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R M GRAY

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For you, dear reader, for setting sail on this journey with me

PART ONE FURY

Chapter One

I feel his presence before I see him. His steady heartbeat never falters as he steps out of the shadows, the hood of his black cloak drawn to cover his face.

“You came,” Will says, his voice dark and deep. His hood conceals his emerald eyes, but I imagine they sparkle with amusement as he draws a wicked-looking knife from his belt. “I’d begun to think you wouldn’t honor our agreement.”

His leather boots squelch in the mud as he makes his way down the deserted cobblestone street. He comes to a halt in a gilded puddle of lantern light, ten feet from where I stand, flurries of snow dusting his shoulders.

“And miss my chance to meet the great William Castor?” Captain Shade’s muﬄed voice comes from directly behind me. He presses the muzzle of a fl intlock pistol to my cheek, and I cringe

at the bite of the cold metal on my skin. “Let’s not waste time, shall we?”

Will tilts his head, a subtle command. Two men in full suits of bloodred armor emerge onto the street, hauling a battered woman between them, her cropped ginger hair matted in clumps. Blood steadily drips from the crudely bandaged stump that would have been her right leg only a few hours ago. I’ve seen Margaret amputate a limb before—I can tell the leg wasn’t removed by a surgeon. If she doesn’t get proper medical treatment soon, there’s a chance she won’t make it through the night.

“You certainly know how to treat a lady,” Shade says, an edge to his light, conversational tone.

“She’s alive.” Will runs his gloved fi ngertips over the edge of his blade. “That was our agreement.”

“Aye.” Shade laughs as he presses the muzzle of the pistol beneath my chin. “Miss Oberon goes free, and in exchange, you return my quartermaster, Diana— safe from harm.”

Click. He pulls the hammer of the fl intlock back, smoothly wrapping an arm around my midsection, his hand splayed possessively over my abdomen. It’s a predatory threat that would make my skin crawl—if I wasn’t the one to suggest it.

I know Captain Shade isn’t evil. His true name is Titus Anteres, the crown prince of the Eerie—the same prince who joined a secret rebellion against his own parents. But we agreed that we’d need to convince the royal Bloodknights that I was held prisoner aboard his ship, and so Titus’s calculated hand placement is all part of that charade. I try to catch Will’s eye, to reassure him that this plan will work, but he glares at Shade’s hand, his jaw set.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him.

We agreed to all this just yesterday. I woke—having spent two weeks unconscious aboard Shade’s ship, the Starchaser — and Will wasted no time in telling me the king’s plan to appoint me as one of his Bloodknights, to make it clear to his subjects where my loyalties lie. But the king doesn’t know the truth—that becoming a Bloodknight will allow me to infi ltrate the royal household and get to the true depths of their evil plans for humans and Myths. And gaining access to Castle Grim will bring me one step closer to undoing the curses binding me and Will.

Once Will whisks me oﬀ to the castle, I will use my abilities to sense whether Titus is right: that his fiancée, the princess of Hellion, is possessed by Morana. Then, if what Titus believes is true, we can force the Sylk queen to take her corporeal form, use her blood to cure not only mine and Will’s Underling curses, but also to free my brother, Owen, from Morana’s service.

In exchange for my cooperation, Titus has agreed to give me his medallion— an heirloom that once belonged to the heir of Hildegarde, which he assures me will grant me and my family passage to the only place on this earth truly safe for humans from both the tyrannical rule of Nightweavers and Morana’s Underling forces— the Red Island.

But before I leave the Eerie once and for all, I plan to take down Titus’s father, the king—to make him pay for what he’s done to me, to my family, and to my people.

A cure. Freedom. Revenge.

I catch Will’s gaze at last. And love?

I can have it all—I just need to hold up my end of the bargain.

Shade leans forward, his mask brushing the side of my head. “I requested the safe return of Diana to raise the morale of my crew. However, if she were to bleed out before I could bring her safely home . . .” He clucks his tongue. “Well, my crew would be just as pleased to know I’d robbed the king of his prize.”

He pulls me in tighter, as if to make his point. His warm breath ghosts over the shell of my ear, and the scent of salty air that clings to his skin transports me to yesterday. To the moment when he revealed he was both pirate and prince. The moment I ran from him—horrified that a pirate I long admired was living a double life, and actually the next in line to a tyrannical dynasty of Nightweavers. I dived into the sea, my sanctuary, but Shade followed me into the water without hesitation, where he pressed his lips to mine.

Once Will pulled me from the sea and back aboard the Starchaser, Titus hardly spoke to me at all. And this evening he was silent again, even as we rowed to shore together. Now, as Shade, he strokes my cheek with the pistol; it sends both a shiver down my spine and a thread of guilt winding its way around my heart.

Did Titus tell Will he kissed me? Can I even call it a kiss?

And did he see what I saw under the waves, that woman made of brilliant gold dust?

Shade’s voice snaps me back to reality. “Perhaps I’ll allow Miss Oberon to live.” I can almost hear the wicked smile in his voice. “Though, I suppose my crew might prefer that she lack the means to wield a knife, don’t you?”

