Ryne's boots struck frozen grass.
He stumbled on impact. Dried blood matted his gear, and his arms ached from swinging a sword. His frozen breath hung in clouds. A cottage loomed ahead of him; it seemed to sprout from the ground, a squat building with a mossy roof and toadstools, and Ryne half-staggered towards it. He pounded on the wood.
The door opened a crack.
Sophie Holloway stood on the threshold. Her dark hair was scraped back in a ponytail, and she was dressed in a hoodie and pajama bottoms, which were decorated with pink sheep. Twin knives glittered in her hands.
"Delafort." She didn't lower her knives. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Ryne exhaled. "It's Anna."
Sophie's expression changed. She stuffed her weapons away, pulling on her shoes with surprising speed. "Show me."
Ryne rubbed his face. "Question."
She locked the door. "What?"
Ryne dropped his hand. "How well can you ride a dragon?"
He stepped aside. Hellart was twined around a stone fence, happily munching on what Ryne hoped was a bird and not some farmer's stray lamb. A young blond man was adjusting his rigging, and Sophie strode forward.
"Kane," Sophie said, embracing him.
Kane patted her back. "Hullo, Sophie. Nice pajamas." He gestured to his dragon. "You remember Hellart. He was bullied by a sheep as a hatchling, so he might try to set your clothes on fire at some point. Try to avoid his mouth."
They swung onto the dragon. Ryne braced himself as they took off at dizzying pace, hurtling towards the frozen stars. Even after his months in the Gongo Islands, he would never be used to this: the way your teeth rattled and your neck snapped back, the crushing, brutal force of flying at impossible speed.
Ryne clung to the dragon's back. It wasn't a long journey to Stillwater Castle, but it felt like hours. Ryne gritted his teeth. He'd debating bringing June — she'd worked for many years as a healer, after all — but Hellart could only carry so much weight. Anyway, Sophie was the better option. She'd do anything for Anna.
And that, Ryne thought, was the only thing they had in common.
"What happened?" Sophie demanded.
She leaned in close to be heard over the howling wind. Ryne rolled up his sleeves, trying to ignore the silver blood flaking off.
"Lucia's back," he said.
The words still felt odd in his mouth. To her credit, Sophie absorbed the information with a blank expression. Just as Anna would have done.
"She's corporeal?" Sophie asked.
Ryne's voice was wry. "Well, she hit me across the face with a wooden bench. So, yes. I'd say fairly corporeal."
Sophie's mouth tightened. "She's in another body?"
"Unfortunately," Ryne said. "And she's made friends." They took a sharp dive, and Ryne dug his thighs into Hellart's side. "The faeries."
Sophie's lips were bloodless. "Owain?"
Ryne shrugged. "I have no idea." The spires of Stillwater Castle loomed before them, piercing the night sky like fangs. "But if he's been reporting back to his father, I'll kill him myself."
They landed on a tower. Ryne slid from Hellart's back, his muscles groaning in protest. He led them through a maze of twisting corridors. Sophie and Kane hurried behind, their faces twin grim masks.
Sophie's voice echoed around the silent corridor. "I thought you said that you'd found people to fight for you. Villagers."
Ryne pushed into the infirmary. "We did."
Sophie skirted a cot. "Where are they?"
"Dead, mostly." Ryne's voice was flat. "The few we managed to evacuate are making their way back from Lucerna. The dragons could only take so many of us."
Sophie looked to Kane. "Seraena's here too?"
Kane nodded. "She's with Anna."
They hurried through the infirmary. Moonlight spilled over the black-and-white floor, turning it into the keys of a piano. The smell of wood polish and dust hung in the air. Ryne paused outside a small door. A lump rose in his throat, and he forced himself to breathe. The scent of medicine was stronger here. Almost unbearable.
Sophie's dark eyes were hard. "How bad is she?"
Ryne's mouth tightened. "Brace yourself."
He pushed open the door. Seraena looked up. She was leaning on the counter, her golden dragon cuff winking at her ear. But it was the second figure that caught Ryne's attention. Anna lay on the narrow cot; silver blood crusted her mouth, and her skin was unnaturally pale. Her breath came in harsh rasps.
