The morning before court met to elect the new twelve for the wrought bindings, I woke up at dawn. Creek’s ghost stepped through the door to Carlow’s room as I left mine, and he followed me to the old laboratory. His desk was as he’d left it: a mess.
“I don’t remember where you tossed it,” I said. “Want to be helpful, guilty conscience?”
“Not particularly.” He lounged across Carlow’s desk, flicking scraps of paper at the spare stool. “Murdering more people today, Lorena dear?”
“Hopefully they’ll be quieter than you.” I suddenly understood Carlow better than I ever had and turned to him. “Aren’t you supposed to talk me out of it?”
“Kill them all. Open the Door. You monster.” He raised his hands, and even though his eyes were a solid sea of blue, I could tell he was rolling them. “I’ve never been helpful before. Why would I start now?”
I glanced back at him and dumped out the contents of a drawer onto the floor.
“You’re the one who will have to clean that up,” he said and laughed.
He flicked another scrap, and the stool tipped over, rolling toward me.
“Fine!” Creek’s ghost threw up his hands. “Bottom drawer in the metal lockbox. The lock isn’t engaged.”
I reached into the bottom drawer, pulled out the box, and opened it. A dozen vials ranging from minorative to do not ingest to an unlabeled vial of a white powder that looked like crystals. An old, brown coat was wadded up at the very bottom of the box. “Did I know where you stored this?”
“You know so little, so I couldn’t say,” said Creek.
It was the same vial he had showed me so long ago, but when I turned to his ghost, it was gone. I tucked it into my coat and returned to my room. The rest of the morning, I spent getting dressed.
A freshly laundered dress of pale blue had been delivered to my room while I was gone. Alistair’s meaning was clear—I was his voice and had to look the part. I dressed as carefully as I could, letting the gauzy overdress drape so that it didn’t cover my chest. The Wyrslaine pin pulled at the fabric, tearing it. I slipped the vial and a knife into my pocket.
“There’s always a meaner hand,” I said and took a breath. “Always.”
The courtroom had been scrubbed clean over these last few days. I stepped into the large room, sunlight streaming across the floor, and rubbed my eyes. The wooden chairs of the councilors had been removed, and a noblewrought had repaired the bullet holes in the throne and walls. This time, a pair of Wyrslaine soldiers ensured that no guns were snuck inside. Alistair did not come.
Carlow appeared as all the courtiers were taking their seats. “If they decide on who they want to hold the new bindings, I’m to do it, since I can do them all at once.”
“Will it kill you?” I asked softly.
She nodded.
Of course it would.
The courtiers settled at their leisure. Several had a soldier accompanying them, making the room a sea of green, blue, and black uniforms. Not a single Wyrslaine soldier was in the room, and the servants left drinks and small finger foods on the table before leaving again. Carlow stood with me near the doors, twisting the strap of her satchel, and I counted the courtiers. Not all of them would be here, and that was ideal. I needed some of them to survive.
The only ones I needed here were the thirteen with the wrought bindings, and they were spread out across the table.
“Are all thirteen here?” I asked Carlow. “I only see nine.”
Carlow used me for leverage to look around and pointed out the other four. I nodded.
Good. Eleven of them were drinking.
Take my good memories of Julian, I prayed, and re-create the poison in those eleven cups.
My noblewright whined, a chill creeping across my chest, and the weight in my pocket eased. It peeled away from me slowly, like taking off a coat. Carlow shifted.
“Follow my lead,” I muttered.
“Only today.”
Once no more people seemed to be entering or leaving, I stepped to the front of the room and bowed, waiting for the courtiers to quiet. They took their sweet time.
“Thank you all for coming today,” I said and rose slightly, keeping my chin down. Best I not look too sure of myself. “His Excellency is currently dealing with the councilors responsible for the recent assassination attempt and has asked me to assist in selecting the replacement binders. Are there any interested in taking over the contracts?”
There were thirty courtiers and twenty-three soldiers, and not one of them looked at me with bored interest or disdain. Carra Shearwill and several of the other courtiers bearing sigils sipped their drinks. One poured a fresh cup.
“Will they be permanent?” asked a tall man next to Carra Shearwill, the high collar of his sea-green coat brushing his jaw. “Given the council’s sedition, will it be revived and the bindings replaced once new councilors are selected?”
Was it a lie if I honestly didn’t know what would happen?
“No,” I said and only choked slightly. “The bindings are permanent. His Excellency is quite put out by the council.”
The courtier on his second cup, Art Carmyth, wiped the sweat from his brow. He owned another of the factories in the Wallows, and poison was far quicker than burning to death or losing fingers to the looms.
“Carlow.” Shearwill beckoned her over. “Try to create something not allowed. Art wants to know what happens.”
I narrowed my eyes. Carlow didn’t even blink.
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Carlow’s death was a spectacle. The tension eased out of the room, slipping away with each spurt of her blood. Shearwill pointed out how Carlow’s sigil bled to the other courtiers and compared it to her dainty scar. Her fingers plucked at her violet dress, letting them all see how hers didn’t bleed at all.
“It twinges a bit,” she said, rubbing her chest. Sweat darkened the neckline. “It’s hardly an imposition and does allow you to ensure your own contracts are conducted efficiently.”
Carlow revived with a groan and crawled to her feet.
A willowy courtier in sunset orange patted her head as if she were a dog doing tricks.
The courtiers all dressed the same—brightly colored and vibrant, like flowers warning off predators. They were still the richest and most deadly people in Mori, their clothes seemed to say. Bite them, and they’d bite back.
I approached slowly. Carlow reached for me, letting me wrap one arm around her and heft her to her feet. I slipped the knife from my pocket, using her body to hide it from view, and helped her toward an end of the table near one of the thirteen courtiers. No one paid much attention to us. They argued among themselves about inheritances and which families had never participated in the bindings. The ones I had poisoned were all showing signs of it now, Creek’s creation faster than anything natural. Carlow slumped against me.
“I saw Del,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen anything before.”
Take the lives of the poisoned courtiers as sacrifice.
“What about you?” called a stout courtier in the back. He gestured at me. “When will you be bound?”
“Not today,” I said. “His Excellency needs me for his research.”
The room quieted.
Shearwill leaned forward, her lips pale. “How were you able to evade us for so long? You are from Felled-Noble-in-the-Hollow, yes? His Excellency has been very reticent in regard to you, and his mother was much the same. You are vilewrought?”
Destroy the hearts of the other four courtiers.
“I’m from the Wallows, actually,” I said, “and I’m dualwrought.”
The four I hadn’t poisoned dropped, heads cracking against the table and bodies crumbling to the floor. The soldiers drew their swords and knives, and none were close enough to reach me. A few sprinted out the door. The courtiers panicked.
The one near us pulled a dagger on Carlow, the tip skimming her throat.
“That would be a mistake,” she said, taking the dagger by the blade and ripping it from his hands.
Behind her, Shearwill and the others I had poisoned struggled to breathe. The courtiers fled as quickly as they could and left me to their soldiers. I held up my knife, and they all hesitated. Carlow grinned.
“The court and council are done for, and they deserved it. The Door’s opening, and they were content to let us all be sacrificed to sate it and save themselves,” I said. “In ten minutes, all the wrought will be unbound. You may leave, or you can stay and help us figure out how to save Cynlira.”
The one nearest to me eyed the writhing courtier at their feet and sighed. They sheathed their sword.
“Should we stop the courtiers?” Carlow asked.
“Let them run,” I said. “I have other plans for them.”