Shade takes a step back, dragging me with him. The Bloodknights nearly drop Diana, but Will holds up a hand, an unspoken

command for them to wait. Slowly, he takes a few paces back as well, holding his knife out to his right, where the sharp edge of the blade rests on the skin of Diana’s throat.

“Take one more step,” Will says, his voice deathly calm, a subtle honey-gold light fl aring in his eyes, “and the girl loses more than her leg.”

Shade sighs. “Don’t you ever get tired of making empty threats?” He removes the gun from my face, releasing his grip on my waist only to kick my legs out from under me. I land on my knees, my teeth gritted against the pain. He must aim the pistol at the back of my head, because when I look up, Will’s face has gone pale. “Are you really willing to gamble with her life? I know what she means to you.”

My heartbeat thunders in my chest. When we agreed on how this exchange would play out, we didn’t discuss this. Captain Shade—Titus —has saved my life more than once. But can I trust a pirate not to take things too far?

Can I trust him?

Will never takes his eyes oﬀ me as he removes the blade from Diana’s throat. The Bloodknights throw her forward, where she lands in a heap on the ground beside me.

“Your turn, pirate,” Will says, fi xing a glare on Shade.

I glance behind me as Shade lowers his weapon, shrugging his shoulders. “She’s all yours.”

I meet Will’s gaze once more as I gather the strength to rise, and I see it there—the relief, the concern, the silent apology. And . . . something else. Something neither of us has given breath to. I brace my palms against the slick, rough cobblestones, lifting myself slowly when—

The gunshot rattles in my chest, my ears ringing. For a split second, I think I’ve been shot. But it’s Will who staggers to the left, sways. With his free hand, he touches his shoulder. His fi ngers come away wet with blood.

And then chaos.

I scramble out of the street, pressing myself fl at against a building as Captain Shade’s crew descend from the rooftops, swords fl ashing. Bloodknights stream out from the alleyways to meet them, wielding blades made of Elysian Iron. Gunshots reverberate oﬀ the brick walls, and for a moment, I lose sight of Will in the blur of bodies.

But there—there he is, locked in battle with Captain Shade.

It’s all for show, I remind myself. Titus and Will don’t actually hate each other. They’re on the same side; they would never try to kill each other.

Still, shooting Will wasn’t part of the plan. And if Shade is going oﬀ script . . .

With an expertly timed strike, Will uses his sword to knock the gun out of Shade’s grasp, making it a fair fight. But with Will’s steady loss of blood, I’m not sure how much longer he can keep this up.

I would kill for a weapon. Even though, despite the battle that rages around me, I know I’m not in any real danger. Shade’s crew wouldn’t dare harm me, even if they didn’t fear what their captain would do to them if they did. And the Bloodknights have been ordered by the king to assist Will in bringing me safely to Castle Grim.

Nevertheless, my fi ngers itch for my daggers. I can’t bear sitting

still, watching as others shed blood in my name. Blood that pools at my feet. Blood that whispers to me in a language I feel I’ve forgotten, like waking from a dream . . .

I shut my eyes tight as the sickeningly sweet smell of copper overwhelms my senses. I can’t risk anyone seeing the golden glow that now emanates from my irises— growing brighter as my affi nity continues to rise within me, stronger now than it did the fi rst time it manifested that night in the bloody fountain.

I shake my head. It’s been only two weeks since Titus revealed I am half Nightweaver— a bloodletter with elemental power over water. But now is not the time for losing control. Not when I haven’t even begun to discover what kind of power I can wield. Not when I can’t be sure of the damage I could do if I just—

A Bloodknight slices a member of Shade’s crew, and the girl crumples to the ground next to me, entrails spilling from the gash in her abdomen. I tried my best not to learn the names of Shade’s crew, especially knowing what I planned for tonight, but now as the girl dies nameless beside me, shame coils in my gut.

She chokes, coughing blood onto the cobblestones, before her eyes roll to the back of her head.

I look away.

Shade’s crew knew what they signed up for. They knew some of them might not leave this street alive. Still, the blood that seeps into the cracks is on my hands.

Let them believe the great Captain Shade, hero of the human rebellion, has lost, I told Will and Titus. en, once the king believes he’s won, we’ll attack from the inside. ey won’t suspect a thing.

Will was reluctant, but I thought I saw a hint of pride in Titus’s eyes as I detailed my plan to invade Castle Grim by using his

father’s own scheme against him. A brilliant plan— if Will doesn’t succumb to the wound in his shoulder.

It has to be convincing, Will said.

It has to be a struggle, Titus agreed.

It has to look real, we decided.

Only, now I wonder if I didn’t misjudge the lengths they were willing to go to stage this deception.

“Give up,” Shade drawls, loud enough that I hear him over the din of clashing metal. “You’re fi nished, Nightweaver! Run along home to your mum and dad.”

Will’s jaw clenches. Sparks fly as he brings his blade down hard, connecting with Shade’s sword in a strike that vibrates through the street, almost as if the earth itself responded to Will’s fury.

False fury, I tell myself.

But then, why does it seem so real? Why do his eyes fl ash with a hatred I’ve never seen in him before?

