Something was wrong.
She dreamt of silver fish piercing water, their backs throwing off sparks under a foreign sun. A sliver of handmade lace. An anvil striking a sword. A burning tower. Once, Camille thought she saw the castle gardens, but then they were gone again.
She was lost in the dreams.
But the dreams weren't quite right. They were stitched together, the seams messy and rushed. She grasped at those seams. Pulled them apart. Her body lurched forward, tumbling through darkness, and then everything stopped.
Camille blinked.
She was standing on a drawbridge. A warm breeze tickled her hair, ruffling the curls escaping from her riding hat. Eris and another man stood next to her. Eris was affectionately patting a golden creature with large fangs. Sunhound, her mind provided, although she wasn't sure how she knew that.
She looked up.
Recoiled.
Two bodies hung from the castle gates. The older woman was dressed in a formal champagne-coloured gown; she had matted red hair, tangled like seaweed washed up on the beach. And the young man... the man...
Bile rose in her throat.
Dark hair fell into his eyes. He was dressed in his suit for the wedding — a navy waistcoat embroidered with silver stars and towers — although it was covered in dust. Ryne will be so mortified, she thought; he keeps his clothes in perfect condition.
But Ryne wouldn't care.
Ryne was dead.
Her head spun. She thought of when Ryne first became ill, how he'd hated the taste of the murtgrass-and-birch elixir. He'd pretend to be asleep until the healer left his room. Maybe he was doing it again, Camille thought wildly. Maybe Ryne was only pretending to be unconscious so he could eavesdrop on Eris.
She turned to Eris. "What happened?"
Her lips didn't move.
Camille's pulse picked up. She tried again, carefully sculpting the words like clay. "What happened?"
Nothing.
Eris was speaking with the stranger, holding down his top hat with one hand. His green eyes were bright in the sunshine. The Sunhound whined, nudging at his hand; Eris gave the hound a swift slap to the ear.
"Enough."
It took Camille a moment to realize that she'd spoken. Both men looked at her. She took a step forward, and the ground felt unsteady, as if she wasn't used to these legs. As if she wasn't used to legs at all.
"Tell me again," she heard herself say.
The stranger inhaled. "Again?"
"I wouldn't argue," Eris said, lazily pulling at the hound's ear. "Her Majesty doesn't take kindly to people wasting her time."
"Right." The stranger swallowed. "It's as I say, Your Majesty. I was having a drink in the pub — you know, the King's Head in Libertas — and my mate Stavie comes off his boat. 'You'll never guess what I just saw,' says he. And I say, 'what?'. And he says, 'Wait a second.' Then he goes to order more drinks, does Stavie—"
"Renfrew?" Eris asked.
The stranger paused. "Yes?"
"Get to the god damn point."
"Right." The stranger's throat bobbed. "So Stavie tells me that he's just sailed from the Gongo Islands. Transporting goats for the dragons, you see. And what does he see there?" He leaned closer. "Annalise Cidarius and Ryne Delafort."
Something cold settled in her chest.
"That's impossible," Camille heard herself say. "The Delafort boy is dead. He's hanging on my castle gates."
She raised a hand. A bird had settled on Ryne's shoulder, pecking at his shoulder; he didn't stir. The stranger shrugged.
"That's what Stavie said."
Camille lowered her hand. "Well, your friend was mistaken."
The stranger stuck his hand in his pockets. "Stavie doesn't make mistakes."
Eris twisted the hound's collar absently. "Annalise could have been with another man. There are rumours that Seraena Agnirian keeps a lover from Wynterlynn in her palace. Perhaps Annalise was with him."
Something tightened in her chest. "Do not speak to me of Annalise Cidarius."
"But—"
"I have been lenient thus far, Eris Delafort." Her voice sounded odd, Camille thought. Lighter, and breathier than she was used to. "Do you really wish to remind me of your previous oversights?"
Images flashed through her mind. Eris, kneeling on the floor in front of him; Eris, screaming as a whip split the skin of his back. Red blood on the floor. The sound of muffled sobs. He'd betrayed her somehow, Camille realized; she'd charged him with an important task and Eris had let her down.
Eris's throat bobbed. "No, Your Majesty."
"Good." Camille turned back to the stranger. "Do you know what I am?"
Golden thread unspooled from her fingers, running like strawberry vines across the stone bridge. The thread was solid, Camille realized with surprise, like golden chains interlinked on a necklace. She was a powerful Dayweaver, but this...
Ice slid down her spine.
She couldn't spin dream magic like this.
The stranger patted his face with a handkerchief; his hands shook a little as he placed it back in his pocket. "Yes, Your Majesty."
Camille's voice was soft. "Then you know what I'm capable of."
"Yes."
She took a step closer. "Tell me what I am, Renfrew. Don't be shy."
"You're..."
He flinched as her golden threads snapped at his ankles, and a sick sense of satisfaction filled her. Camille leaned in closer.
"I'm...?"
"Lucia," he whispered.
Everything stilled. The smell of decomposing bodies drifted down to her, mixing with the sulfurous water and the scent of burnt dog. On some level, Camille thought, she'd suspected it. But to actually hear it...
Lucia had possessed her.
She was trapped inside her own body.
Panic flooded her. Camille tried to scream. Tried to move her arms, her hands, her legs. She felt like she was shaking apart, like her very bones were trying to unknit themselves. Her body had betrayed her; it had let in a foreign host.
Lucia — she could no longer bear to think of it as her, Camille thought, as Camille — took a step forward.
