Chapter 17

Bayled

Thelia and Parsifal sit by the window of the suite’s main room, playing pa-chi-chi with old buttons. The Duke rests in an armchair, eyes closed but not asleep. I sit in a chair, just thinking. Imagining Red down in the dungeon. Trying to go back in time and undo what we’ve done, to bring Harged back to life.

Corene joins Morgaun at the table, taking the top book off a pile. She starts to read the first page, so I stop watching. I hate the sickly, irritated feeling I get when I look at her. Where did all these books come from, anyway? Thelia never had a library.

A few pages in, Corene stops and whispers a question to Morgaun. Since when are they such chums? She hated him our whole childhood. She supported Thelia’s move to Four Halls just to escape him.

Everything feels wrong. Maybe she hopes this will make me jealous. I would never have expected such pettiness from her before yesterday—especially now, with the Kingdom crumbling around us. But the soft, kind home in my heart that once waited for her has shriveled.

The door creaks and Morgaun grabs the books reflexively, shoving them under the table. Two elven soldiers step inside, faces hidden by helmets, long ears poking out the top.

“Dinner,” the first soldier says, gesturing for us all to stand up. We do as we’re told, and the soldiers tie our wrists together before leading us out of the room. We join a stream of other human prisoners and descend down the stairs. No one speaks as we walk with our eyes down, like lambs to the slaughterhouse.

“Dinner” is in the banquet hall, now set for hundreds. As we approach, the chairs slide out of their own accord to accommodate us.

“It’s the Princess!” somebody cries.

Corene turns and brings out her practiced, winning smile. “It was finally time,” she says, as if her appearance today was completely planned. “I’m so glad to see you all again.” I can’t believe she’s putting herself on a platform, even now. What the people need is honesty and companionship, not theater.

The whole room buzzes with the news: the Princess and the King’s ward have returned.

Soon the cutlery and plates arrive, flying in through the entryway and landing in front of each of us. I nearly fall off the bench in shock, but Parsifal steadies me with one hand. It’s like the servants have become invisible.

Next come the steaming serving bowls full of food, settling like birds in the middle of each table. It’s a living nightmare, where everything—down to the spoon—has a mind of its own.

“Magic,” Thelia tells me. “It’s spilling out of the ground right underneath us.”

“That’s why the long ears are here, you know,” Parsifal adds. “To clean the Magic off us.”

I’m about to ask him to explain when Lady Harmouth leans toward me. “General Vasha, how did you survive battle with the long ears?”

“There wasn’t a battle.” I look her right in the eyes. “Nul se Lan is a traitor. He tried to have me killed, and then the coward took off into the woods with the army.”

Gasps ripple down the table.

“We’re so sorry to hear it, General,” the Count says. He scowls. “That Southerner is no King of mine. Never was, never will be.”

The table echoes it. “No King of mine.”

I try to put on a smile, but the words are hollow. At least he wanted to be King. What happens when old Hindermark really does kick off? For a few weeks, I was spared that future—the endless, impossible responsibility of ruling.

“Doesn’t that make General Vasha the King?” says Lady Harmouth.

“I believe you’re right.” The Count hits the table with his fist. “After that traitor Nul se Lan, Vasha is the rightful heir.”

Corene clears her throat. “I think determining succession is a little beyond us at the moment, isn’t it?” she asks, as a bowl of gravy pours itself onto her plate. “My father is still alive. Who are we to choose who will succeed him? For all we know, he could decide that I am best suited to be Queen.”

Next to me, Parsifal elbows Thelia in the side.

“Perhaps, Princess,” the Count says, measuring his words. “As you say, we will leave it to the King to decide such matters.”

“What is most important right now is to restore the Kingdom,” I say. “Not choose kings and queens.”

Corene glares at me, but I ignore her. Where was all this certainty, all this confidence, when she refused to fight for me? When she put the Kingdom before me, and before our love?

Because it was never about the Kingdom for her. I have to wonder, now—has it ever been about the Kingdom for me? Or did I do it all simply to earn my place at Corene’s side?

At the end of the table, I notice a dark cloaked shape take a seat beside Morgaun. It’s the court wizard, Forgren. His many necklaces—the jewels that allowed him to harness Magic—have all vanished. Probably seized by the elves. He’s the one who told Sasel, The King is dead.