Why —I ask myself, even as I watch him move at an inhuman speed, too quick for my eyes to properly detect— does he deflect Shade’s counterblow, lunging forward, his blade aimed at Shade’s chest? Why does his sword pierce Shade’s flesh with an audible squelch?

Why is all I can think as he stabs Captain Shade— stabs Titus, his best friend, his brother in every nature except birth— straight through the heart.

Chapter Two

is wasn’t supposed to happen.

Shade—Titus — goes limp, skewered on Will’s blade. I want to scream, but I can’t seem to fi nd my voice.

Will’s chest heaves as he stares at his best friend, watching the light leave Shade’s eyes. He whispers something too low for anyone to hear.

Th is can’t be happening.

Will withdraws his sword, and Shade falls, his body toppling sideways at an awkward angle before hitting the cobblestones with a dull thump. I can’t see his face—his body is turned away from me—but when he falls, his crimson tricorn is knocked from his head, his golden-blond hair now on full display.

At once, the fighting stops. Shade’s crew freezes, shock apparent in their terrified expressions. Even the Bloodknights halt

midswing, turning to look at Will, at his face smattered red with blood.

“Your captain is dead!” Will shouts, his voice raw—rough and ragged and all wrong. It comes out as a deep, rasping sound, as if it isn’t his voice. He clears his throat, his eyes shifting from gold back to green, and when he speaks again, his voice is smooth. “Malachi Shade is dead.”

He raises his foot— stomps down hard on Shade’s mask. It cracks like bone beneath his weight.

I forget myself. I forget the plan. I forget everything.

I lurch forward, attempting to reach Titus’s prone body, all the while telling myself that I’m doing it for the medallion—that if Shade dies, I might lose my chance to reach the Red Island, and this will have all been for nothing. But in that instant, red smoke fi lls the street, too thick to see Will, or Titus, or anything for that matter.

A hand covers my mouth.

And then I’m being dragged.

I bite down hard, drawing blood. The metallic fluid floods my mouth, sending a jolt of power through my veins. It gives me enough strength to nearly break my captor’s hold, but, as if they expected this, they tighten their grip, crushing my arms to my sides. I kick, struggling to fi nd my footing, but it’s no use— whoever has me is much, much taller than me. With what seems like little eﬀort, I’m pulled backward, up, through a narrow doorway and into a carriage.

Into someone’s lap.

“Normally, I wouldn’t be opposed to biting,” comes a silky, lilting voice, his hot breath on the back of my neck sending a shiver

down my spine, “but I rather benefit from having all my fi ngers, love.”

My heart skips a beat. Restarts.

He releases his grip, and I fall forward, catching myself on the bench across from him. I whirl to fi nd Titus, dressed in his princely garb— a black military jacket trimmed with scarlet thread— seated across from me in an obnoxiously luxurious carriage. He cocks his head, a strange expression of curiosity on his familiar face. Murderous rage replaces my grief as his lips tilt upward in a mischievous grin.

“You bastard!” I seethe. “I just watched you die!”

“Yes, well,” he says with an infuriating shrug. “You wanted it to look real, hmm?”

My heart beats fiercely against my rib cage. I feel everything— anger, guilt, confusion, relief ? — so acutely, so painfully, I can hardly breathe.

“Don’t worry about Rook,” he says with a mocking smile. “William missed his heart. My crew will have gotten him out of here by now. One of my bonewielders is probably stitching Diana and him both up as we speak.”

Rook—he was one of the crew I met aboard the Starchaser as we planned this evening’s attack. And once before, when Captain Shade saved him from the gallows, when Will saved me and my family from the hearing in the town square. Rook’s impersonation of Shade— of Titus—was so believable he fooled me along with everyone else.

I swallow the lump in my throat, my voice thick when I say, “I thought you were dead.”

Titus glances up at me, eyes narrowed. Instantly, his features soften.

“Aster,” he murmurs, chastised. “Forgive me—”

“Don’t,” I grit out, my cheeks burning. “There’s nothing to forgive. The plan worked. That’s all that matters.”

Titus frowns. His brows pull together, his blue eyes piercing.

Softly, tenderly, he says, “Please, love, don’t cry.”

“I’m not—” I bite my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. “It’s not you, it’s . . .”

And then, before I can stop myself, every emotion comes spilling out of me and every memory from the past few months rushes to the surface.

My father, lying dead on the kitchen floor.

My brother Owen, who tried to turn me into a monster like him.

The king, who expects me to swear allegiance to him and to fight for him against my own people.

Will, who will die if I don’t succeed in forcing the Sylk queen to give us a drop of her blood—the only cure for the curse that will turn Will from a Nightweaver into a bloodthirsty Underling.

The same curse that will eventually turn me, too.

And then there’s Titus. He’s lied to me, manipulated me, and even now, I know he’s only pretending to care about me because he intends to use my abilities for his own gain.

And yet . . .

As if he can sense my thoughts, he leans forward, lifting his hand to reach for me. He lets it linger in the air, his fi ngers inches from my face, and I have the fleeting memory of his face underwater, just before his mouth met mine beneath the waves. . . .

It didn’t mean anything, I scold myself. He was only trying to save me to save himself. If I drowned, he would have lost his only

means of discovering the truth about his fiancée and curing his best friend.