"I don't like liars, Renfrew," Lucia said. "Are you a liar?"
His eyes darted away. "No."
"And is your friend Stavie a liar?"
"No, Your Majesty." The man's throat bobbed. "I swear it."
Lucia placed two fingers under his chin. "You're telling the truth?"
"I am." His jaw trembled. "I swear it."
"Yes," Lucia said softly. "I suppose you are." She stepped back, turning to Eris. "That's not Ryne Delafort."
Eris frowned. "I don't understand."
Lucia tipped her head back. "I should think it's simple. Ryne Delafort is in the Gongo Islands forming an alliance with Seraena Agnirian." She raised a glittering hand toward the gates.
"That's an imposter."
Eris exhaled. "Lyra."
Lucia inclined her head. "Your little friend has cost us a lot of time, Eris."
Her voice was calm, but Camille could feel her irritation; it pricked like bits of jagged glass beneath her skin. She wondered if this was what Penny felt like all the time. She'd never bothered to ask.
Penny.
Her heart lurched. Where was Penny? Was she safe? A thousand questions raced through her mind, and it took Camille a moment to realize that Eris was still staring up at the castle gates with a peculiar expression; it looked almost like sadness.
He shook his head. "But she wouldn't..."
"Betray you?" Lucia's lip curled. "That's the issue with human beings. They're so fickle." She turned to the stranger. "I assume you want payment of some kind?"
Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. "Well, naturally I would never assume..." The stranger took out his handkerchief again, dabbing them away. "A treehouse. For my baby girl. She's always wanted one."
"How touching," Lucia said. "But the issue is, Renfew, that I can't have anyone knowing that Ryne Delafort is still alive. People are so scared of new things. They'll flock to his side in an instant." She gave the hound a considering stroke. "No, it's far too dangerous for word of his existence to spread."
His knuckles were white on the handkerchief. "I won't tell anyone."
"Promise me," Lucia said.
"I promise."
"Ah," Lucia said softly. "But the thing is, Renfrew, you already have told someone, haven't you?" She cupped his cheek. "I can see it in your eyes."
A muscle fluttered under her fingers. "I've told nobody."
"You're lying." Lucia's voice was matter of fact. "I can tell."
"I'm not!"
"Such a pity." She sighed, stepping back. "Eris?"
Eris grinned. He let out a sharp whistle, and the Sunhound struck. The beast's fangs sunk into the man's right thigh. The stranger howled, stumbling back, but the hound clung to his leg with gleeful determination.
"Please!" The man's voice was a gasp. "I told a few people at the pub. I was drunk. But I won't tell anyone else. I swear." The hound twisted its head, and tears sprung to his eyes. "Please, I'm begging you. I have a wife. A child. They need me."
Lucia clasped her hands. "What did I tell you earlier, Renfrew?"
"Please." His voice was raw. "Please."
"I can't stand liars," Lucia said.
She waved a hand. The Sunhound leapt, tearing into the man's throat. Red blood sprayed the bridge. His body hit the stone with a dull thunk, his ravaged neck bent at an unnatural ankle. Nausea rose in Camille's throat.
He was dead. She'd killed him.
No, Camille thought, the sick feeling intensifying; they had killed him.
"Milk," a deep voice called. "Or salt and water. I've always found both are effective for removing bloodstains."
They turned.
A young man strode across the drawbridge. He was dressed in black riding leathers only a shade darker than his skin, and his hair was cropped close to his skull. When the man turned, she could see an intricate pattern buzzed close to his neck. An arrow, perhaps. Or maybe the wing of a dragon.
Eris's smile was feral. "Vulcan."
"Eris."
The two men embraced. Eris's face dropped to Vulcan's neck, and there was something so intimate about it that Camille wanted to look away. Vulcan disentangled first, closing the distance to kneel in front of her.
He bowed his head. "Your Majesty."
"Vulcan Agnirian," Lucia said. "My consolation on your recent loss."
His shoulders stiffened. "My cousin is a cheat. She took Flint Hemlock's dragon in the final moments of the race and rode the beast to victory."
"I was speaking of your uncle," Lucia said. "But I admire your priorities."
She placed two fingers under his chin. Vulcan's gaze was black coals, and Camille thought of a fireplace, the way that the flames licked the grate clean and left bitter destruction behind. This was what remained.
"I've come to beg a favour," Vulcan said.
Lucia dropped her hand. "You wish for the Gongo Islands."
"Yes."
"You want your cousin's crown."
His expression didn't waver. "It's my crown by right."
"Because she's a woman?"
There was a beat. "Because she does not deserve it."
Lucia looked up at the decaying bodies; the bird was now pecking at an eye. "You will rule the Islands in accordance with my best interest. If I give you an order, then you will obey. If I ask for a favour, then you will grant it. Those are my conditions."
"Done," Vulcan said.
Lucia smiled. "Welcome to Wynterlynn, Vulcan Agnirian."
Vulcan rose. His trousers were stained, and Camille realized that the blood was spreading, creeping between the cracks in the cobblestone. The only noise was the sound of the Sunhound chewing and the burble of the water below.
The metallic smell of blood hung in the air.
Camille tried to imagine her pinky finger, the exact shape and texture of it. If she could move it... just a fraction of an inch...
The finger stayed motionless.
Move, she thought desperately. Move.
The finger stayed still. Somewhere, a clock tower tolled midday. And above them, two bodies swung like marionette dolls, their hands shackled to thick ropes as they danced together in a silent play.