Forgren whispers something to Morgaun, removes an object wrapped in paper from his pocket, and sets it down on the table. Without his Magic to hold it in place, his hood starts to slip, and I brace myself to see what he’s been hiding underneath—wrinkles as deep as canyons, heavy purple bags under his eyes, drooping jowls, and scars scattered across him like puzzle pieces.

The hood slides right off his head and underneath . . . he has faded blond hair, long and tied back. Smooth, young skin. Bright green eyes with long lashes and dark eyebrows that are handsome, yet severe. He’s barely as old as we are.

Next to me, Thelia covers her mouth. She saw too. “Melidia be damned,” she says. “Doesn’t he look like someone we know?”

Forgren looks so much like a hillman, he could practically be Nul se Lan’s brother. Now I think I understand his false message to Sasel. A traitor in our midst this whole time.

My stomach lurches as Forgren whispers something else in Morgaun’s ear. After the transaction’s complete, the court wizard rises from the table, adjusts his hood, and finds a different seat.

Thelia whispers in Parsifal’s ear, and I glare at them. “All right, what am I missing?” I demand. They remind me of two squeaking mice, plotting and gossiping and hoarding secrets like they always have—and shutting me out.

Thelia meets my eyes and for once, she lets me in. “Morgaun said he was going to burn everything down,” she says. “I think he means it.”

Sapphire

I’ve been summoned out to the castle courtyard, where I find Zylion kneeling, digging gray bones out of the ground like weeds. All across the courtyard, wriggling white fingers protrude from the cold mud, trying to escape from the earth.

Zylion looks up at me. He holds out a spade and it leaps into my hand, ready to work. If only I were so ready. “The humans must have buried their dead here long ago,” he says, hacking at skeletal arms. “Now, they have all reanimated.”

First it was the undead in the dungeon. Now this? At the nearest hand squirming for purchase in the dirt, I begin to dig. First the bony arm comes out, attached to the body by threads of ligament. Magic keeps it functioning.

When Ferah’s cart is full of wriggling, exhumed corpses, we take it beyond the city gates and unload the skeletons onto the bare ground. We take a step back while Ferah explodes them, and then we begin again.

Upon returning to the castle, I find Ellze waiting for me on the bridge. “I have been looking for you,” he says, flicking some of his green hair over one shoulder. He shouts up to the two elves on the wall. “Open it for us, will you? Today?”

He is growing more and more overbearing. He loves to tell the soldiers what to do, and he loves even more when they obey. I barely recognize him. Something is changing among The People the longer we remain here.

As I follow him inside, he gives me a disingenuous smile. “You are quiet.”

“Nothing to say.”

“Are you dissatisfied with something?”

He wants me to say yes, to expose my displeasure with my role. Has he always been this way, or has this place changed him?

The floor under my feet suddenly starts to shake. The sound travels down the halls toward us—a rumbling boom, coming from the other side of the castle.

“What was that?” Ellze asks, eyes narrowing. Instead of conjecturing, I run toward the sound.

We weave through the halls to the set of stairs closest to the source. Smoke funnels down toward us. Screams. Soldiers stamp down the stairs. “An explosion!” they yell. “Stay away from West Hall!”

“I should tell the Commander immediately,” Ellze says. I, not we.

By the time we reach the temple, the other Jaguars have arrived in the Commander’s chambers. We all felt it. Commander Valya rises slowly from his scattered piles of papers, armor, and weapons, as if his joints ache. His quarters are a mess I have never seen. Even his usually liquid hair looks tangled and dry.

“What have you learned?” he asks.

“A fire in one of the rooms caught,” Ferah says. Thus the explosion. “A section of West Hall is gone.”

The Commander’s face is devoid of color. “It seems Magic is spilling out of the well faster, and in greater quantity, than any of us expected.” He sighs. “No more fires, anywhere in the castle. We cannot afford for the Magic to catch.”

I gape at him. “Commander, it is the middle of winter.”

“We will be fine,” Ellze says. “Have you never been cold before, little Sapphire?” A few of the other Jaguars laugh at me. But it is not us I worry about. Humans are fragile.

“We have other concerns,” Commander Valya says. “The human King, despite our best efforts, died this morning. His body could not withstand being without wine any longer.”

The Commander should have told me this hours ago. When I visited the King with breakfast, he was alive.