The reminder douses my senses like a bucket of ice-cold water, and I clear my throat.

Titus jerks back his hand as if stung, clenches his fist in his lap. A neutral expression settles over his features as he retreats to his bench across the carriage from me, one ankle perched casually over his knee. He looks out the window as if I no longer exist.

Before I even hear the hinges creak, the door to the carriage opens. And then Will is there, the scent of roses and damp earth enveloping me. He takes his seat beside me, his comforting warmth seeping through his cloak to my shivering skin, his hand on my cheek as his eyes— green but still glimmering with traces of gold Nightweaver light— examine me from head to toe.

I glance at his shoulder, but despite the blood that stains his shirt, it appears as if he’s already healed himself.

I melt into his touch, leaning forward, my lips parting. I knew, in the instant I saw the bullet pierce his flesh, that any remainder of outrage I felt toward him and his recent revelations vanished. We did not meet on ideal terms, and our partnership may have been founded on mutual gain, but I can’t deny what I feel for Will. And I can’t ignore the way his fi ngertips graze my skin, or the longing look in his eyes as he closes the distance between us, drawing in a shaky breath. . . .

“Later, my darling,” Will hurries to whisper, sounding strained. He draws back as the door to the carriage opens once more. I cringe as a Bloodknight takes the seat beside Titus, who shifts to put as much distance as he can between himself and the soldier.

“Miss Oberon,” Will says, his tone now cool, “I’d like you to meet Gabriel. He and our coachman for the evening, Flynn, will act as your private guards for the duration of our journey.”

Gabriel dips his head in greeting, his face concealed by his ornate scarlet helmet.

I say nothing, my every instinct telling me to lift a blade from Will’s person and drive it into one of the slits covering the Bloodknight’s eyes. To be this close to one of the king’s personal soldiers, knowing he’s most likely slaughtered thousands of my people at the royal command, and not be able to slice him from nose to navel is almost too much to bear. The only consolation I have is that when I’ve completed my task, and Will has been cured, I’m free to make the Bloodknights pay.

“Fantastic,” Titus drawls. “Now that we’re all acquainted . . .” He knocks on the window, and the carriage lurches into motion. “I believe we have a train to catch.”

Chapter Three

“Aster,” comes Will’s deep voice, coaxing me gently from sleep, “we’re here.”

It takes me a full moment to realize I’m no longer aboard the Starchaser. The lavish interior of the royal carriage comes into focus as I blink my eyes open, wondering how I could have fallen into such a slumber, and notice Will’s hand resting lightly on my forearm.

The hair on the back of my neck bristles. “Did you—”

He holds a fi nger to his lips. We’re alone in the carriage—Titus and Gabriel have made their exit—but Will urges me to silence.

“You used your magic to make me sleep!” I hiss, careful to keep my voice quiet.

He frowns. “You needed rest,” he says simply.

“You don’t get to decide—”

Voices from just beyond the carriage door give me pause. Will clears his throat. “Th is way, Miss Oberon.”

And just like that, he ends my protests before they’ve even truly begun. He opens the carriage door, stepping down fi rst and then turning to oﬀer his hand.

I grit my teeth, obliging him in front of the two Bloodknights, their scarlet armor almost jarring in contrast to the snow.

Snow. It covers the wood like a sea of white, as if my beloved ocean has come to convene with me beyond the shore. Father always said that before the Fall six hundred years ago, when Nightweavers were banished here, exiled from the heavenly realm of Elysia, winter crept slowly upon the land in late December. Some claim it’s part of the curse humans brought upon the Known World, and the early arrival of winter is a sign of the True King’s wrath. Others, including the Nightweavers of the Eerie, believe the sudden October winters are holy, a blessed omen from the True King, and mark the occasion with a grand celebration known as Holy Winter’s Day. Under diﬀerent circumstances, I might secretly be thrilled to partake in the festival—the spiced nuts, the mulled wine, the exchanging of gifts—but the celebration now marks the day that Titus will be wed to the princess of Hellion. And when I see his stark figure, a lithe silhouette of midnight fabric against the frosty backdrop of the wood, the abrupt winter feels more cursed than blessed.

It’s Prince Titus who stares back at me now, his chin high, expression cold. Not the pirate captain who’d rescued me from the Deathwail.

“Where are we?” I ask, taking in the thick foliage that strangles the wooden loading platform where a gilded train idles, sputtering

smoke into the dense white canopy. It must be midafternoon— I slept well through the morning, thanks to Will—but the scant light that fi lters through the leaves is gray.

“Nowhere,” one of the Bloodknights answers. His helmet differs slightly from his comrade’s, so I assume this is Flynn speaking, not the silent, brooding Bloodknight Gabriel who sat in the carriage beside Titus. Flynn’s voice is oddly pleasant—light and friendly and somewhat disarming. “One of the king’s many private boarding platforms in one of the many abandoned woods of the Eerie.”

“Abandoned?” I murmur. “How could the woods be abandoned?”

Although their eyes are mostly covered, I sense Gabriel and Flynn share a look.

“Myths,” Will explains, his expression neutral. “They fled these woods hundreds of years ago.”

