CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Luna knew the Immortals were on their side when she and Harry made it all the way from the passageway to Throne Hall undetected. The celebrations had worked in their favor—most of the guards were posted by the ballroom, but they found two disgruntled soldiers stationed at the entranceway to Throne Hall. Judging by the guards’ menacing glowers, they were not pleased with their exclusion from the festivities.

Luna skirted back around the corner to where Harry crouched behind a pillar. “We need to get through those doors without the guards noticing,” she whispered. Shadow jumping wasn’t an option—Harry had already done it twice today, and Luna could see it taking its toll on him. She didn’t have a watch, but it couldn’t be much longer before Garringsford arrived.

Harry stood. “On it.”

And then he walked back down the corridor behind her in the opposite direction from the guards.

“Harry,” Luna hissed. “Where are you going?”

He only lifted a finger, signaling her to wait as he retreated further and slipped into a door that led into servants’ passageway.

Luna fidgeted, toe tapping as she craned her neck to glance back down the hallway at the guards, praying that Harry hadn’t decided to just ditch her.

Then, from afar, came a slurred, “Hey, Yagnov.”

Luna’s eyes narrowed at the pair of guards, but neither were the source of the voice.

The voice went on. “Do you think anyone will take this bottle of wine if I leave it here?”

The two guards perked up, straining to listen, obviously interested in hearing more about the wine.

“I doubt it,” came the loud response, a new voice, echoing through the deserted halls. “Besides, there’s more than enough to go around.”

Luna stifled a giggle. The second voice belonged unmistakably to Harry, and she realized that the first sounded like an impersonation of Quinlan—that is, if he were extremely drunk. The hunter must have used the servants’ passageway to pass right beneath the guards’ feet.

“Did you hear that?” whispered the first guard.

From afar, Harry let out a lusty sigh. “I guess I’ll just leave this here, then. I can hardly carry these two bottles as it is.”

“Should we take it?” the second guard asked his companion, and then muttered, “S’not like anyone’s around here, anyway. Besides, you heard him. There’s enough to go around.”

“I’ll get it,” the first volunteered, licking his lips. He had already disappeared around the corner when the second guard shot up in realization.

“Oi, you bastard, you’re just going to keep it all to yourself, aren’t you?” he cried, rushing after his fellow soldier.

Luna took that as her cue. Just as she grabbed the door handle, Harry melted from the shadows around the corner the guards had just rounded. She bit down hard on a grin, holding the door open as he swaggered in, hands in his pockets.

“That was amazing!” she exclaimed once the doors had closed.

“Thanks,” Harry said, bravado vanishing as they stepped onto the long carpet leading to the throne. They reached the dais and he slumped upon it with an exhausted sigh, eyes drifting shut.

While Harry napped, Luna prepared herself. She shook the tension from her shoulders and took a deep breath. Then, gripping her illusionstone, she conjured an image of a lidded wooden chest. Imagining it as a slab of clay, she began to sculpt, fashioning elegant ridges and intricate embellishments. Inside the chest, she added a bed of rich green velvet, and then on top of that … based off the anatomical diagrams Rose had sketched for her, she wove what hopefully looked like a human heart.

“Gross,” Luna whispered to herself, astonished by her own ability. But now came the difficult part—pushing past the visual limits of the illusion and adding texture, weight, physicality. She mangled the glistening organ with claw marks and scratches, and added the overpowering reek of fermentation.

“Luna.” Harry’s eyes had snapped open, his pupils dilated. “The Woman. She’s coming.”

Luna swallowed her anxiety and inspected the chest a final time. Then she passed it to Harry and skittered up the steps to the throne, concealing herself with a layer of illusion as she huddled down behind it.

Outside, the sharp, even click-click of heels along the corridor. Heels? Luna wondered, her entire body buzzing with adrenaline. Garringsford only ever wore boots, though perhaps for the ball …?

Before Luna could ponder it further, the doors swung open.

“Demon.”

Luna’s breath stuttered. She knew that voice, and it certainly didn’t belong to General Garringsford. No, but it wasn’t possible …

She could see Harry, but not the other speaker. His head bowed in submission, the obedient servant. “Milady.”

A figure sauntered past Harry, toward the dais. Heart pounding, Luna peeked around the back of the throne to find herself staring straight at Queen Priscilla.

Immortals help me, Luna thought, both hands pressed to her mouth to stifle the sound of her breathing. All this time … Priscilla was “the Woman” Harry spoke of.

It had been the queen trying to kill them, all along.

Priscilla turned her back on the throne, her gown swishing like a phantom whisper. “Is it done?”

When Harry looked up, his eyes glittered with a cold, black malice that sent a shudder down Luna’s spine. This was not the Harry she had come to know. This was a heartless killer, a warrior without mercy, and she thanked the Immortals that the anygné was on their side.

Instead of answering, he dropped down onto one knee and proffered her the chest. His eyes lingered on Priscilla’s crown, and it was obvious he could tell that this wasn’t Garringsford.

Priscilla raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “What is this?”

Harry didn’t falter. “Her heart in a velvet case.”

Priscilla’s mouth dropped open.

And then she began to laugh.

Peals of laughter shook her entire body, tears running down her cheeks. She doubled over, arms clutching her waist. “Oh, you darling,” she cried. She took the chest with one hand, so absorbed in her amusement that Luna’s illusion passed beneath her notice without a hitch. Priscilla lifted the lid and then recoiled, nose wrinkling. “Immortals. How utterly vile.” She shut the box with a snap and thrust it back into Harry’s hands. “And what of Luna?”

“I left her alive, as you requested.”

Priscilla nodded in satisfaction. “I must return to the ball. People will begin to wonder.”

“Milady …”

“What?”

“Are my services still required?”

Priscilla picked an invisible speck of dust from her bodice. “We shall see, demon. Now, get out of my palace.” And then she was gone.

After the doors fell shut, Harry turned to Luna. No trace of malice remained in his eyes. “So … that wasn’t Garringsford, was it?”

“No,” Luna breathed. “It was Queen Priscilla. My … my mother.” On one hand, the betrayal had shaken her, but on the other … she wasn’t taking it as hard as she might have expected. She relinquished her hold on her recent illusions, allowing both her concealment and the chest in Harry’s hands to dissolve. On a whim, she collapsed into the throne, but stood back up a moment later. It was a lot less comfortable than it looked.

“Luna,” Harry said softly. “You did well. Really well.”

Luna managed a weary smile. “You too. But while I’m sure we’d both like to take a decade-long nap, we have to tell Eadric about Priscilla before it’s too late.”

As if on cue, a sudden blast of lightning forked outside the tall windows, blazing Throne Hall in white light.

Whatever Harry said next was drowned by an explosion of thunder, but Luna didn’t need any further indication. They were out of time.

“Run?” she asked.

And so they ran.