“It will be much harder to control the humans once they suspect the worst,” he continues. “The sworn Lords of the Kingdom may move on the castle. If that happens, we will be forced to defend ourselves.”

Not that it would be much of a fight. If humans gathered what remained of their forces and tried to advance on Melidihan, every last one of them would die. Ellze’s mouth tips up on one side, as if he hopes for exactly this to happen.

“I want everyone to be prepared,” Commander Valya says. “Continue the operation as usual. But should the Magic grow too volatile to control any longer, we may have to abandon those humans we have not cleaned yet and collapse the castle anyway, so we can build the new hold and contain this catastrophe.”

The rest of the Jaguars nod and clear out of the Commander’s quarters, but I stand outside the door, unable to move. Collapse the castle . . . with all of them still in it? Thelia and Parsifal are not scheduled to be cleaned for some time. They would certainly be among those left behind.

This is not what we came here to do. Do no harm—that has been the backbone of The People for as long as I have been alive. What is becoming of us here? What has Commander Valya been thinking?

I realize Ellze has not left yet when I hear him on the other side of the closed door. “We should fell the castle now. With such an abundance of Magic at our disposal, this new hold could be even stronger than Viteos.”

Commander Valya’s voice is weak. “Indeed. But we must still contain it, which will be harder than ever now. We cannot rush things, nephew, or we could anger the High Seer.”

“Even the High Seer will want to relocate to our beautiful new capital once we have the well contained and the hold built. Then, certainly, she will agree to our plan to reclaim what the humans have taken from everyone else.”

The Commander sighs. “And you will take charge of building this capital, will you not?”

I can hear the smile in Ellze’s voice. “Of course.”

So Ellze has bigger plans now—plans that no longer align with the mission the High Seer gave us. I could send her a smoke message, tell her what I have heard. But what could she do from so far away?

What chews at my insides is what this means for my humans. Parsifal’s grip on Magic is erratic and dangerous, certainly—like a toddler with a sword.

But now I fear far more what will become of them should they remain in Four Halls.

Thelia

Sapphire said we wouldn’t be harmed. That we’d be treated for Magic, then released. So why are they letting us freeze to death?

Every fire was extinguished after that dinner in the banquet hall, and the temperature’s crept lower and lower until our breath comes out as smoke. We wrap ourselves in blankets and talk as little as possible.

They’ve left us to die.

Daddy handles it the worst of all of us. During the day, he curls up under his blankets until only his forehead shows. I bring him food whenever it comes and cajole him to try something, even a bite, but he barely eats. Morgaun does nothing to help.

At least Parsifal and I have our room where we can lock the door and huddle under the blankets to chase the cold away. Every night we struggle to get to sleep. When will it be our turn? When will The People come for us and take us to their strange, secret room and decide that it’s our turn to go? Perhaps it would be a relief to be free of this nightmare.

But I have too selfish a grip on living. I’ve worked too hard for it. When Parsifal lies next to me, hand wrapped in mine, I know I must keep fighting. The only cure for wondering whether we’re still even here is to turn to each other. Once we’re satiated, we’re finally able to sleep—but it is cold and restless.

I’m drifting off when a tiny, pink light appears under the door. I sit up, freeing myself from Parsifal’s arms. I tap his shoulder as it starts to drift upward, weightless.

“Wake up. Look.”

Sapphire’s wisp floats toward us, chittering. Parsifal reaches out to grab it but it ducks, loops around me, and flies toward the door.

“It’s telling us something.” Parsifal climbs out of bed. “What is it, little guy?”

The pink ball of light spins around the door handle again. I follow him as he pushes the door open. “What are you thinking?” I whisper, but he ignores me.

Everyone’s asleep. The wisp stays close to the ground, dodging behind furniture to hide its light. I follow it to the suite’s main door and it bobs around the handle, urging us to go through.

“Don’t listen,” I tell Parsifal. “We can’t get out. It’s trying to trick you.”

Parsifal reaches for the handle anyway, and I expect the Magic seal to bounce him back like it did to me. But the door opens without complaint, and the wisp bounces out into the dark hallway, unrestrained.

I peer out. The guard who’s usually posted here is gone and the hallway is empty. We slip out, following the bobbing pink light. A few doors down, a familiar head of sky-blue hair appears.

