KYRA WOKE UP with a pounding headache.
They’d used her own sleeping draft against her. Those jerks.
She was cold too. And whatever she was lying on was hard.
She opened her eyes to find herself in one of the cells in the dungeon, lit by only a small torch that guttered on the wall outside the bars of her cell. She sat up and felt for her weapons—all gone. She’d been stripped of her needle holster, her knives, her powder pockets, everything.
This was so not how things were supposed to go.
What were Ariana and Fred doing? Were they in the dungeon too?
“Hello?” Kyra called, her voice echoing off the walls. “Hello?”
The only response was some intense squeaking and scurrying sounds. Her skin crawled.
What if they left her here to starve?
That would be worse than hanging.
By the time she heard the sound of someone coming down the dungeon steps, her body ached from her hunched-over position on the hard floor, she was freezing, and her head still hurt. She stood woozily, backing up into the far corner. Her head struck the wall, and something dug into her scalp.
They’d missed her hair stick.
Kyra drew it out, her long hair falling down her back, and pushed the button to pop out the blade. She moved up beside the cell door.
When the door swung open, Kyra leaped out and grabbed the person, yanking him around so that he stood in front of her, her blade to his throat. Her other hand clasped rich velvet.
The duchess.
“Kyra, this is ridiculous. Take your little blade away, dear. I’ve come to let you out.”
“You’re just going to march me right upstairs and let me go? I don’t believe that. You tried to track me down for the king, you sent a witch after me, you’re probably going to let me hang.”
“Is that what you really think?”
Kyra didn’t say anything. Of course it was what she really thought—but her mom made it sound stupid.
“I was trying to track you down,” the duchess said slowly, “because I was worried about you. I would never have let the king or his soldiers harm you. I’m your mother, Kyra, not a monster.”
“Then why am I locked up in this dungeon?”
“I’m afraid the soldiers were a little overzealous. It has taken all of my diplomatic skills to sort this out. Your friends were absolutely no help. They have all the grace of a couple of angry bears. I don’t know how they’re to be expected to run a country someday.”
“Is that what this is all about, Mother? Are you behind this? You don’t think Ari should run the country?”
The duchess made a tsking sound. “I’m not behind anything. Ariana will do a fine job, but she is definitely still in need of some serious training when it comes to dealing with people. Do you really think I would hurt my own niece?”
“You’re using your gift on me, aren’t you?” Kyra demanded. “Trying to charm me.”
“I’m your mother, I don’t need to charm you. Kyra, please put the blade down and come upstairs. Your cousin Ariana is currently chained to a table beside her double. Your bag is up there—you have a vial of your truth serum in it, don’t you? Ariana said you did, but as we’re taking the matter very seriously, we aren’t trusting either one of them.”
Kyra thought back to the creatures of Arlo Abbudato’s she’d met in the woods. “These things don’t react to potions the same way that people do, Mother—I don’t even know if my serum will work.”
“Well, then, we’ll just have to hope that it does.” The duchess shook a vial in her hand. “I believe this is the antidote to the headache caused by your sleeping potion?”
Kyra popped her blade back into her holster and reached for the vial. “How’d you know?”
“I do pay attention sometimes. I found it in your room upstairs.”
The duchess turned to face Kyra, touching her throat where the blade had rested. “Don’t think I’m going to forget this little incident. You are in serious trouble, young lady, for turning a weapon on your own mother.”
Kyra wound her hair back up, replaced the stick, and swallowed hard. She would rather face another witch or a whole pack of Arlo Abbaduto’s men than see the punishment her mother had in store for her.
“Sorry,” she said.
But her mother only humphed and said, “Come along.”
Kyra’s mother brought her to her father’s sitting room, which he used primarily for drinking spirits and gaming with his friends after dinner. The ducal palace didn’t have a courtroom of any kind.
Today, instead of a stack of cards or a chessboard, the gaming table had shackles bolted to it. Side by side, their wrists cuffed to the table, were two Princess Arianas.
Kyra ignored the baby-blue-frocked Ariana and nodded to the Ariana dressed in Fred’s clothes.
The room was filled with people—regular folk, soldiers, guards, and nobles. Fred and Langley stood beside the duke’s favorite stuffed chair, and the duke himself sat in it, a yellow handkerchief in one hand to mop his face, and a glass of amber-colored liquid in the other. The duke’s eyes lit up at the sight of Kyra, but he suppressed the grin that threatened.
These were serious proceedings.
Dartagn greeted Kyra and passed over her potions bag. The guard seemed to pop up everywhere she was.
Kyra took a seat across from the two princesses. Taking out the vials, she began her dilution of 07 211, Peccant Pentothal—the vial of poison she’d found carelessly thrown under Ellie’s couch, the poison used to transform her friend, the poison with which she’d almost killed Arlo Abbaduto.
This time, there would be no mistakes.
Kyra painstakingly checked the measurement of every drop in the dilution medium. She added her alkalines and gently stirred in her colloids and worked through the process in complete silence. She loathed using the serum on Ariana again and risking her life, but there was only one way to uncover the truth. Kyra would get it right this time.
She had to.
Carefully, she swirled the diluted poison around in the vial and picked up her dropper. She prayed that this poison—unlike Doze—would have some effect on the obeeka.
She squeezed one drop on each princess’s shackled left hand.
The effects were immediate.
