Afterward we lie together on the floor of my room, curled on the red rug below my bed. His fingers glide over the freckles on my shoulder, as if he were mapping the skies on my body, joining them in swirling lines and shapes. I watch him as he concentrates on his task, the curve of his cheek as he makes a shape that pleases him, a slight frown when he cannot find a way to join them together the way he wants. Neither of us has spoken yet, not with words, at least. I keep trying to find a way to tell him he must go, because if the queen catches him here, he’ll be taken down to that hellish room beneath the castle where the guards will use their knives on him. But if I say it, he might obey and I can’t go through that again.

He looks at me, leaning forward to kiss me before he sits up.

“We need to decide what we’re going to do,” he says. “I can’t leave you, that much is clear, and I can’t keep from you if I stay, which means you’ll be cuckolding the king.”

“You have to leave,” I say quietly, finally finding my voice. “The queen is telling everyone a Tregellian poisoned the king. If you stay, you’ll be arrested and they’ll question you.”

“Then come with me. Take your life into your own hands and come with me. I thought that was what you wanted.” His mouth twists as he tries to find the words he needs. “I cannot stay here, regardless of what madness the queen is spouting. I cannot stay and watch you become another man’s wife. Yes, he will be wounded, and yes, they will come after us.” He talks rapidly. “But surely it’s worth it, for the chance to be together? I believe in us; I believe I am supposed to be with you and you with me. I would rather die than live without you. And if you don’t feel the same, if—” He gently places a finger against my lips as I try to interrupt. “If you don’t feel the same, I will understand and I will go. I’ll never bother you again. But think, please. Can you stay here with him when I’ll be taking your heart away with me?”

I try to duck my head away from his gaze but he doesn’t allow it, tilting my chin upward so I have to meet his eyes.

“It’s time for you to make a choice,” he says softly. “No more doing what he wants, or what I want, or what the queen wants. You have to choose what you want. Either him or me. Whatever you decide, I won’t fight you. I won’t make you feel guilty for the decision. I promise. Your choice … as long as it’s me.” His smile is heartbreaking, tender and hopeful and scared.

“I knew it.” The hard voice of the queen rips us apart. She is framed by the doorway, her face pale save for two bloodred spots staining her cheeks.

Lief scrambles to cover my body with his own to spare me the shame of being seen by the guards who stand behind her, their swords drawn and pointed at us, held in gloved hands. I can do nothing except lie beneath him, naked and frozen. No. This cannot be.

The queen glowers at us, both rage and triumph illuminating her face. “Get up. Cover yourselves,” she orders.

“At least give us the privacy to clad ourselves,” Lief says, his arm extended as if it alone could ward them away.

“What right do you have to ask me for consideration?” the queen says. “You poison my husband and then sleep with my son’s betrothed, and you ask me for goodwill?”

“I didn’t kill—” Lief begins, but the queen raises her voice, drowning him out.

“We have all seen your shame; no amount of cloth will disguise the crimes you have committed here. You are both under arrest for treason, for conspiring against the throne of Lormere. Either dress quickly, or be taken as you are.”

Lief opens his mouth to protest, but as he does the guards move forward and I whimper, terrified the queen will drag me through the castle naked. Lief turns his attention to me, but I cannot move, and he turns his back on them to lift me, still mindful to shield me as much as he can. My hands shake and he has to put my gown on me, dressing me as though he were my maid. Over his shoulder I notice the guards have all looked away. But the queen watches it all, a smile playing at her lips as she revels in my humiliation.

“I love you,” he whispers as he pulls the ties on my dress together.

When I am covered, Lief dresses himself, turning defiantly toward the queen as he does. He moves slowly, deliberately, pulling his garments on in the reverse of a seduction. As he bends to reach for his sword belt, she makes a gesture and two of the guards move forward. Before either of us can cry out, one has clubbed Lief on the back of the neck with the hilt of his sword, and I watch in horror as he falls to the floor. As soon as he is down, two of them begin to kick him, bringing their boots back and swinging them into his ribs and spine.