“Sapphire!” I want to hug them, to kiss them again, but after everything that’s happened . . .

The wisp lands on their outstretched finger. “Thank you,” Sapphire says to it. The glowing bauble spins happily around their hand before ducking back into the open belt pouch.

“I’m sorry,” Sapphire and I say at the same time. They shake their head. “No, let me. Please. There is no excuse for what I did.”

“I’m sorry if you got in trouble for me,” I say.

“It was my idea, Theels,” Parsifal says. “I should be sorry.”

Sapphire puts a gentle hand on each of our shoulders. It feels like a bolt of lightning. Sapphire feels it too—their eyebrows rise and the sides of their mouth twitch. “It is not important now.” They take a long, arduous breath. “I must tell you. The King has died.”

About time. “When?”

“This morning. The Commander do-o-oes not want humans to know. But your friend . . . the Princess.” Sapphire drops their gaze to the floor. “She should be told.”

I feel nothing. Not for the King, not for Corene, not for us. This Kingdom has been sinking into oblivion since the three of us hid in a dark passage, waiting for the screams to subside.

“I’ll tell her,” Parsifal says. “I speak Corene.”

“We’re a lot less concerned about the King than we are about freezing to death,” I say, taking Sapphire’s hand in mine. I bring it to my face and inhale the cool tang of their skin. It’s heavy. “My father—he isn’t handling it well. I think he may die.”

“I am sorry.” Sapphire’s head drops. “Commander Valya is watching me. But I am designing a plan to help you out of the castle. To be safe. Take this.” They hand me a small box. “I know that you may never forgive me for what The People have done to you and your families.” They look at Parsifal like they want to touch him, to hold his hand—but they don’t move. “I will do everything within my power to ensure your safety. It means . . . more to me than I can say.”

They reach forward and wrap us both in a hug. At first, Parsifal’s shoulder is crushed into mine, until I put my arm around him. I feel Sapphire’s lips, soft and yet also hard, leave a kiss on my forehead.

Sapphire pushes us away. “Take care,” they say. Then, looking at Parsifal: “Don’t let Thelia be foolish.” Sapphire gently touches the back of his neck, ruffling his hair there. Parsifal’s eyes go wide.

With that, they’re gone down the hall.

Quietly, we step back inside the suite. Everyone’s still asleep. In our bedroom, I open the box Sapphire gave us. Inside is a single charcoal smokestick, a small fire striker for lighting it, and a note.

Use in emergency only.

Exercise caution. May explode.

Parsifal

We don’t sleep much—not that the insomnia matters when there’s nothing to do. After a breakfast we hardly eat, Thelia and I retire to the window seat to play pa-chi-chi. Thelia gasps as I skip and take one of her buttons. “I didn’t even see you coming!”

I grin. “Don’t underestimate me.”

Bayled settles on the chair by the window and watches us play in silence. When we finish a game, I ask, “Do you want to play?”

He jolts upright like he’d forgotten he was there. “I’m no good at pa-chi-chi.”

“You don’t have to be.” Thelia places a peanut shell in Bayled’s hand. “Learn.”

He looks at her a long moment before accepting. I let him take my spot. “I like your hair like this,” he tells her.

“Thank you.” Thelia sets her first pair of stones. “Parsifal did it when most of my hair got ripped off.”

His eyebrows rise. “How?”

“Thelia tried to climb out a window,” I say, elbowing her.

“Hey! Don’t spill my secrets.”

Bayled grows serious. “Can you two do something for me?” he says quietly, leaning toward us.

We both lean in too. “What?” I ask.

“Stop keeping secrets.” He sounds sad, like this resentment has been building a long time. “I can tell there’s something else. Something important.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Thelia crosses her arms, but I take pity on Bayled. He’s right.

Under my breath I say, “The King’s dead.”

Bayled sighs, like this doesn’t surprise him in the least. “It was just a matter of time.” He looks almost relieved—until he looks at Corene, where she sits at the table reading. “But this might be the thing that tips her over the edge.”

I don’t think I agree. She’s been falling for a long time.

“How did you two find out about his passing?” Bayled asks. I look at Thelia and we both wait for the other to speak first. “I thought you were going to be honest with me,” he says, with a note of bitterness.

Finally I sigh and say, “We know someone.”

“Who?”

Thelia chews on her lip. She still doesn’t trust him completely, but how can his knowing the truth possibly hurt us?