The Ariana in the poufy blue dress began transforming—her blond ringlets darkened and lost their curl, and she began to shrink. A loud gasp filled the room as the false princess dwindled into a small childlike creature with unblinking black eyes, its hands almost—but not quite—small enough to escape the shackles. An obeeka.
Identical to the creatures Kyra had encountered at Arlo Abbaduto’s lair.
Of course he was behind it. He’d replaced the princess with one of the shape-shifters in his employ. He’d known about the properties of Red Skull Serum when mixed with pine oil. He’d engineered the whole thing.
“You work for Arlo Abbaduto?” Kyra demanded.
The obeeka grimaced and tried to pull out of the cuffs. “He’s not going to stand for this!” Its voice sounded like a whole crowd of people talking in synchrony. It made Kyra’s skin crawl.
She had gone to Arlo for help. Now Rosie’s failure to find the princess the first time around made perfect sense—Arlo had never wanted to help her. He just wanted her to cover his tracks. So he’d put something in the basket that would lead her to another of his puppets, Ellie the hermit. Maybe he thought Kyra would kill the old man. Or that Ellie would kill Kyra.
“I think the king is going to have some questions for you,” Kyra said to the creature.
“You won’t be able to hold me. You don’t even know what I am.”
“Dartagn?” Kyra called.
“Yes, my lady?” He appeared at her side.
“Release Princess Ariana from her shackles immediately.”
Dartagn made a gesture, and a soldier unlocked the iron bands.
“We’re going to need to reinforce the prisoner’s shackles,” Kyra said. “It’s an obeeka and can change shape to slip out of bonds. In my rooms, I have a potion that will force it to maintain this shape, and an anti-rot concoction we were trying out in the gardens last summer that could keep it from degenerating its shackles.”
Dartagn sent a pair of soldiers to fetch the potions, and assigned two others to keep watch on either side of the creature.
Kyra stood up.
“You might have me,” the creature said, “but you’ll never find my master. Not if you interrogate me all day. I don’t know where Arlo is.”
“We’ll see,” Kyra said. She looked at the soldiers. “Just in case it might be dangerous, you should take it to the dungeon for the interrogation.”
The two men unbolted the creature’s shackles from the table and led it out.
The room erupted in applause and whistles, and people shouted her name.
Kyra felt a blush spread across her face.
The duke stood up and raised a hand for silence, his rosy cheeks glowing. “Thank you all for being here to witness this event. Our princess is safe, and a sinister plot has been uncovered that would have destroyed the kingdom we all know and love.
“I want to thank my daughter, Kyra, for persevering in the face of all obstacles. Darling, I’m so proud of you.”
Kyra thought she caught her mother roll her eyes from across the room, but figured she had to be imagining it. The sentiment might be there, but her mother would never do something so undignified.
The duke clapped his hands. “Drinks! We must have drinks to celebrate!”
Ariana linked an arm through Kyra’s and whispered in her ear, “You know, kitty cat, you don’t need to go to such great lengths to find out my secrets. I’d tell you anything you wanted to know without a truth serum.”
“Ari, maybe we should get you out of here. No joke. You really are dangerous with this truth serum in you. You might say something you wished you hadn’t.”
“Like that your mom scares me, but I think your dad is kind of cute, in an old-guy sort of way?”
“Exactly like that.”
“Eh.” She shrugged. “I’m not worried.”
The tension in the room lifted, and everyone erupted into conversation and laughter as drinks were produced and trays piled high with cheese and meat were brought around. A few people bowed to Kyra as they passed, or lifted their glasses to her when they caught her eye.
Kyra watched while, across the room, Fred taught her dad his fish song. The duke laughed uproariously as Fred got to the part about ducking his head under the water and tipped his ale over his face and spluttered. Her dad immediately reached for his mug to try it himself.
Beside her, Ariana laughed, then disentangled herself from Kyra to rush toward the men, shouting, “Save some for me!”
Ariana smiled up at Fred as he mimed along with the duke singing through the song, spilling ale extravagantly all over his face.
Kyra shut her eyes, but the image of her two friends enjoying each other’s company didn’t go away. She edged toward the door, a smile fixed on her face as each person she passed congratulated her.
She accepted the praise but kept moving.
“Princess,” came a deep voice behind her.
Kyra turned to the drooping-mustached man behind her. “Dartagn.”
“I’m glad you’ve made everything right, princess.”
“You know I hate it when you call me that.”
Dartagn’s eyes glowed. “I know.”
“Dartagn, did you really believe I’d kill my best friend for no reason?”
He shook his head. “Of course not. I trust you. Why else do you think you were one of our special combat trainers? I don’t invite just anyone to do that.” He paused. “Did you really believe I hadn’t found you in the woods?”
Kyra’s jaw dropped.
“I knew my trust in you was not misplaced.”
“You knew where I was all this time?”
He nodded.
It shouldn’t have made such a difference that her combat teacher trusted her, but it did. She smiled and turned and was at last out of the room.
In the empty hall, she leaned against the smooth stone wall.
She was going to have to pull herself together. Everything was great now, right? Her best friend was alive and happy. She was no longer a fugitive. She’d saved the kingdom.
If everything was so great, why did she feel so terrible?
Her two friends were engaged to be married. And if Kyra had ever had any doubt that it would be a successful match, it was quickly evaporating.
Ariana was falling for Fred. And from the looks of it, Fred was falling for her too.