Titus surveys the woods, his mouth twisted with something akin to disgust. “Whatever creatures my ancestors failed to exterminate, anyway.” He performs the role of the cruel, haughty prince with such ease; I have to remind myself it’s all an act. Without so much as a glance in my direction, Titus starts toward the boarding platform, beckoning Will with a simple nod. “Wait here,” he says to Gabriel and Flynn. “Watch her.”

I stand between Gabriel and Flynn on the old, rotting platform, my arms wrapped tightly across my chest to keep from shivering. I was made to wear dirty rags and commanded not to bathe before the Starchaser made port along the Cutthroat Coast. I was supposed to look the part of a distressed prisoner. And I can tell, by the uncomfortable silence, that these Bloodknights fully believe that the king doesn’t plan on knighting me because he thinks me

deserving. Me — a weak, scared little girl who needed to be rescued. A traitorous wretch who needs to be watched carefully, lest she attempt to flee.

Good. I love to be underestimated.

“Miss—” The word has only just left Flynn’s mouth when an arrow whizzes past my ear.

Gabriel pushes me behind him as the two Bloodknights draw their scarlet weapons. Flynn hefts a crossbow from his back, while Gabriel unsheathes two massive swords from bloodred scabbards at either hip.

“Get her inside!” Gabriel shouts, his rasping voice grating against my eardrums as he shoves me toward Flynn.

Flynn pulls on the same door Titus and Will used to enter the train only minutes ago, but it doesn’t budge. “It’s locked!”

“Damnit,” Gabriel grunts. An arrow pings oﬀ his shoulder. “Cover me!”

Gabriel charges into the woods, moving with surprising speed and agility despite his armor, and a moment later, I lose sight of him in the tangle of thickets.

The barrage of arrows stops the instant Gabriel enters the woods, the eerie silence of the forest now deafening. Flynn shifts, standing in front of me. His head swivels left, right. Leaves rustle nearby, and he aims his crossbow in the direction Gabriel disappeared, but the Bloodknight never reemerges. Flynn takes a step toward the thicket, and instinctively, I watch his back, focusing on the thick, snow-covered undergrowth, where shadows seem to seep from the darkness. . . .

“Behind—!” I start, but I’m too late.

Flynn turns to look behind him, his crossbow raised, but the

dark figure has overtaken him, knocking his weapon onto the platform. The assailant straddles the Bloodknight, but I can’t see its face. I can’t really see it at all. It’s as if the figure is made of shadows— a manifestation of darkness itself.

What I can see is the wicked-looking dagger in its blurred grasp, its blade, inscribed with ancient script, festering with green energy that almost seems . . . alive. The weapon itself whispers, too low for me to hear, in a voice that chills me to the bone.

My gut tells me the assailant is an Underling, but it looks different from any Sylk or Shifter I’ve seen. Those have always possessed a host, or transformed into a human or animal, and this creature of shadows appears like something else entirely. I can sense the evil radiating from it and instinctively understand this is another kind of Underling, and I watch in horror as it plunges its dagger into one of the thin grates that cover the Bloodknight’s left eye.

Flynn’s scream is deafening.

The Underling fi xes its glowing red eyes on me. Cocks its shadowy head.

Flynn’s crossbow landed at my feet, but I’m not fast enough to retrieve it, so I remain perfectly still. Take a deep breath. Attempt to calm my frenzied heart.

The blood pounding in my ears drowns out the sound of Flynn’s agony.

“Has my brother sent you to collect me?” I whisper, too low for the Bloodknight to hear.

The assailant rises in one fluid motion, shedding the veil of shadows, which dissipate as if he merely removed a cloak. Before me stands a slender, masculine frame, his clothing made of what

appears to be black bandages, and the same black gauze obscures his face, covering everything but his now golden eyes.

He grips the glowing dagger in his gloved fist, the green energy appearing to lap at his hand, his wrist, his forearm.

“Leave the Eerie,” comes a deep, raw voice, “or meet your death.”

My palms itch for the feel of metal in my grasp. Blast Will and Titus for insisting I remain unarmed!

“You can’t harm me,” I say slowly, glancing at his cursed dagger.

His eyes narrow. “Dangerous to assume,” he says, his voice like gravel.

“I’m protected.” I swallow hard, careful not to touch my bracelet and draw attention to the trinket—the band of braided leather that each of my family wears and Owen revealed was imbued with magic strong enough to dispel an Underling’s attack. “By an enchantment. No harm can come to me by an Underling’s hand.”

His golden eyes fl ash with what looks like amusement. “Who said anything about Underlings?”

The door to the train groans, as if someone was trying to unlock it from the inside.

“Open the damned thing!” I hear Titus’s muﬄed voice through the metal door.

“It’s jammed!” comes another voice from within. The assailant takes another step toward me, closing the gap between us.

“Leave,” he rasps, “or die.”

The door to the train compartment sounds as if it’s been torn from its hinges. The assailant whirls, consumed by shadows once more, and before I can even register the movement, he vanishes.