“No, stop!” I find my voice and my feet and fly toward them, but it is the queen who grabs me by the arms and forces me to watch as the guards beat Lief in front of me. Each grunt makes me scream and writhe, but she holds me with a strength that surprises me. One of the guards grins at me from the doorway and I bare my teeth at him, still struggling in the queen’s grip.

“Enough,” she says in a bored tone when Lief has stopped moaning and grunting, finally unconscious. “Take the murderer away.” They seize Lief by his arms and drag him from the room.

“Wait outside,” she says to the two remaining guards, who bow and withdraw, closing the door behind them. When we are alone she flings me from her and I stumble, landing in a pool of blood. Panting, I look at her, filling my gaze with as much hatred as I can muster. She stands and assesses me, her eyes sweeping up and down my form.

“How stupid you are,” she says finally. “To have the chance to marry a prince and to throw it away for a farmer’s boy. For the best, though. You’d make a terrible queen; you make such poor choices.”

“I’ve never had a choice about anything,” I spit at her.

“You are a fool, Twylla. You’ve always had choices,” she seethes. “You chose to come here, to give up your home and family. You chose to befriend the son of a servant and make him and yourself a liability to my rule. And you chose to lie with your guard, the man who killed my husband. Did you aid him? Did he teach you his Tregellian ways? Is that how you are able to touch him without killing him?”

“He didn’t! It was you, I know it was you. And I know about Daunen, I know about the Mornings—” My cries are cut off as she backhands me across the face, making my ears ring.

“How much more treason do you plan to commit today?” she hisses at me, glancing toward the door, and I realize she’s putting on a show for the guards who must be able to hear us, trying to keep her story alive to the last.

“You—” I begin, but she raises a hand to silence me.

“There will be a trial,” she continues. “In front of the whole court, I will see you confront what you have done and what you have said. You have broken the kingdom’s faith in you. You will die for your crimes, and your sins will not be Eaten. And that still won’t be punishment enough for opening your legs to another man while my son planned to wed you. While my son loved you.”

My anger ebbs at those words and I have to look away; the fire in her eyes is too much to bear, her judgment washing over me and damning me.

“I had hoped, for a time, that you would be good enough for both of my sons,” she says, her head to one side as she watches me. “I have two sons, you see,” she continues. “My son by birth and my son by inheritance, for Lormere is as much my child as Merek is. I have nurtured this land as I have cosseted my son, and you have failed them both. It is your fault it has come to this. And one day Merek will see that. Guards!” she calls, but it is Merek who opens the door and dread fills every part of me.

“What is the meaning of this?” He glares at his mother, his eyes darting to me, concern clouding his expression before he turns back to his mother.

“Ask her.” The queen thrusts me forward and I collapse at Merek’s feet.

“Twylla?” he says softly.

“Tell him!” the queen cries. “Confess what you have done.”

I cannot bear to tell the man who stands over me what I have done to him, had planned to do.

“Mother, enough. I command you to explain this.”

“She”—the queen’s raised finger is a malediction—“was with her guard. In here. On the day we said good-bye to your stepfather. I found them naked here. She has betrayed you.”

I look at Merek, witnessing the anger on his face give way to anguish.

“No, it’s not true. Twylla, it isn’t true, is it? You wouldn’t do that, not after all we said? All I told you?”

“I’m sorry” is all I can say. It is enough.

He covers his face with his hands, a gesture of defeat that damns me. “I knew,” he says. “Of course I knew he had feelings for you. A blind man could have seen it. But you—I thought you understood. Gods, I am a fool! I thought you were with me.”

“Merek, please—” My plea is cut off by the queen, flying at me with her hand raised again. The second slap echoes across the room and I reel from the force of it, my own hand rising to clasp my cheek, the skin burning under my palm.