Sophie strode forward. "I need fresh bandages." She lifted Anna's shoulder, probing the wound. "A poultice of spindleberries, a haregrass stone, and a bottle of whisky. The strongest stuff you can find."
Kane rummaged in the cupboards. "I'm on it."
Ryne took a step forward. "Don't you think dream somnium would be better?"
Sophie ignored him. She ripped Anna's sleeve off with a savage tug, sending fabric cascading to the floor. The wound pulsed, vomiting silver blood onto the floor. Anna made a whimpering sound, and Ryne's stomach churned.
"Holloway." His voice was harsh. "Wouldn't dream somnium be—?"
Sophie leaned closer to the wound. "It interferes with her natural healing abilities. Somnium won't just numb her; it'll slow her regulatory processes. Magic cancels out magic." She tossed him a look over her shoulder. "Surely you know that."
"Here," Kane said.
He offered Sophie several phials. Sophie uncorked a green bottle, letting the liquid drip onto Anna's arm. There was a hiss. Smoke rose from the wound, and Anna cried out, her body jerking off the bed.
Ryne's pulse thundered. "You're hurting her."
Sophie ignored him. "Tip her head back."
Kane obeyed. She looked like a child's doll, Ryne thought, his stomach clenching; her dark hair fanned the bed, and her body was shaking. Had she always been that small? He'd never noticed before.
"Whisky," Sophie said. "Now."
Kane dribbled the whisky into Anna's mouth. She gagged, half-choking on the liquid. Sophie uncorked a second bottle. Red, this time.
"Seraena." Sophie looked up. "Hold her down."
Seraena took her position by Anna's head. Ryne dug his fingers into the counter.
"This is going to hurt her," Sophie said. "A lot."
It took Ryne a moment to realize that Sophie was directing the words at him. He stiffened. "Go ahead. I can handle it."
Sophie tipped the bottle.
Steam hissed out of the wound. Anna screamed. She thrashed against the bed, twisting and writhing, and Seraena gritted her teeth. The muscles in the High Lady's arms flexed as she held Anna down. Sophie poured more liquid, and the screams doubled.
"I know, my love," Sophie said, stroking her hair. "It's almost over. Be brave for me."
Tears streamed down Anna's face. She was half-sobbing, her eyes rolling wildly beneath her eyelids. Froth built at her mouth, and Ryne looked away. His hands felt wet. He was bleeding, Ryne realized with numb fascination; he must have been gripping the table so hard that he'd torn through his blisters.
"Here," Kane said. "Get her to bite down on this."
He offered Seraena a metal tool. She stuffed the object between Anna's teeth, and her screams turned muffled. Her hands clawed at the bedsheets like a feral animal.
A sick feeling started in Ryne's stomach. "Stop."
Sophie dribbled more liquid onto the wound. Anna let out an ear-splitting shriek, choking on her own drool.
Ryne strode forward. "Can't you see it's too much for her?" He yanked the bottle from Sophie's hand. "Stop."
Sophie didn't look up. "Get him out of here."
Small — but surprisingly strong — hands pushed at his shoulders. Ryne bared his teeth.
"Try me, Agnirian," he snarled. "I dare you."
Seraena's face was impassive. "Healer's orders." She plucked the phial from his hands, lowering her voice. "You're only getting in the way, Delafort. If you want Anna to get better, then you need to go."
Ryne swallowed. Cold sweat clung to the back of his neck. Seraena's amber eyes were hard, and she shoved him again.
"Go."
Ryne obeyed.
He stumbled into the infirmary, fetching up on the side of a bed. The smell of healing draughts and blood filled his nostrils. Silver blood flecked his hands. He rubbed his hands on his trousers, but he couldn't get rid of it.
He sunk onto the bed.
His mouth filled with saliva. A sure-fire sign, Ryne thought, that he might be sick. He placed his head in his hands, forcing himself to breathe. Anna's face — small, colourless, drawn tight in pain — swam in front of his eyes. He could hear her muffled screams drifting through the wooden door.
His heart pounded.
He'd do anything to make it stop. Do anything to make it better.
