasy more than what’s real.”

“That’s not true. You don’t know that.”

Jace gave a small pitying smile. “Sorry, miss. I must have misunderstood.”

Willow flushed and turned away, ashamed. But it had been a long day, and her shame turned into anger. She drew herself upright, letting her shoulders settle back into the proud slope she’d learned from watching Ash walk into rooms.

“You’re right,” Willow said. “I did as I was told and followed the rules. Guilty as charged.” Her eyes narrowed. “Not you, though. You do whatever you want to do, and rules be damned.”

“The rules weren’t written with my best interests in mind,” Jace said. “Why should I follow them?”

“Fine, but maybe instead of grilling me, you should explain yourself. I didn’t dream that conversation. You’re working with the rebels. You’re spying on the queen.”

Jace said nothing.

“Is it true?”

Jace sighed, the edge of her defiance fraying. “Yes. There’s a gathering. We don’t have a name, not really—just an idea. We’re not trying to take the whole palace down in flames. We’re just trying to get her out of the picture.”

Willow stared.

“She’s not what she claims,” Jace went on, quieter now. “You’ve seen it too, haven’t you? The way the shadows cling to her. The hunger in her eyes. The way everyone around her forgets themselves, forgets what matters. You feel it.”

“Do I?” Willow asked.

“Yes, miss. I think you do.” Jace stepped closer. “We don’t have a problem with you. Just her. She’s bad news, and you know it as well as I do.”

Willow bowed her head. She did. It was true, and she couldn’t pretend it wasn’t.

Jace softened, just slightly. “We can fix this, but I need to get that story out. The rebels need proof. Brody needs proof.”

Willow nodded. Severine was dangerous. If Jace could give the rebels something to use against her, why not?

Jace bit her lower lip.

“Do what you need to do,” Willow said. “I won’t stop you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Relief washed over Jace, and she gave Willow a quick, tight hug. Then she hurried away, shooting Willow a final grin before ducking around the corner.

Willow headed back toward her room, but as her bare feet padded across the cool marble, doubt crept in. A single, rotting thread at first, then more, unraveling the certainty she’d just pretended to feel.

If Jace told this Brody what she’d seen—Severine crouched over a goat from the pond, red-mouthed and ravenous—what would come next? Questions, that’s what.

Who pulled that goat from the mire?

Willow.

Who’d delivered a possum the day before?

Willow.

So she was done for. And what about Serrin? Would the rebels stop to ask whether Serrin dined on goat meat raw or roasted? Would they care that he might have refused it altogether? No. They’d see him as Severine’s son. The boy who shared her blood. Her hunger. Her shadow.

Willow reached the final hallway, her chamber door just ahead.

A figure stepped out of the gloom, and Willow startled.

“I don’t recall giving you leave to roam the halls,” Aesra said.

Willow forced a smile. “I don’t recall you forbidding it.”

“You should be in bed.”

“I will be, soon,” Willow said. “But . . . just now . . .”

“Yes?”

Willow’s heart said no, but her mouth said yes.

“I saw something,” she said, aghast at the words and yet unable to stop them.

It was as if an invisible hand was bending her will—but how had an invisible hand found its way into her mind?

“It’s probably nothing, but... it’s Jace.

I think she’s been spying on the queen.”

Aesra’s eyes turned to slits.

“That’s all,” Willow said. She felt woozy. “Like I said, it’s probably nothing.”

“Go to bed, mortal,” said Aesra.

Willow slipped past her without another word.

Inside her chamber, the fireflies in the coverlet glowed softly, as if nothing in the world had changed. She crawled beneath the quilt fully clothed and pulled it to her chin.

Jace was strong. Jace could survive another week in whatever pit Aesra tossed her into.

Willow had chosen Serrin—and herself—and that was that.