I put a long finger next to the side of my face—like an elf ear. Bayled’s eyes widen. “You can’t be serious. How?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Thelia whispers urgently. “They were our guard when we were in North Hall.”

His eyebrows rise even higher. “Your prison guard?”

“It’s not like that.” I know how ridiculous we sound.

Corene abruptly stands up and walks over to us. She looks hardened, ready to do something rash. “I can’t believe you’re all sitting over here conspiring, when you could be helping us.”

I rise to my feet, and it takes more energy than I have. “Seems like you and Morgaun are perfectly happy plotting on your own. Why do you need us?”

She eyeballs me. “I know what you can do, Percy. You should be using your powers to help, not just sitting there whispering.”

Morgaun looks over. “What are you talking about, cousin?”

“That’s Your Majesty to you,” she snaps. “I’m the Queen now.”

I’m stunned into silence.

“See?” says Corene with a bitter laugh. “You think I don’t know anything, but I know my dad’s dead. I know the elves are planning to destroy us all. And I know it’s within Parsifal’s power to get us out of here.”

I’ve overestimated Corene. All those times I thought she was playing the good, dutiful, wholesome Princess—letting Bayled believe she’d marry him, kissing Nul se Lan on the stairs—I thought she was lining up her pa-chi-chi stones for the final move, where she’d wipe out all the pawns at once and take the game.

But there’s no plan. There’s no game. She’s chased one hope for happiness after the next, throwing her pieces in whichever barrel looks least likely to roll off the cliff.

Morgaun peers at me. “What can you do, Bellisare?”

Bayled’s standing, too, looking angry—that’s new. “What’s she talking about, Parsifal?”

“He can use Magic,” Corene says. Her blue eyes are filled with lightning. “We escaped through a portal he made.”

Morgaun’s face stitches itself into something terrible. “I get it.” He looks at me like he’s never seen me before, and my arms erupt in prickles. “You’re working with them, aren’t you? You licked some long ear cock, got a free room in North Hall, and gave in to the sinful call of Magic.”

Duke Finegarden stands up, hurling his blankets to the floor. “You will stop speaking this way at once.” His fatigue seems forgotten as he storms to the table and seizes Morgaun by the ear. Morgaun howls, trying to pull his head away, but the Duke’s arthritic grip is iron. “Shut up and sit down, son.”

Morgaun shoves Duke Finegarden away and stumbles back, laughing. “So angry, Father! Why are you angry at me? You should be angry at Thelia.” He grins widely at us. “Given that she’s fucking her own cousin while all of you are sleeping.”

The Duke’s skeletal face contorts with horror.

Thelia lunges at Morgaun, roaring. “You worthless craggon!” Before I can grab her, she lands a punch to his face. He falls to the floor as she bludgeons him. “As if it’s any business of yours. You’ve tormented me, cut me open, and you have the gall to—?” I put my entire body weight behind restraining her arm while blood drips from Morgaun’s nose. He laughs as Bayled helps me drag her off. Even after starving, Thelia’s far stronger than we are. “Let me go!”

“It’s not worth it,” I say as we push her to the window seat.

“If Melidia weren’t so preoccupied,” Morgaun snarls, “she’d strike you both down from the sky. How could you do it with that deformed thing, sister?” He laughs again. “Sick.”

I’ve been called worse.

“Is this true?” the Duke asks me.

I inhale sharply and sit beside Thelia. “Yes, it’s true. I love her.”

The rage drains out of Thelia’s eyes. My uncle sinks into his chair and drops his face in his hands. But Bayled puts his arm around both of us, and I feel him squeeze my shoulder.

I’m not ashamed. After all the lies I’ve told, this is the one truth I’ll keep.

We have split into three camps: Thelia, Bayled, and I at the window, playing pa-chi-chi. Duke Finegarden under his blankets, refusing to look at any of us. Corene and Morgaun at the table, whispering more feverishly than ever.

It’s Bayled who speaks first, quietly enough that the others can’t overhear. “He’s pulled Corene into this plan of his, whatever it is.”

Thelia’s mouth twists into a grimace. “No kidding.”

“Let me try,” I say. I know one way to get anyone to open up.

