36

THERE IS A SPECIFIC KIND of fear that feels like acceptance. A prickly calm in which your mind cocoons you from reality. It says, This isn’t happening or It will be okay in a minute. It lulls you into tranquility, cradling you in a false idea that everything will be fine so long as you are very quiet and very still.

This was not the kind of fear Lottie was feeling.

“Would you quit struggling?” Ingrid hissed, pulling sharply on Lottie’s hair again. Even with her mouth gagged, and all odds against her, Lottie wouldn’t stop fighting, wriggling and kicking. She would not be helpless. Not again.

Grabbing her shoulders, Ingrid turned Lottie to face her. She was a dreadful sight, covered in scratches and welts, her once-sleek hair a knotted ratty mess, caked with mud and leaves. And worst of all: her eyes.

When Lottie had been little, her friend Kate adopted a cat called Coco from a shelter. It would bully anything small; its eyes would go wide, deep black pools of mania, unblinking and unpredictable. If you saw them, you knew it was too late—Coco was going to get you. But Ingrid was human, and seeing that same mania in her was like staring into madness itself.

“If you don’t stop struggling, I’ll drive this knife right into your hand.”

Lottie believed her.

Satisfied, Ingrid dragged her along the ground, muddying her clothes, and propped her up against the oak tree with a hard thud that nearly knocked the wind out of her lungs. Ingrid clearly had a plan that she’d been nurturing for a while, and Lottie dreaded to find out what it was.

She looked tall, a great monster that eclipsed the sun, staring down at her with malicious intent. There was something odd about thinking of Ingrid as tall, since she was significantly shorter than the other members of Leviathan Lottie had encountered, and yet something had grown within her, a poisonous spite, deforming her and stretching her.

“Now listen very carefully to me, Princess.” Her breathing was uneven when she spoke. “I’m going to remove your gag and we’re going to play a game. But if you shout or scream, I’ll tear your fingernails out, like this. Do you understand?” To emphasize her point, Ingrid took the tip of her knife and pushed it slowly under the fingernail on Lottie’s pinkie, just far enough to give her a taste of the pain. She gasped, the pink nailbed turning purple with the pressure, and she quickly nodded to make Ingrid stop.

Ingrid leaned forward, fumbling with the ties at the back of Lottie’s head, her scratched skin coming up to her face, and she could smell her. Iron and sweat tingled in Lottie’s nose.

There were two other things Lottie noticed as her mouth was freed.

The first was that Ingrid hadn’t spotted the sword. And the second was that Ingrid was shaking.

“You need to run; you’re good at running.”

It wasn’t her voice she was hearing; it was Jamie’s.

“You have to run as fast as you can.”

The only problem was she had to get free first.

Ingrid was a Partizan. She knew the Partizan tricks. If Lottie was going to do this, she had to do it her own way. Behind her thoughts she could almost hear the ringing of the sword, and she thought of Sayuri in Japan counting on her to solve this and tell her the truth.

She had to get away and warn them about Claude. There was no option to fail.

“What game are we playing?” Lottie asked as calmly as she could, and it appeared to work, a spark of surprise flashing across Ingrid’s face. Although her chances were slim, Lottie knew that there was something different about her. The frenzy in her eyes, her uneven breathing. She was not thinking with the usual Partizan precision.

“The game, Princess”—a wry smile had spread over her lips, dried blood crusting over her chin—“is truth or dare.”

It was Lottie’s turn to be surprised.

“If you fail to answer or do your dare, I’ll cut a line in your skin. Got it?” Ingrid stared at her, genuinely seeming to want her to answer.

“And what happens if you forfeit?” Lottie asked in response, an idea forming.

The look on Ingrid’s face turned venomous, her eyes narrowing at Lottie. Clearly Lottie was the only one expected to play.

“Truth or dare?” Ingrid asked, plonking herself down cross-legged on the ground. It made for the strangest scene. It was like looking at a monster meditating.

“Truth,” Lottie said, gulping down her terror.

The predatory split of a smile spread back over Ingrid’s face. “Why is Jamie your Partizan?”

The question was a blanket of ice, freezing Lottie in place.

She knew the facts. That Jamie’s mother had sought refuge in the palace, that she’d died in childbirth and the royal family had kept him and trained him to be Ellie’s Partizan. But the question was so very loaded, and nothing she knew about the Maravish royal family felt solid anymore.

Why are you Ellie’s Partizan, Jamie? Lottie thought, unable to find any words. She looked up at Ingrid’s swirling eyes, wondering what answer she would be hoping for.

“Guilt.” Lottie felt the word leave her throat before she could process it, and it shocked them both. “He feels like he owes my family and is scared he’s not worthy.”

She could hardly believe she had said something so awful out loud.

It took Ingrid a second to process her answer, but her confusion did not last long and was quickly replaced by menace. “Wrong.”

It happened so fast that Lottie barely had any time to register it. One moment her hand was her own, and then it was pulled forward as Ingrid grabbed her, raised her arm, and sliced so cleanly and quickly that the pain had to catch up with her.

Lottie didn’t make a sound. She simply cradled her arm and watched as a dark red line began to pool out from the back of her hand.

“You know what’s funny?” Lottie said, using every ounce of bravery to not let her voice shake. She couldn’t look at Ingrid, too scared to see that grin, but she knew her calm confused her. “When I first met you I thought your knives were dipped in poison.”

Words were powerful, and Lottie chose hers very carefully.

A splutter escaped from Ingrid’s mouth, and Lottie knew she’d been successful. She chanced a look to see disgust on her captor’s face.