“Don’t you dare address my son by his name, you little slut,” she hisses at me. “You dare take your lover in my castle and then beg my son for his aid?”

Merek places a hand on his mother’s arm, restraining her. He looks at me coldly, his face returning to the same inscrutable plane it was when he first came back to Lormere.

“The smoke from my stepfather’s funeral still hangs in the air. This morning you attended his Eating at our sides. This afternoon, you lie with your guard in the castle where I grieve,” he says quietly. “You are charged with treason against the throne of Lormere.” He repeats his mother’s words. “There can be no mercy. That is the price of what you’ve done to me.” He turns on his heel and leaves the room, not fast enough to prevent me seeing the shaking of his shoulders as he goes.

“Do you know what astounds me the most, Twylla?” the queen says. She lowers her voice to a whisper, her tone intimate, almost maternal. I tear my eyes from the doorway to look at her. “It’s that you did this to yourself. You’ve lost him and given me what I wanted all along, and I barely had to do a thing. It couldn’t be any neater. That calls for a celebration, don’t you think?”

I say nothing, watching her.

“Ah, I have it,” she says. “We won’t hang you for your crimes. We’ll hunt you. I’ll take you to the forest myself.”

“No—”

“Yes. I’ll have the whole court follow.” She nods to herself. “I have a mind to make you watch the dogs eat your lover first. Perhaps I’ll put you both there and we’ll see how much he loves you then. Do you think he’ll try to shield you from their jaws when they tear your heart out?” She laughs as I shiver. “We should make a wager. Wouldn’t that be amusing? How far will you get before they bring you down? How long before you’re on your knees? Wait, I have an idea … Do you know what my father used to do? He used to slice across the ankles of the wretches we were hunting. He’d cut them and leave them in the trees. He’d give them an hour to try to escape. Rohese abolished it, saying it gave the dogs an unfair advantage, but it might be time to bring it back.”

She bends over, her Tallithi medallion falling into my face, the piper and the three stars above him all I can see as she whispers her next threat in my ear.

“I look forward to watching you both crawl.”

She stands and wheels from the room. “Take her down,” she calls behind her.

I cry out, my voice strangled, as the guards step forward and lift me roughly to my feet, their thick gloves chafing my skin. My legs are too weak to hold me and they have to half carry, half drag me out of the room and down the stairs.

The hallways are lined with courtiers, lords and ladies and even pages and servants, all witness to my fall. They say nothing, no jeers or recriminations; no one spits at me. They simply watch like silent sentinels as I am taken down into the lower level, through the barracks, to the dungeons.

The guards push me inside a small, dank cell, and I fall against the rotten rushes that coat the ground. As the door clangs shut behind me and the key turns with finality in the lock, my mouth falls open and I scream silently; my breath leaves my body with force as I clutch at the straw and pound at the floor beneath it. There is nothing but fear and pain and loss as I fall apart in the darkness.

*  *  *

There is little light in the dungeon; the only source is the weak glare from a torch in the passageway. And it is silent, save for the occasional drip of water from the vaulted ceiling. There are no screams, not even my own; I sit with my fist in my mouth to stop myself from crying out.

I can’t see a guard posted, so I call softly through the iron bars of the door. “Lief? Lief, are you here?”

I smell it a second before it moves, the cell filling with the odor of the grave as instinct drives me back against the wall. Silhouetted between the bars, a shape appears: long muscled legs, a flat head that turns toward me, too many teeth gleaming as a mouth opens. As I press against the cold stone, bathed in my own sweat, it lunges toward the bars and I can’t help the harsh scream I make. A metallic clang resonates around the cell as the creature hits the door; it whimpers, straining briefly against the chain I can now see around its neck. It stares at me through the bars with those soulless and empty eyes before it turns and slinks away. It can afford to be patient. I am captive prey. I listen over the sound of my blood rushing in my ears as it settles back down in some dank corner, and I bunch my fist back into my mouth to stop from screaming again.