Chapter Four

Titus stands in the doorway to the train compartment, his eyes wide as he surveys the platform. His gaze fi rst lands on Flynn’s writhing form and Gabriel, who reappeared moments after the assailant vanished, now calling for aid as he kneels over his fallen comrade. Then Titus spots me, his expression wild.

“Get inside,” he says quickly, his voice hoarse. He grabs me by the arm and hauls me into the compartment, past the group of officers clustered there, half-dragging me down the narrow corridor. I scarcely gather my bearings enough to notice the doors lining one side, but I realize we must be in a sleeping car.

Titus doesn’t stop until we enter another compartment— another sleeping car by the looks of it. He peers over his shoulder, glancing all around, before opening the door to a small, private cabin, pulling me inside.

He grabs my other arm, turning to look in my direction. His eyes inspect every inch of me. “Are you hurt?”

I shake my head, unable to meet his probing stare. “I’m fi ne,” I say, hating the rush of heat that warms my cheeks. I shake his hands oﬀ me. “Where’s Will?”

He swallows, his throat bobbing with the eﬀort. “He’s still relocating the passengers from this car to the front of the train.”

“Why?”

“For privacy.” Titus steps away from me, tucking his hands into his pockets, but his eyes continue to search my face, my hair. “Word has gotten out about your presence on this train. You’re rather . . . popular.” He frowns. “We shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“I wasn’t alone,” I say, quirking a brow. “You left me with two Bloodknights. You couldn’t have—”

“We should have known better.” He hisses a breath through his teeth as he runs his hands through his hair. Loose blond strands fall free from his grasp, framing his face. “I should have known better.”

My stomach sours. “I can take care of myself. Besides, if something happens to me, I’m sure it’s not too late for you to fi nd another cursed pirate capable of sensing Sylks.”

He glances at me, his face twisted with disgust. “What?”

“You can drop the act, Titus—Shade —whatever your name is.”

His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing. “Act?”

“Are we speaking in only one-word sentences now?” I roll my eyes. “Yes, Your Highness, the act. I don’t know who you really are, but it’s hard enough to tell the diﬀerence between the pompous prince and the commiserative pirate captain. Now, we made a deal, none of which requires us to pretend, even for a second, that we

care about the other’s well-being aside from what we can oﬀer each other. Do I make myself clear?”

He grits his teeth in a smile laced with venom. “Perfectly.” He turns, as if to leave, but then he stops, his shoulders shaking with a barely contained chuckle.

Indignation burns the back of my throat like acid. “Did I say something amusing?”

He faces me again, his lips kicking into a smirk. “It’s just that you seemed to care a great deal for my well-being when you thought William had driven a blade through my heart.”

The tips of my ears feel as if they’ve caught afl ame. “Yes, well, I was confused. That’s all.”

His tongue prods at the inside of his cheek, and he scoﬀs. “Confused.”

“Confused ,” I repeat, squaring my shoulders at him. “I watched Will drive a blade through Shade ’s heart. You’ll excuse me if I’m still coming to terms with the fact that you’re the same person, Your Highness.”

“Oh?” His brows lift. In one swift maneuver, he pins me against the door, bracing himself with one hand over my head. He towers over me, looking every bit as menacing as the stories depict him. “So you only care if Captain Shade dies,” he says, his voice low. I catch a glimpse of the wicked prince he’s reputed to be as he examines me with a cruel, calculating gaze. “Not me.”

Electricity charges the air, crackling all around us, ready to ignite. Not me. Not Titus, the prince who has haunted my nightmares since we were children. Not the prince who is rumored to drink the blood of humans, eat their hearts, and impale their heads

on the castle walls. Not the prince who masquerades as Captain Shade, a hero of my people.

It dawns on me that I don’t really know that I can trust either of them.

I lean in, my body trembling with rage. “Exactly.”

He grins, eyes sparkling. “Now who’s speaking in one-word sentences?”

His breath ghosts my face, the smell of sea brine reminding me again of that underwater kiss, and I have to fight to keep my gaze from dropping to his lips as his tongue darts out, wetting them as if he were about to speak when—

“Oh!” comes a small, girlish voice.

Our heads whip in the direction of the open doorway, where a human girl in her black-and-white uniform stands, holding heavy bags in either hand. She gapes at us, her mouth wide.

“You’re lost,” Titus grits out, lowering his arm and taking a deliberate step back. He turns to look at the girl, his entire being practically vibrating with annoyance, his expression dark. “Run along.”

Her jaw snaps shut, but the surprise in her eyes is quickly replaced by fear. “M-my prince,” she stutters. “I-I’m so—forgive me—yes, yes I’m lost—I was looking for—”

She curtsies, almost losing her balance from the weight of the bags, before taking oﬀ in the direction from which we entered the compartment.

“You don’t think she’ll . . .” My heart leaps into my throat. “You’re engaged! We shouldn’t be seen alone together. What if she—”

“What if she announces it to the entire Known World?” Titus snorts, rolling his eyes. He smirks, and the charged electricity

between us fades to a gentle hum. “Are you worried you’ll cause a scandal?”

“You’re such an ass,” I snap, swatting his chest. Lowering my voice, I hiss, “All of this will have been for nothing if I don’t stay in your fiancée’s good graces. I still need to get close enough to see if she’s actually possessed by Morana, remember?”

