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he’s just going to kill me?

Another might feel relieved, but my insides

turn cold with fear. He will not kill me. Not

Maven. I feel it in his touch. His long, pale

fingers still cling to my wrist, while his other

hand still holds my leash. Even now, when I

am painfully his, he won’t let go. I would

prefer death to this cage, to the twisted ob-

session of a mad boy king.

I remember his notes, each one ending

with the same strange lament.

Until we meet again.

He continues speaking, but his voice dulls

in my head, the whine of a hornet coming too

close, making every nerve stand on edge. I

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look over my shoulder. My eyes drift through

the crowd of courtiers behind us. All of them

stand proud and vile in their mourning

black. Lord Volo of House Samos and his

son, Ptolemus, are splendid in polished,

ebony armor with scaled silver sashes from

hip to shoulder. At the sight of the latter, I

see scarlet, raging red. I fight the urge to

lunge and rip the skin from Ptolemus’s face.

To stab him through his heart the way he did

my brother Shade. The desire shows, and he

has the spine to smirk at me. If not for the

collar and the silent guards restricting

everything I am, I would turn his bones to

smoking glass.

Somehow his sister, an enemy of so many

months ago, isn’t looking at me. Evangeline,

her gown spiked with black crystal, is ever

the glittering star of such a violent constella-

tion. I suppose she’ll be queen soon, having

suffered her betrothal to Maven long enough.

Her gaze is on the king’s back, dark eyes

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fixed with burning focus on the nape of his

neck. A breeze picks up, stirring her glossy

curtain of silver hair, blowing it back from

her shoulders, but she doesn’t blink. Only

after a long moment does she seem to notice

me staring. And even then, her eyes barely

flick to mine. They are empty of feeling. I am

no longer worthy of her attention.

“Mare Barrow is a prisoner of the crown,

and she will face the crown and council’s

judgment. Her many crimes must be

answered for.”

With what? I wonder.

The crowd roars in response, cheering his

decree. They are Silvers, but “common,” not

of noble descent. While they revel in Maven’s

words, his court does not react. In fact, some

of them turn gray, angry, stone-faced. None

more so than House Merandus, their mourn-

ing garb slashed with the dark blue of the

dead queen’s wretched colors. While Evan-

geline did not notice me, they fix on my face

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with startling intensity. Eyes of burning blue

from every direction. I expect to hear their

whispers in my head, a dozen voices burrow-

ing like worms through a rotten apple. In-

stead, there is only silence. Perhaps the Ar-

ven officers flanking me are not just jailers,

but protectors as well, smothering my ability

as well as the abilities of anyone who would

use them against me. Maven’s orders, I as-

sume. No one else may hurt me here.

No one but him.

But everything hurts already. It hurts to

stand, hurts to move, hurts to think. From

the jet crash, from the sounder, from the

crushing weight of the silencing guards. And

those are only physical wounds. Bruises.

Fractures. Pains that will heal if given the

time. The same cannot be said of the rest. My

brother is dead. I am a prisoner. And I don’t

know what really happened to my friends

however many days ago when I struck this

devil’s bargain. Cal, Kilorn, Cameron, my

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brothers Bree and Tramy. We left them be-

hind in the clearing, but they were wounded,

immobilized, vulnerable. Maven could have

sent any number of assassins back to finish

what he started. I traded myself for them all,

and I don’t even know if it worked.

Maven would tell me if I asked him. I can

see it in his face. His eyes dart to mine after

every vile sentence, punctuating every lie

performed for his adoring subjects. To make

sure I’m watching, paying attention, looking

at him. Like the child he is.

I will not beg him. Not here. Not like this.

I have pride enough for that.

“My mother and father died fighting

these animals,” he rails on. “They gave their

lives to keep this kingdom whole, to keep you

safe.”

Defeated as I am, I can’t help but glare at

Maven, meeting his fire with a hiss of my

own. We both remember his father’s death.

His murder. Queen Elara whispered her way

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into Cal’s brain, turning the king’s beloved

heir into a deadly weapon. Maven and I

watched as Cal was forced to become his

father’s killer, cutting off the king’s head and

any chance Cal had of ruling. I have seen

many horrible things since then, and still the

memory haunts me.

I

don’t

remember

much

of what

happened to the queen outside the walls of

Corros Prison. The state of her body after-

ward was testament enough to what un-

bridled lightning