The next morning, I awoke with a pain in my foot and Carlow’s voice ringing in my ears. She was arguing with Creek, their shouts muffled by the wall, and I rolled out of bed. Julian’s coat was sticky with sweat, but I kept it curled around me. I rubbed my hand across the wood of my door before opening it and peered into the hall. Creek stood in the doorway to Carlow’s room, his arms crossed. A blue rosebud was tucked into the chest pocket of his greatcoat.
“Let her work or so help me,” he was saying and shaking his head.
Carlow shrieked from inside. “Easy for you to say.”
Her voice turned my stomach, and I groaned. Creek glanced at me.
“Hold still,” said a voice I didn’t know. “I’m not even holding the needle yet.”
“The Door baited you last night,” he said, beckoning me over. “Alive?”
“I think.” I pulled the blue rose from my pocket, the petals withered and bloody but still intact, and hid it away once he saw. “I have you to thank for that. The thorns pricked me.”
He stared at me, blue eyes endless, and smiled. “A pity you didn’t open the Door. Carlow would be free then.”
“Does she know?” I asked softly. “Does she know you fulfilled the covenants of your curse?”
“I have been placing the evidence before her, but she never truly sees. I’m not supposed to leave her to face eternity alone. The idea that I will is unthinkable to her.” He shuddered. “No. No one is aware, though I think the Crown suspects, and that is how I prefer it.”
“Fine,” I said. “When did you manage it? It’s only been a week or so since you revived last? What if she kills you?”
“A week ago,” said Creek quickly, his gaze darting to Carlow. “I’m not discussing this near her.”
I sighed and whispered, “Fine. Keep your secrets and lies, but if she kills you, she’ll never forgive herself.”
Creek laughed quietly. Carlow glared at him, hands clutching the bed. Safia, the healer employed by the Heir, was leaning over Carlow’s bare thigh and stitching shut a short, deep cut. Carlow threw her arm over her eyes and groaned. Creek chuckled.
“She hates needles. Her. Franziska Carlow, noblewrought and scared of nothing, is scared of needles. It’s so…mortal,” he said, savoring the word.
“How did she hurt herself?” I asked.
“The usual way,” said Creek. “A sacrifice.”
Safia leaned back in her wheelchair, black eyes bright with laughter, and patted Carlow’s arm. “I’m done, you big, immortal baby.”
“Will it scar?” Carlow asked, voice softer than I’d ever heard.
Safia shook her head. The green binding carved into her chest was red with fresh blood. “The stitches are only for the next day,” she said. “I’ll be able to heal it tomorrow, and I can make sure there’s no scar.” Safia glanced at me over her shoulder. “Did you need something?”
“No, just heard a commotion,” I said.
“I think she prefers Carlow.” Safia rolled her lips together and dodged Carlow’s half-hearted swat. She slung her bag onto the back of her chair. “Unless there’s another commotion, I’m due at breakfast.”
Footsteps echoed down the hall. I flinched, and Creek turned. Hana and Basil hurried toward us, the guard sporting fresh bandages on her hands and arms, and Basil carried a stack of books. Hana looked anywhere but at us, keeping her strides short so as not to leave Basil behind. Basil’s fingers tapped a frantic rhythm against their books. Hana stopped before us.
“Is Carlow still here?” she asked.
“Hana!” Safia’s voice came out a bit breathlessly. Safia adjusted her dress and the silk scarf wrapped around her tight black curls. She didn’t need to; she was easily the prettiest person out of all of us. “Did my good luck charm not work?”
Hana blushed, hand jerking to her necklace. “No. I mean, it did. I’m fine. I’m here to get Carlow, Creek, and Adler.”
Safia fiddled with her silver moon bracelet, and I glanced at Hana’s necklace.
“His Majesty asked me to get your thoughts on several sacrifices and replication mechanisms,” said Basil, peering around Hana. “The others he wanted in the laboratory immediately.”
“Well, at least I finished in time.” Safia waved farewell to us and joined us in the hall. “Let’s see what you have for me, Baz.”
They vanished into Basil’s room. The others started walking, and I grabbed Creek’s arm. He glared at me, eyes slits of sky.
“He sent the only person who could die away,” I whispered. “Why?”
Creek shook off my grip. “The Crown must be visiting. Why else?”
“She was mad at Carlow last time.” I clenched the rose, thorns cutting through me, and nodded. “The calculations upset her.”
It was only a lie by omission. The Heir had so few friends, and losing them would break him. It couldn’t be me. It couldn’t be Carlow. It had to be Creek.
“Do you think she would hurt Carlow?” I asked.
So questions didn’t count as lies either.
“Carlow is immortal for now, but she is not immune to pain,” said Creek, his blue eyes dark in the dim morning light. “The Crown could do much worse to Carlow than killing her.”
“But she would be all right.” I worried my lip and blinked as if keeping back tears. “She wouldn’t sacrifice Carlow to the Door, would she? Could Carlow survive that?”
Creek’s face snapped to me, his eyes wide, and for the first time, he looked afraid. “That would kill Carlow quite permanently.”
“What do we do?”
“You? Nothing.” Creek took a breath, glancing toward Carlow’s retreating back, and motioned me on. “Go to the laboratory. I will handle this.”
“All right,” I said. “Be careful.”