Titus winces at the word ancée. Or maybe I’m just seeing things.

“Believe me, you won’t have any trouble getting close enough to the princess to detect the Sylk queen,” Titus says, his words clipped. “Morana will have adopted Leo’s entire personality.”

“Leo?” I echo. It’s the fi rst time I’ve heard anyone refer to the princess of Hellion by name, and for a moment, it cuts through the cloud of rage I feel toward Titus.

His shoulders sag a bit, his mouth tight. He nods. “Leo,” he says, “is a remarkably kind person. She won’t be difficult to befriend. Even for you,” he adds, his lips twitching—the makings of a playful grin.

Shame coils in my gut. I’ve been so focused on exposing Morana I’ve given little thought to the girl she’s possessed—the girl who will have to die if we’re to force Morana to take her corporeal form. “She sounds wonderful,” I murmur.

Another nod. “Leo and I have known each other since we were children.” He sighs. “Her ability to stir up mischief might have been more hazardous than my own.” Again, traces of a smile line his eyes, but they’re gone in an instant. “She had the most contagious laugh.”

Had.

I don’t know why, but I can’t keep the words from tumbling out of my mouth. “What if the princess isn’t possessed—”

“She is.” His face hardens. “I knew from the moment she arrived. Leo is nothing more than a costume Morana has chosen to wear. The girl I knew is gone.”

I note the pain in his voice, his eyes. “But if she wasn’t possessed,” I start again, “would you have . . .”

“Would I have felt diﬀerently about marrying her?” Titus’s expression softens. He pinches his nose, takes a deep breath. “I always suspected my parents would attempt to form an alliance with Hellion—we both did—but neither of us wanted this. Leo was my friend. Nothing more. That’s why I fi rst suspected she wasn’t herself.” He grimaces. “ is Leo couldn’t be more excited about the wedding.”

A knot forms in my throat. “Do you think,” I say slowly, “that perhaps Leo feels diﬀerently than you? Maybe she’s changed. Maybe—”

“No,” is his swift reply. “I’m certain of this.”

“But, Titus—”

“No, Aster,” he says through gritted teeth. “Leo is gone. It’s not just the wedding! It’s—” He hesitates, then drops his voice to a whisper. “When Leo fi rst arrived at Castle Grim, she asked to see the Bloodroses.”

Months back, Will enlightened me on Bloodroses and how the flowers produce Manan, a glittering gold substance known as “the dust of creation.” Manan oﬀers power to both humans and Nightweavers alike, if they can get their hands on it, and the last remaining garden is purported to grow within Castle Grim, making it a scarce, highly coveted resource— even for the nobility.

“I didn’t think anything of it,” Titus continues. “Leo’s seen the garden plenty of times, though she’d always expressed a certain . . .

distaste for it. She never liked the way Manan made her feel— hated it, even. But that night in the garden, she said something to me— something odd.”

A muscle feathers in his jaw, and his mouth works, as if he was fighting to keep the words from spilling out— a fi nal attempt to save his friend from further condemnation.

“What did she say?” I whisper, prompting him to continue— hating that I must.

Titus’s nose twitches, and he clears his throat. “She said, ‘Just think what we could accomplish if we no longer needed the Bloodroses for Manan.’ She started talking about ‘our rule’ and seeking alternative sources of Manan —human sources.” His lip curls with disgust, and as I watch his face, I remember Will’s words from long ago: Blood is the purest source of Manan, but human blood is the most potent.

“The Leo I knew would never have said anything like that. It was like . . . like she was a completely diﬀerent person.” He nods, as if still trying to convince himself. “She’s possessed, and the only thing I can do to help her now is give her a dignified death—to set her free from Morana’s control.”

A digni ed death. It’s the same thing Owen promised me when we were surrounded by the Nightweavers who took us from our life at sea to one on land. I knew then what he was prepared to do—that if he could not save me, he would be the one to take my life.

I’m still not certain Titus is right about Leo, but if there’s even the smallest chance that he is, and that exposing Morana would mean obtaining a cure for Will and me, then I have no other choice but to hope he’s onto something.

“If Leo is possessed . . .” I say quietly, “how do you know it’s Morana and not just another Sylk?”

“I just . . .” He looks out the window, his eyes somewhat distant. “I just feel it. I’ve been around plenty of Sylks—battled them, banished them. But that night in the garden with Leo, I felt something else. Something ancient and evil and . . .” He shakes his head. “It’s Morana, I’m certain of it. And with your ability to see Sylks, we can prove it.”

I hesitate. “If it is Morana,” I start, hurrying to add before he can correct me, “how do you plan to force her to take her corporeal form?”

He blows out a tight breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m still working on it.”

My mouth gapes. “You’re working on it?” I say. “You’re telling me I’ve come all this way—that I’m going to take an oath to become a Bloodknight— and you don’t even have a plan?”

“I have a plan,” he says through gritted teeth. “The details are just . . . not your concern.”

I huﬀ, craning my neck to look him in the eye. “It’s my job to determine whether she’s possessed. And I’m able to do so only because of my curse —you know, the one only Morana can cure?”