Ingrid lifted her knife to the sun, inspecting the drops of blood that dripped down like syrup. “I would never,” she said. “It would be boring if the fight ended so quickly.” The look in her eye was almost fond. She gazed up at her blade, rubbing her thumb against the cold metal spider that wrapped around the grip.

Her eyes pounced back to Lottie with a look so deadly she felt as though she were being devoured.

“Truth or dare?” she asked slowly, placing her knife back on the ground. But Lottie had seen that Ingrid was distractible. That words could affect her.

“Dare,” Lottie replied, feeling braver than she should have. It was most certainly the wrong thing to say.

Ingrid grinned. “I dare you to destroy that letter you stole.”

“What?” Lottie spluttered. “That’s not . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about!” The question made her brain fuzzy, because the way Ingrid said this suggested Leviathan knew everything.

Something changed on Ingrid’s face, her smile coiling in on itself. “You’re confused.” Her face came close to Lottie’s. “But that’s okay. Let me explain. I want that letter gone, so we can move on to the better plan.” Her breath tickled Lottie’s cheek. “You know, the plan where we dispose of those lying parents of yours.”

“What are you talking about? What have you done?”

A cackle bubbled out of Ingrid, and Lottie thought of Claude, the black wolf of the family, and the awful Hamelin Formula he’d got his hands on, a formula with the power to make anyone do anything he wanted.

Could this possibly be his plan? It seemed too gruesome, too awful to possibly be true.

A milky, distant look took over Ingrid’s gaze, like she was staring at a vision of the future.

“Once they’re gone,” she began, with the dreamy voice of a psychic telling Lottie her future, “he’ll be welcomed with the respect he deserves. Just like Alexis.”

Alexis.

The name caught in Lottie’s head like snagging fabric, tugging at a memory she couldn’t place.

“Now come on,” Ingrid demanded, cutting Lottie’s thoughts short. “Tell me where that letter is. We know you have it somewhere.”

Her face was twisted with laughter, but this wasn’t a woman working toward a team goal. This was a mad girl determined to cause as much damage as possible.

But why did she feel such hatred toward the Maravish royal family? What could have made her this way?

“I . . . I don’t understand. What did we do? I don’t know what we’ve done,” Lottie spluttered.

Ingrid looked furious. “You don’t know what you’ve done?” she growled, all the humor vanishing from her voice. “You took Jamie.”

It was all nonsense, venomous rambling that Lottie couldn’t understand, couldn’t reckon with, and she watched in horror as Ingrid grabbed her knife again. “And it’s disgusting. You and your family are a horrible, lying, repulsive pack of rats. You don’t deserve the mercy the Master planned for you. I won’t let you get off so easy.”

Lottie tried to lean out of the way, diving to the side, but Ingrid grabbed her hair and pulled her backward with a hard yank.

“That’s a forfeit,” she hissed in her ear, taking the knife and pulling it along her cheek. Hot blood trickled down her face, yet all Lottie could focus on was what lay in front of her asleep in the ground, unnoticed.

“You’re weak and pathetic.” Ingrid pulled Lottie’s hair again, moving them even closer. Liliana’s sword lay mere centimeters away, and Ingrid was too frenzied to notice.

Each time Ingrid pushed and pulled her, the sword glinted, calling to her, getting closer with every haphazard shove.

“Foul, worthless . . .” The words rolled off Lottie. They were scorching embers spitting with fire and fury from Ingrid’s bloodied mouth, but when they reached Lottie’s ears they burned to nothing. Because Lottie knew they weren’t true.

She was starting to understand Leviathan, the story they were trying to spread. It was an unbridled fury directed at the Maravish royal family, as broken and chaotic as the remains of the wolf pendant.

This wasn’t about her; this was about Ellie’s family—and Lottie had to get out of here. She had to escape and figure out why Claude would do this. She had to find out the truth about the Wolfsons. And to do that she needed to cut herself free.

Lottie leaned forward, Ingrid’s hands still wrapped in her hair, pulling and twisting and screeching. She reached to awaken her sword. With one swift movement she swept upward, just missing the tips of Ingrid’s fingers, and sliced through her own hair.

Free.

Ingrid fell backward, losing her grip, wheat-colored hair slipping through her fingers. There was so much of it, Lottie’s golden coils, knots of memories and experiences, everything she thought she understood fluttering down to the ground. And then she ran.

She ran and the woodland flew past her. She ran and the world zipped out of view. She ran and did not look back, not for a second, not for anything. It was the fastest she’d ever moved in her life, and every step of the way she could hear the growling, screeching monster behind her. Exposed roots and slippery moss threatened to trip her, but her feet missed them, the branches and brambles swaying out of her way, a path unwinding in front of her.

Her chest began to ache, her wrist and cheek throbbing, but she kept thundering through the trees.

She was faster than Ingrid! The moment she saw light ahead, the thought that she really had escaped burst in her head, a wash of relief so powerful that it sent tears down her face. But she wasn’t clear yet; Ingrid was still on her tail, an erratic thrashing and cursing at her ankles.

Just a little farther.

The light through the trees was so close now, but there was something coming toward her: a person she knew so well. An angel come to save her.

Just a little farther.

Twigs snapped and the ground crunched as she gave one last furious push.

The familiar scent of cinnamon flooded her nose, and she barreled into the dark-clad figure, gentle arms wrapping around her.

Panting, she looked up into two golden eyes, stars on the top of a great mountain. Jamie’s eyes. Wonderful, miraculous Jamie.

“Get behind me,” he growled.