The realization struck him yet again, so fast and dizzying that Ryne really thought he might be sick. He would do anything for her. Torture, maim, kill... Burning hells, he'd take the light out of the stars so she could see in the darkness. He loved her.
He loved her. He loved her.
Why had he only told her that once before?
"Is Sophie in there?" a voice asked.
Ryne looked up.
Isaac stood in the door to the infirmary. He'd changed into loose trousers, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. He fisted his hands in his pockets.
Ryne rubbed a hand over his face. "Why?" His voice was tired. "Drawing up a report for your faerie friends?"
Isaac looked away. "It's not what it looks like."
"Then why?"
Ryne was amazed at how even his voice sounded. Maybe, he thought, it was possible to reach a state of complete apathy. The roof could cave in, and he wouldn't give a shit. None of it mattered anymore. None of it.
Isaac's throat bobbed. "I can't say."
"Typical," Ryne muttered.
"Ry..." Isaac shifted his weight. "I'm on your side. You have to believe me."
Ryne held his gaze. "You told Thoraine about the tunnel. You let Eris trap us like rats in a barrel, and then pick us off one-by-one."
"I didn't want to," Isaac said.
Ryne stared at his hands. "Hundreds of men died. It was a slaughter."
Isaac's voice was gruff. "I know."
"This is your fault," Ryne said, and he felt some flicker of emotion, which was a shame. The numbness was preferable. Easier, somehow. "You know that, right?"
"I do."
Ryne shook his head. "You're meant to be..."
The King's Shadow. My best friend. My brother. The words caught in his throat. Another scream rose from the next room, and Isaac flinched.
"Is that...?"
Isaac looked as if he couldn't bear to finish the sentence. Ryne's voice was level. "If Anna dies tonight, I will never forgive you."
Isaac looked away. "I understand, because I would never forgive myself."
Silence fell.
Ryne had a sudden memory of swimming in a glacial lake at Yulemas. They must have been about ten; Isaac had jumped into the water first, and Ryne — a stronger swimmer, but more cautious — had followed. He'd emerged from the lake spluttering, shoeless and half-frozen. Isaac had loaned him a leather boot, and they'd hopped back to the castle like that, both struggling to keep their bare foot above the snow.
You didn't have to do that, Ryne had told him, teeth chattering as they reached the castle. You weren't the idiot that lost both their shoes.
Isaac had smiled. You would have done the same for me.
Now, Ryne rubbed at his face. "What do you want, Isaac?"
"It's Camille," Isaac said. "She's not..." He rocked back and forth on his toes. He was clearly trying not to pace. "Can Sophie look at her?"
Ryne shrugged off his jacket; it fell to the bed in a pile of crusted blood. "I'll send her after she's done with Anna."
Isaac shook his head. "It can't wait."
"It'll have to," Ryne said flatly.
Isaac's throat bobbed. "You don't understand. If we don't act soon, then Camille won't..."
Ryne raised an eyebrow. "Won't what?"
"Make it."
Isaac's voice cracked on the last word. Another scream carved through the air, and Ryne braced himself against the metal bed railing. "I'll send Kane. He has a rudimentary knowledge of these things. His mother's a healer."
Isaac exhaled. "Thank you."
Ryne turned. "Webb?"
Isaac looked up. He was standing in the doorway, a knight resting on the black-and-white checkerboard floor. Shadows hollowed his face.
"I'm not doing this for you," Ryne said. "I'm doing it for Cami."
"I know."
Ryne held his gaze. "And I want something in exchange."
Isaac didn't hesitate. "Anything."
Ryne's voice was steady. "You'll go to the tallest tower. You'll barricade yourself inside that room, and you won't speak to anyone. No contact with the outside world. That includes conversations, letters, or otherwise." He picked up the jacket, slinging it over his shoulder. "If I find out that you've disobeyed my instructions, then I'll exile you from the castle myself. Is that understood?"
Isaac swallowed. For a moment, Ryne thought he might argue, but he nodded. "I'm sorry, Ry."
"So am I," Ryne said.
He limped back towards the wooden door. The smell of healing draughts grew stronger, along with the sting of metal. Anna's screams echoed through the infirmary. And Ryne braced himself as he pushed open the door.