“Nadiya,” he said, voice hardening. “What about it?”
Her expression slipped, accusation cracking into confusion as she said, “It’s gone.”
Just then, Kell returned, breathless. “Lila’s not in the palace.”
“No,” said the queen. “She left an hour ago, on foot.”
Kell swore. “Of all nights…” And Alucard closed his eyes. Of all nights.
“Is there a moon?” he asked.
“What does that have to do with anything?” demanded Kell, but Alucard wasn’t asking him. He was asking the queen. The queen, who worked in a windowless hold beneath the water, and yet, always seemed to know exactly what was happening above it.
“Is there?” he asked again.
“No,” said the queen. “It’s a moonless night.”
Alucard let out a heavy breath, and turned to Kell.
“I know where Lila is.”
* * *
“How long will this take?” asked Rhy, pacing the queen’s workshop.
“Longer, every time you make me stop,” said Nadiya. In truth, it was taking longer than it should because the map had changed. Twice now, it had rewritten itself, sand lines finishing, only to crumble and re-form, drawing new streets, which she took to mean the girl—Tes—had been moving. Or was being moved.
Now Nadiya finished the commands a third time, waiting for the lines to settle.
Rhy stood across the table from her, glaring. She had seen the king grieve, and laugh. Seen him forlorn, and happy, frustrated, and in pain, but she had rarely seen him mad. His gold eyes burned into her, not with passion, but anger, disdain. His mouth crushed into a line, as if he were biting back words.
“If you have something to say,” she said, “then say it.”
“How could you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Put this girl in danger. Treat her life as if it is disposable. As if it matters so much less than mine or yours.”
“It does.” There was no malice in her voice, only a grim resolve, but Rhy looked at her as if she were a monster. Her gentle husband, so kind, and so na?ve. Nadiya knew Alucard made a habit of indulging him, but right now, she could not.
“Lives are not equal, Rhy. It is folly to think they are. It makes you a good person, yes, but it will doom you as a king.” He flinched. “And it will be the death of the Maresh,” she went on. “Perhaps you cannot die. But you forget, I can. Alucard can. Your daughter can. So if you want to play the part of saint, go right ahead, but I have no such delusions. I have worked too hard to keep this family safe. Let’s hope a single girl is all we have to sacrifice tonight.”
Rhy said nothing.
Nadiya looked down.
On the table between them, the sand had finally stopped whispering over the paper. It fell still, turning to solid black lines around the piece of bone as it drew the map. A bank. A street. A house. One stroke at a time, the city unraveled. Rhy’s breath caught in his chest. Nadiya frowned. There were no names, no numbers, but they were not necessary. Both of them knew exactly where Tes had been taken.
The Emery estate.
III
Tes woke to the violence of cold water.
She sat up, heaving as icy rivers ran into her eyes and down her neck, soaking into her curls. Bex stood over her, holding a now empty bucket.
“Rise and shine,” she said, setting it aside.
Tes’s heart was pounding her chest, the taste of dreamsquick heavy on her tongue. She was lying on the floor of a well-appointed room, a puddle forming on the wooden boards. She wasn’t tied down, at least. That should have made her feel better. It didn’t. There were no windows, and only one door, and Calin was leaning against it, a dark bruise blooming like a shadow on one side of his face. Bex only watched as Tes rose, unsteady, to her feet, and wrung the water from her hair.
Something had changed.
In her shop, the two assassins had an easy swagger, the confidence unique to sellswords. There had been a looseness to their shoulders, an ease to their gait. Now both of them stood quiet, tense as harp strings.
She wondered why—until a voice behind her cleared its throat.
“I asked for a persalis, and you brought me a girl.”
Tes turned, and found a large man, cloaked in navy and silver. The threads that wove the air around him were an earthy green, but they were thin, and dim. His brown hair was trimmed short, his eyes a blue so dark she might have taken them for black if the light hadn’t caught their edges. His accent was pure vestra, and he had the bearing of a noble, but his knuckles were traced with pale white scars. Tes took a reflexive step back, even if it meant stepping closer to the assassins.
“Best we could do,” muttered Calin.
“My lord,” added Bex, and Tes caught the slightest mocking lilt in the words. “But in the absence of a fish, I thought you’d want the fisherman.”
The nobleman ignored the killers. He studied Tes, and as he did, she realized this must be him: the leader of the Hand.
“You’ve caused me quite a bit of trouble,” he said. “Let’s hope you can fix it.”
He stepped aside, revealing a large desk. Piled atop and around it were a myriad of spelled objects, many household, but not all, and half of them in disrepair. The kinds of things that had filled the shelves at Haskin’s, before she’d torn it down.
“Everything we could find,” offered Calin, “on such short notice.”
“And everything you should need,” said the nobleman. “To make another persalis.”
Tes recoiled, and said what she should have when the dying thief had first walked into her shop with the broken doormaker in tow.
“No.”
In her head, it had been booming, but when it crossed her lips, it came out hoarse and small, barely a whisper. And yet, it seemed to fill the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bex flinch, but the nobleman nodded, as if he understood. And then he began to unfasten his cuffs. The clasps, she saw, were silver feathers. Her mind spun. She wished she’d paid more attention to the royal houses, back when her father had insisted on her taking lessons.
“I’m afraid,” he said, rolling up his sleeves, “I do not have time to be persuasive.” He drew a small bottle from his pocket, its contents the color of oil. When he tipped the bottle, it left viscous stains against the glass. “Hold her.”
Tes stumbled back, shoes sliding in the puddle, only to find hands grabbing her arms, forcing her down against the wet wood floor. She fought, and screamed as they held her there, kicked out as the large man loomed. She landed a blow to his stomach, but it was like kicking stone; he didn’t even wince. And then he was kneeling beside her, uncorking the noxious vial, and Bex’s fist was tangled in her hair, forcing her head back.
The pain made her cry out, and as she did, the glass was forced between her teeth. Bitter liquid hit her tongue. She choked, throat closing against it, but the nobleman’s massive palm came down over her mouth, fingers clamping it shut until, at last, she swallowed.
The hands holding her disappeared, and Tes rolled onto her side, heaving. She curled small, as if to shield herself. As if the damage was not already done. A shadow fell over her, darkening the room. The nobleman, smoothing down his sleeves.
“That was widowswork,” he said, buttoning his cuffs. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it. It slows the heart, thickens the blood, shuts down the vital organs one by one. Most people use it to poison slowly, in which case a drop or two will do, spread out over weeks, or months.” He held the bottle to the light. It was empty. “I’d say you have an hour. If you’re lucky.”
It wasn’t enough time. Even if Tes were in her shop, with her black tea and her blotters. Even if she hadn’t just been poisoned. And if she were already dead, what was the point?
But then the nobleman produced a second bottle, its contents a milky white.
“An antidote,” he said, striding for the door. Calin got out of the way, and the nobleman tossed him the bottle, as if it were a tip, as he vanished into the hall.