After rifling through my trunks for a while, I plop down across from Corene and Morgaun, a blanket draped over my shoulders. I set a freshly opened bottle of wine and three glasses on the table between us. “Truce?” I say, starting to pour. “I’ve been saving this.”

Morgaun picks up a glass and sips. Corene doesn’t take hers.

“Very good, Bellisare,” Morgaun says, licking his lips. Behind me, Thelia sits on the window seat, staring out the window. I know she’s listening.

“We’re all a little—erm—tense right now,” I say lightly. “So we’ll all make mistakes while we cope.” Morgaun’s eyes narrow. “But of course I want to do whatever I can to get us out of here. Why don’t you tell me how I can help?”

Morgaun gives me an appraising look. “You know, those long-eared monsters think they’re so much better than us. Treating us like cattle. But you’re proof that humans could use Magic just as well as they can, if Melidia permitted it.”

It’s the closest Morgaun will ever come to complimenting me. “So what’s your plan?”

Morgaun says nothing. I top off his glass of wine. I haven’t made a dent in mine but he hasn’t noticed. Corene, on the other hand, reaches past Morgaun for a book. He puts a hand on her wrist. “What are you doing?”

“I’m telling him. We could use his help.” Corene opens the book to a page of diagrams that look like flames scattered among lines of rippling wind.

“Forgren gave this to us,” she says, turning the book to face me. “Magic is flammable. That’s what we think happened in West Hall—the Magic in the room caught fire and exploded. And that’s why the long ears banned fires.” The page is written in an older script I can’t read, but I understand the depictions of fire. “It’s not flammable like paper, where it will catch fire and keep burning as long as there’s fuel.”

“How is it different?” I ask. Morgaun looks at me suspiciously.

“It consumes whatever Magic is immediately available in a space and detonates on the spot. It won’t spread.”

Morgaun pulls something out of his lap and sets it on top of the book: it’s a small lump of a dark gray mineral I don’t recognize. “This is a conductor,” he says. “Forgren’s had it on his shelf for years. Whereas a fire will simply burn out the Magic nearest and then dissipate, this taps into the entire line of Magic.”

“Line?” I ask.

“I don’t completely understand it,” Corene says, pointing to the squiggly lines on the next page, some larger and fatter. They cross a map of Helyanda—the lines thicker and more numerous on the elves’ side of the Great Mountains, and thinner and sparser on our side. “But basically, Magic travels in interconnected threads all across the world.” She flips a few pages to show me more diagrams. “If we could get our hands on some fire and tap into a whole thread with this,” she holds up the lump of rock, “we could send an entire line into flames. It would hit the elves where it hurts, back home.”

“How does that help us?”

“It does Melidia’s bidding,” Morgaun says. “By destroying them. The long ears rely on Magic to survive—it’s why they can live forever, why they can’t be hurt. They are her enemies because they dare to use what isn’t theirs.” He glances up at the ceiling and shakes his head, like the Goddess has said something only to him. “Thanks to Melidia’s grace, we don’t need Magic, and we can continue along fine without it when it’s gone.”

“Wouldn’t destroying them destroy us, too?” I ask. “We’re all in the castle together.”

Morgaun just smiles as he drinks. “The ultimate sacrifice, yes. And Melidia will reward us greatly for it.”

My eyes dart to Corene, to see if she finds this as nonsensical as I do. But she’s gazing upward, beyond the ceiling, beyond Four Halls, to some imaginary destination in the sky.

Her final blind leap at happiness.

It is late that night when I return from dumping our chamberpot out the window in the main suite.

“Why are you working with Morgaun?” I hear Bayled whisper under the door. I stop and listen—I can’t help myself. “How could you do that to Thelia?”

“You mean my cousin who left me to die?” snaps Corene.

“We’ve all suffered and done regrettable things,” Bayled says. “But Morgaun . . . he’s a wretch, Corene. And he’s only going farther up the parapets. You heard him. The ultimate sacrifice? He wants us all dead, even you.”

“Maybe I’m a wretch too,” she retorts. “Is that what you think? Is that what you’re saying?”

There’s a long pause. Then the door opens and Bayled comes out, carrying a pillow and a blanket. He stops and stares when he sees me, and closes the door behind him.

“I give up,” he whispers.

I put down the chamberpot and touch his shoulder, just for a moment. Then he makes his bed on the floor and I leave him to sleep.

