The night is cold. It bites my limbs, so flimsily shielded by my silken gown. Clementine wraps an arm around Maisy, whose face is as grey as the cobblestones.

By the time we reach the alley where we stashed our own clothes, Lord Farran is already a smear upon the sky. His sólfox’s wings arc through the black, and I catch a glimpse of his flapping silver cloak beneath the moon.

‘How are we gonna get there?’ Teddy says as he rips off his mask. ‘I mean, I know I’m a super-strong hero and all that, but I don’t reckon I can run down one mountain and up another one by midnight.’

‘It’s impossible.’ Clementine slips a pair of trousers up under her gown. ‘Danika, we should just find a way to esca–’

Her voice trails off as I point towards the far side of the courtyard. Rows and rows of caged sólfoxes claw at the metal bars.

I turn to Lukas and Teddy. ‘How many can you control?’

‘Only one each, I reckon,’ Teddy says. ‘They’re a bit … snappy.’

‘But there are five of us,’ Clementine says. ‘We’re not likely to fit on two sólfoxes, are we? It was a nice plan, Danika, but obviously –’

‘We can fit.’ Lukas drops his mask into a nearby bin. ‘They’re strong, those things. Teddy, Clementine and Maisy – you take one. I’ll take the other with Danika.’

I nod, adding my gown and mask to the bin. It’s a fair way to split us up, considering how little Maisy must weigh. She’s always been slighter than her sister, but during this trip she must have dropped five kilos more than the rest of us. More than ever, she reminds me of a little mouse. Fragile, but with stubborn claws.

And speaking of claws …

The sólfoxes calm down a little as Lukas approaches. His eyes narrow to slits as he holds out his hands, channelling his proclivity with every speck of concentration. I keep a gentle hand on his shoulder, guiding his steps across the cobblestones.

‘Easy,’ he whispers. ‘Easy now.’

The nearby sólfoxes still. They stare at us with beady eyes.

‘You shouldn’t be locked in there,’ Lukas says, reaching a gentle hand between the bars. ‘We’re going to let you out, okay?’

He meets the nearest sólfox’s gaze. The creature stares back, and a promise seems to pass between them. I saw the same look in Teddy’s eyes when he dealt with our foxaries.

‘Teddy?’ Lukas says.

‘On it.’

Teddy hurries forward, a thin silver pin in his fingers. He slips it into the lock with all the practised finesse of a lifelong thief and gives a careful twist.

The lock clicks open.

I half-expect the creature to rush out and maul us, then take to the skies in a wild burst of freedom. But it simply stares at Lukas, as though hypnotised.

‘That’s it,’ Lukas breathes. ‘Good boy.’

He runs a gentle hand down the sólfox’s neck, scratching its skin beneath a ruff of rumpled fur. The creature tilts its head to the side, allowing him better access to the itchy patch, then nuzzles its face almost lovingly into the crook of Lukas’s elbow.

I stare between them: boy and beast, in a moment of perfect harmony. Lukas looks calm. Confident. Not a boy, but a young man. No doubt he can feel his proclivity humming: a tingle of magic beneath his skin.

Two minutes later, with a second sólfox free, we’re bundled atop our mounts. I’m right behind Lukas, pressed into his back. In any other circumstances this closeness might be awkward, but our task is too urgent to worry about hormones. This is our last chance to know what Lord Farran is planning to unleash upon Taladia, and we’ve got less than an hour to reach the Peak.

And then we’re off.

It begins with a rush of power, a jolt of muscles beneath me. I clench my thighs tighter around the sólfox, cursing its slippery fur, as the enormous wings flap around me. We lift into the air.

Someone on the other sólfox shrieks – Clementine, I think – and then we’re rising up between the towers. From here the spires look like knives, pointing up to skewer us if we fall. I think suddenly of Tindra lying smashed upon the stones. I fight back a shudder and tighten my grip.

‘All right?’ Lukas calls, straining to be heard.

‘Yeah, I’m fine!’

It’s far from the truth. Night rushes around me, loud and loose and violent, and I feel its lure. My proclivity hums beneath my skin. My body slips a little, preparing to fade into the black.

No!

I clench my eyes shut and try to block it out. I can’t lose control. Not now. If I melt into the darkness here, in the rush of the wind and the thrill of flight, I’ll never find myself again.

Our sólfox screeches, caught up in the rapture of escape, as Silent Peak falls away behind us.

‘Hold on!’ Lukas says.

We swoop. The sólfox plunges and then rises, flaring its wings to catch an updraft. I clench my eyes shut and focus on Lukas’s body heat beneath my fingers. He is with me, warm and solid and alive.

Lukas guides the sólfox into another sharp dive. We slip forward and my face hits the back of Lukas’s neck. He lets out a whoop of laughter, as sharp and primal as the cry of a hawk. With my teeth clenched shut, and the wind like fire in my eyes, I decide that Lukas Morrigan isn’t so much a romantic hero as a suicidal maniac.

‘It feels like ages since I’ve flown!’ The joy is so fresh in his voice – so rich and vibrant – that I can taste it in the air between us. ‘Isn’t it amazing?’

He’s cut off as the sólfox swerves. There’s a rush of sound and a sting of cold, and then we’re plunging down through darkness towards a peak of ragged black. Its centre parts like a pair of hands, curving around a molten throat.