How many could we justify killing to save Cynlira?
“One,” I said to myself, pulling the rose from my pocket and letting the wind take it, the petals wet and red.
The Crown was in the laboratory when Carlow, Creek, and I arrived. She was dressed in a gauzy white dress with green stitching, and she smiled when she saw us.
“Lovely,” she said, taking me by the hand and leading me inside. “We’re all here.”
There were no guards, and she didn’t give us time to bow. The skin along my neck prickled. My wrights twined about me, twisting around my chest and settling over my heart, and the Heir’s eyes followed my vilewright behind his glasses. His fingers twitched toward me, and I took the place at his left side. Creek stood to his right, dragging Carlow by the arm and keeping her close. She pulled her goggles down to hang about her neck.
“What’s bothering you, Your Excellency?” asked Creek, head bowed.
“Your face,” she said. “I see it too often, and too often any news you bring me is disappointing.”
He inhaled. “Apologies.”
“Mother,” said the Heir.
She cut him off with a look. “Alistair, you have missed every single court meeting this week, and as my heir, that is unacceptable. I didn’t save you so you could disappoint me.”
He sniffed and nodded.
“Your fiddling with the Door is putting my people in danger,” she said. “It baited multiple court members last night, and we cannot afford to lose their support. I heard even Lorena saw it in action.”
She glanced at me.
“No, Your Excellency.” I rolled my answer along my tongue, testing how much I could lie, and the magic demanded more. “I did not see the Door.”
Whatever phantom Carlow I had seen wasn’t truly the Door.
“Oh.” She clucked her tongue and ran her knuckles across my cheek. “You are so much better at this game than he is, even after the other day.”
The Heir shivered.
“And, Franziska, my darling, you look nervous.” The Crown stopped before Carlow and cupped Carlow’s face in her hands. “Remind me again the covenants of your curse.”
“The first person I love dies.” Carlow lifted her chin and clasped her hands behind her back. “The second inherits my curse, and then I die.”
“Tedious,” said the Crown. “This would be easier if you had Creek’s, but I suppose, since you can’t die, this will at least be fun.”
Carlow started to tremble. “Why am I to…not quite die?”
“You gave Shearwill your calculations. That is an unacceptable breach of trust and goes against my explicit orders. The people made aware of your little five-month deadline were the ones the Door lured in an attempt to open it.”
Creek, hands hidden from the Crown, slipped a finger between Carlow’s hands and forced them apart. He splayed his hand across her back.
“I went to Shearwill,” he said and met the Crown’s gaze without flinching. “You weren’t taking Carlow’s warnings seriously. If any of Cynlira is to be saved, the country—the whole country—needs fair warning.”
The Crown hesitated, mouth open, and ran her tongue across her teeth. Her gaze slid from Carlow to Creek.
“Shearwill hates Carlow,” I said. “I saw them arguing the other day, and I don’t think Shearwill would ever believe Carlow, much less meet with her.”
The Crown turned to me and nodded, a smile slowly spreading across her face.
“Lorena.” She glided to me and hooked one arm through mine as if we were strolling. “Do you want to kill Creek or should I?”
This was what I wanted. This was what we needed. This was what had to happen for the Heir to see things through and save Cynlira.
But when I opened my mouth to say I would kill him, nothing came out.
“Consider this a learning opportunity.” The Crown stood me in front of Creek and placed a knife in my hands, curling my fingers around the handle. She backed away. “Remember, Lorena—there is always someone with dirtier, meaner hands than you, so who do you want holding the knife?”
I moved without thought, jamming the blade between his ribs and directly into his heart. Carlow gasped, and the Heir stared straight ahead. Only Creek looked at me.
He smiled and winked. I pulled out the knife.
Creek dropped to the floor, blood pooling beneath him.
“That was unnecessary.” The Heir’s voice wavered. “On both counts.”
I dropped the knife.
Save him, I prayed to my vilewright. Save him as sacrifice for later. Don’t let this be for nothing.
It swept across him and settled over my shoulders.
“It wouldn’t have been necessary if you kept your wrought under control, Alistair.” The Crown picked up her knife and wiped the blood on the back of my coat. Julian’s coat. “Your research is done. You have three days to organize what you have and bring it to an end. There will be no more experiments with the Door. We have five months to prepare for the final sacrifice and the opening, and we must focus on how we will protect ourselves from the Vile.”
Ourselves—she was going to sacrifice a tenth of Cynlira to buy time to save herself and her peers.
“You will bind Lorena to me, and you will report to court and council meetings,” she said. “If you do not establish yourself now as someone not to be questioned, then the court will eat you alive.”
“I killed a whole city,” he muttered. “Who doesn’t fear me?”
“You cannot rule on the coattails of past victories,” said the Crown, turning from all of us and walking to the door. “You must give them new reasons to fear and obey you.”
With the Crown’s back to her and attention elsewhere, Carlow nudged Creek with her foot. Tears pooled in her red eyes. She kicked him.
Nothing.
I stepped into the empty space at the Heir’s right side. “Carlow? I’m sorry.”
I was, but I was still glad I could utter the words. It wasn’t a lie. I wasn’t a terrible person.
“Get up,” Carlow mouthed. “Get up.”
“He’s dead, Franziska,” the Crown said, “and you should take it as a threat.”