In our room, I pull out the smokesticks and the fire starter. Only priestesses can send smoke messages—they have the focus needed to find their target, and just enough Magical prowess to carry the smoke to its destination. But I have a feeling . . .

I rouse Thelia and tell her what I’ve overheard. “We can’t stop them on our own,” I say. “We have to tell Sapphire.”

Sapphire

I awake to the tang of smoke. Sitting up in bed, I expect to find a candle in the cool darkness, or maybe a fire. What I find are words written in the air with strands of thin smoke.

Parsifal and Thelia here.

Help.

Morgaun has a plan to end all of us.

Boom.

I blink as the final words start to dissipate. I was right that Parsifal’s newfound ability to harness Magic would allow him to use the smokesticks. I did not expect to receive a message so soon, though.

Boom?

I am shivering as I descend to the rooms where we keep the priestesses. Even The People feel cold eventually. Today we begin transporting humans to the settlement in greater numbers. Previous groups have proven resistant, so the Commander has decided to send priestesses along to ensure their cooperation.

I was worrying enough about Thelia and Parsifal even before their message. Even if I could get them cleaned and transported to the new settlement . . . what becomes of that settlement when Ellze gains command of the new fortress?

Ilisa jumps up when I enter the room. The other priestesses barely rise from their sleep.

“Come with me,” I whisper to her. My wisp glides up to settle on her shoulder.

She glances back at her sisters. “What about them?”

“Only you this time.” I gesture to the open door. She has no reason to trust me, but she follows me out anyway.

We walk in silence for a while, the wisp riding along in her hair, until she finally asks, “Where are you taking me, Sapphire?”

I glance down. “To be cleansed of Magic. If you were to leave the castle as you are, you might be a danger to yourself and others.” I look away from her. “I am sorry. This is the only way to ensure your safety.”

“I get to leave?” she asks.

I nod. “Do you remember what you said you wanted the first time we met?” I ask.

“I wanted to keep my people safe.”

“I do not know what will happen after our mission here is complete—but my brethren . . .” I lower my head. “They are corrupt. You may need to protect your own again soon.”

I stop outside the cleaning room, a cellar reinforced with Magic. I hear the sound of screaming inside. It is in use. Ilisa has a horrified look on her face. “It’s going to be painful, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I say. I try not to imagine Ilisa inside, the Magicker’s controlled flames burning off every last bit of Magic still attached to her body. It will be purged from the pores in her skin, between her teeth, the creases between her fingers. She will not emerge the same.

“It will be over soon.”

Her eyes search mine. They are not like Thelia or Parsifal’s—they are old and strange. “What will you do to stop this?” she asks me.

Me? “There is little I can do,” I say. “But I want to free two humans I care about.”

She leans close and whispers solemnly, “There are hidden tunnels for servants. I doubt your people have found them. Look near stairs.”

I am surprised—and grateful. “Thank you.”

The door opens and a Magicker steps out. “Healthy?” he asks me, pointing at the Priestess. “I cannot work on anyone who is ill.” I already know—the intensity of the procedure can be too much for the weak.

“She shows no sign of sickness,” I say.

He ushers Ilisa inside and closes the door. While my insides churn with apprehension for her, it gives me an idea.

I must get my humans completely out of the Commander’s hands—and I know only one way.

I rush down the stairs into the dungeon so quickly, I almost spill two bowls of food. The Baron rises from the floor where he has been sleeping.

“I received a message last night,” I say as I slip him his dinner. “Thelia says they need assistance, now. Something about her brother . . . having a plan. A dangerous one.”

Baron Durnhal scowls through the bars. “Morgaun. She was always so guarded with what she’d tell me about him. But I heard plenty of rumors.”

“What would you do to help her escape?”

He crosses his arms. “Not much I can do from here. I have soldiers waiting in the woods, but they won’t move if I can’t contact them.” He exchanges a look with the Captain. “Why do you ask?”

The Baron loves Thelia—and he will ensure she reaches freedom safely, since I cannot. “I can get all of you out of here,” I say. “I will bring supplies. Meanwhile, you must act sick. When others come to check on you—and they will—lie on the floor. Look like you are dying.”

The Captain’s eyebrows climb into her hair. “I see what you’re thinking.”

“You brought it in with you.” I make a gagging sound. “Mysterious human illness. Very contagious. Spreading fast.”