Steam pours up from the shaft, and the cold night wind gives way to a blast of fiery cinders. Down in the depths of that mountain lies a pool of boiling liquid, a geyser waiting to erupt. But this geyser isn’t normal. It glows with spitting flame, shining metallic light up into the dark. I remember Bastian’s words: not a geyser of water, but a geyser of alchemical juices.

Skyfire Peak. We’re here.

Our descent is eerily silent, like a kite floating down from the stars. Lukas and Teddy keep our sólfoxes quiet, murmuring under their breath. Despite their fox-like bodies, the creatures extend their claws and flare their wings – as agile as hawks swooping in to roost.

The mountainside bristles with forest, but Lukas selects a decent landing place: a stony clearing, about a hundred metres down the slope. Even so, we’re almost bowled over by a tangle of thorny vines as we land.

Clementine splutters, her face alight in indignation as she clings to her fox’s fur. ‘What in the name of –’

‘Shhh.’ I grab her arm. ‘We’re too close. Keep your voice down!’

Teddy slides onto the ground. The movement is as light and silent as you’d expect of an expert burglar. ‘Reckon he saw us coming in?’ he whispers. ‘Lord Fancypants, I mean.’

I shake my head. ‘No way to know for sure.’

‘Yeah, guess not,’ Teddy says. ‘Not till his guards swoop down to gut us, anyway.’

‘Think he actually keeps guards here?’ I say. ‘I get the feeling he’s pretty secretive about his experiments.’

‘I reckon he’s got guards everywhere,’ Teddy says. ‘And spies, too. Remember what he said at the ball? Eyes and ears all over the joint.’ He runs a hand down his chin. ‘Better play this one safe, I reckon.’

I glance towards the peak, which looms above the canopy. From down here, it looks fairly ominous: a jagged jawline, dark beneath the stars. And if Teddy’s right, we’re stepping right into its teeth.

Lukas and Teddy coax the sólfoxes up into the trees, whispering words I can’t quite hear. The beasts settle in a tangled bulk of branches, high above the dangers of the midnight earth. Lukas hums a quiet tune before he descends, and their heads droop as though they’re on the verge of dozing. One fox rests its head across the neck of its companion, so that they jumble together in a sleepy ball of fur and feathers.

‘Good idea,’ Teddy says, as he clambers back down. ‘Should stay put for a while, I reckon. Maybe a few hours.’

‘Will that be long enough?’ Clementine says.

I hesitate. In the shadow of the forest, I feel closer than ever to the touch of Night. My proclivity thrums like mad. ‘It’s almost midnight.’

‘How’d you know?’ Teddy says.

‘I can feel it.’

No one argues. They all understand what it’s like to have a proclivity – all except Clementine, who’s once again scratching the back of her neck. I raise an eyebrow and she stops, embarrassed.

‘When that was me,’ I say, ‘you told me to stop scratching or I’d scar myself before I even got my tattoo.’

‘Yes, I know. But it’s just so itchy!’

‘Welcome to the club,’ Teddy says. ‘We’ve all been there. Gotta think about something else, I reckon, to keep your mind off it.’

‘Something else? What, like the fact we’re all about to be slaughtered by a pack of Víndurnic guards?’

‘Yeah, that’d do it.’

‘Oh, good,’ Clementine says. ‘I feel better already.’

Together, we creep up the hillside. Teddy is always light on his feet, and Maisy patters like a mouse, but the rest of us are clodhoppers. I wince every time my boots crack a fallen twig. In the darkness, the slightest sound seems amplified a thousand times over.

But despite Teddy’s fears, there are no sentries. The mountainside is deserted. Lord Farran’s up to something that he can’t trust to anybody – not even his own guards.

Near the top of the peak, we climb into the branches of a massive tree. My proclivity prickles with an intense burst of power, warning me that it’s almost midnight. At midnight, the earth cannot be trusted.

Peering through the branches, I can make out the lip of the geyser. A white-haired man stands at its edge. He holds an alchemy lamp in one hand, casting beams of light across the peak.

Lord Farran.

His silver cloak flaps behind him, rumpled by the breeze. I can’t see his face from this angle, but he’s cast aside his top hat, mask and veil. It’s too dark to make out his tattoo, which is a shame. My curiosity burns at the thought of a Silver proclivity. What does it look like?

Lord Farran stares into the geyser’s shaft, as though to watch the sway and gurgle of the liquid below. Steam wafts up in great spirals, and I remember the swirling silver banister at the ball. It seems like a dream now: another life, a fading memory. All those coloured dresses and shining masks … all so fake. So contrived.

This, on the other hand, is raw. The man on the ledge. The boiling crater. A roar of heat from the geyser blasts warmth into my bones, and my face stings at the whiplash of hot wind. Steam spills down around us – a rush of grit and darkness – before it fades into the night. A few splashes hit the rocks, glinting like drops of liquid starlight.

‘No,’ Maisy whispers. ‘It can’t be.’

‘What?’ I say.

‘Don’t you see?’ Maisy turns to me, her eyes wide. ‘Don’t you see what that liquid in the geyser must be? The way it shines, the way it explodes …’ She digs her fingernails into the trunk of our tree, as though trying to steady herself.

‘Get on with it,’ Teddy says.

Maisy takes a deep breath. ‘It’s Curiefer.’