I stare into the darkness, my ears straining for movement. As quietly as I can, I brush my other hand through the damp rushes, my skin crawling at the feeling of their putrid stickiness against my skin. When a piece breaks off and embeds itself under my thumbnail, I nearly cry out again; only a timely grunt from the hound silences me. I remain frozen for what feels like an age before I pull the piece out and begin to search again through handful after handful of rotten rushes, trying to find something I can use as a weapon. As panic threatens to overtake me again, I force myself to be calm. It cannot get to me through the bars; though that doesn’t quell the fear that someone could let it in, if they chose to.

Defeated, I lean against the wall and my thoughts turn back to Lief, held somewhere, my heart stuttering again when I realize he may be unconscious or dying from the blows the guards dealt him. I hope he is, if they do the things to prisoners that my guard told me they did. I couldn’t bear to hear him make that sound. I don’t want him to become a scream. He’d be better off dead.

Which he might already be, I realize. Because of me.

Choice. For years I’ve craved it, idealized it as a dream I can never have and, though it pains me to admit it, the queen is right. I have had choices, but because I didn’t like them I didn’t acknowledge them. I’ve been the agent of my own misery, time and again. And now I’ve dragged Lief down with me. I replay the queen leaning over me, the image of the piper on her medallion seared on my brain as she tells me she looks forward to watching us both crawl.

Left with my thoughts in the dark, a strange calm fills me, despite the musk of the hound. My tears dry and my heart slows to a steady pace. This time tomorrow I will be no more. All that I am and ever have been will be gone. Will Lief’s wraith and mine meet in the West Woods and drift together through the trees? Will there be enough of us left to know each other? I wonder if my mother will be sad to hear I am gone. I wonder how much it will hurt to die. Lief’s tale of the Sleeping Prince plays through my mind. The queen’s dogs will tear out my heart like the Sleeping Prince supposedly does. I don’t blame Lief’s mother at all for not telling him the whole sorry tale.

The Sleeping Prince. For some reason I keep coming back to the tale, to the Bringer and his calling away of a girl for his father, and I think of the girls who have died so he might wake. Girls like me, called from their homes and taken to a ruined castle to feed a monster. I was called from my home to a beautiful castle to be a puppet for a monster. And even though I don’t believe in the Gods anymore, I find myself praying to them.

*  *  *

Slumped on the floor, I begin to doze, my thoughts becoming muddled as Sleeping Princes and hounds and Gods all take turns laughing at me in my dreams. I see a white-haired man wearing a crown bowing to a Goddess shrouded in black, I see a God with a pipe at his lips, playing as dogs snap at his heels and shooting stars fall above him. Then I am wide-awake, sitting bolt upright and staring at the walls of my cell.

At the first hunt after Merek’s return he asked his mother about the medallion she wore, the coin he’d brought her from Tallith. He said it had a piper on it and she told him she’d filed the image away to make it Lormerian. But I saw the piper on her medallion. Not filed away, but there in my face: a piper, with three shooting stars in the sky above him. What was it Lief said about the solaris in the sky? What are the solaris? I never thought to ask. Is it possible they’re shooting stars?

Then my blood turns to ice.

Not shooting stars. Comets. I saw comets the night Dorin died, three of them burning in the dark skies. Three comets. Three stars on the medallion.

The next day, the day of the hunt, Dimia and I heard music in the courtyard, music Lief couldn’t hear. Music from a pipe.

The last time we saw Dimia before she left.

Did Dimia leave because of the music? Did she follow the Bringer?

Lief told me that one of the old versions of the story said the Sleeping Prince could be awoken forever if the Bringer brought him a girl while the solaris were in the sky. And that the Bringer could be summoned by the totem, if someone had it and knew what it was. The queen has a pendant with a piper on it, a piper who wasn’t there before but is most definitely there now, with his halo of comets.

The pendant is the totem, it has to be.

The queen summoned the Bringer.