His jaw clenches. “It’s complicated,” he says, his voice surprisingly soft. “Your people have long believed there is a ritual that can force Morana to take her corporeal form. But it requires immense power, and . . .”

“And?” I demand, but my voice cracks.

Titus’s brows pinch. His gaze drifts, as if his mind were somewhere far away. “And I’m not yet sure I’m capable of doing what must be done to see it fulfi lled.”

Dread pools low in my gut. “Tell me,” I say, attempting a quieter, gentler tone, but my building frustration seeps in, tainting the words. “I can help. I want to help.”

He looks at me then, and there’s such sadness in his eyes— such heartache—that I feel as if I’m seeing not Captain Shade, not Prince Titus, but someone else entirely. An instant later he clears his throat, and his expression turns harsh, his eyes now cold and empty, as if I imagined the sorrow that transformed him only moments ago.

“You are helping,” he drawls. “You will use your strange, unique ability to see the big bad shadow creatures,” he adds, wiggling his fi ngers, “and I will perform the ritual that forces Morana to take her corporeal form so that I can get a few measly drops of the Sylk queen’s blood and use it to cure you and our poor friend William.

Do I make myself clear?”

Before I can say anything, he straightens his jacket with a furious tug, adding, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s someone here who has been waiting very patiently to greet you.”

Without another word, he storms out of the train car.

I collapse onto the narrow cot, my mind whirling. I’m not sure how many minutes pass before a familiar voice startles me out of my daze.

“If Lewis could see you in those rags,” Margaret says, “I think he’d have a stroke.”

Chapter Five

My sister Margaret crushes me in her embrace.

“Oh, Marge,” I say, tears stinging my eyes. I pull away, twining my fi ngers with hers. “What are you doing here? How—”

“Lord William had it arranged,” she explains, somewhat giddy. “I’m to be your lady’s maid until we reach Ink Haven.”

“Ink Haven?” Just the mention of the township nestled in the valley below the Castors’ estate fi lls me with longing. “I didn’t know we were—”

“Stopping there? It was a last-minute decision. I was supposed to go all the way to Jade with you, but I suppose Lord William wanted to see his home again before you all left for Castle Grim.” She gives a watery smile, and my stomach fl ips at the thought of the capital city— of Jade, where I’m to be knighted. “Oh, Aster, he was so distraught. He wouldn’t rest until he got you back.”

My stomach somersaults. Even though I know the rescue was fake, the thought of Will anxious to fi nd me, to bring me home . . .

I give her hands a squeeze. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Margaret squeezes back. “Me too.” Her expression turns apprehensive. “Aster, what they’re saying, about Captain Shade—” “I know.”

“He’s really dead then?”

I hope Margaret doesn’t see me hesitate when I say, “I suppose so.”

Her eyes narrow. “He didn’t really take you captive, though, did he?” She glances at the rags I’m wearing, no doubt assessing what anyone else would have been too distracted by the fanfare of my rescue to notice: I’m unharmed. No bruises, no cuts. And I don’t look like I’ve been underfed. Lowering her voice, she adds, “I know he wasn’t responsible for what happened at Bludgrave.”

It still feels as if it were only yesterday that the Sylk who murdered our brother Owen led a troop of Underlings into Bludgrave Manor and slaughtered the guests on Reckoning Day. The image of the Castors’ ballroom, bodies strewn across the bloody floor, fl ashes through my mind every time I close my eyes. And Owen, waiting for me in the woods, a dagger in his hand . . .

I peek my head into the hallway, ensuring we’re alone, before shutting the door to the sleeping compartment.

“What do you mean?” I ask innocently.

“Well, I was there. I saw the Underlings with my own eyes. And—” This time, it’s Margaret who hesitates. “Jack told me everything.”

Jack. The Castors’ stableboy and I had become fast friends during my time at Bludgrave, but he and Margaret had become something more. I should have known he would tell Margaret the truth about the attack, but I can’t be sure what exactly that truth entails. “Told you . . . ?”

Margaret’s cheeks flush. She rolls up her shirtsleeve, where the inked lines of a winged dagger blossom on the surface of her skin.

My blood turns to ice. Margaret bears the mark of the winged dagger, an enchanted tattoo that signifies her allegiance to a dangerous cause—to the Order of Hildegarde, the centuries-old coalition between humans, Nightweavers, and Myths all fighting for justice and freedom from the Nightweavers who rule over them. The same enchanted tattoo that marks my forearm as well.

“Oh, Marge,” I groan. “You didn’t! He didn’t!”

“Jack—”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“He only wanted—”

“I don’t care. He’s dead.”

“It was my choice!” she says, standing up straighter, her shoulders pulled back.

“And what about our brothers and sister?” My blood warms, heats, reaches a boiling point. “Did Jack take it upon himself to recruit them, too?”

“He didn’t recruit me.” Margaret blushes again. “And no, he didn’t tell them. They don’t know anything.”

“Good.” I unclench my fists. “It’s going to stay that way.”

She nods, her expression suddenly serious. “Agreed.”

The weight of Margaret’s revelation settles on my shoulders. But then it lifts, and I feel lighter than I have in months. If Margaret has joined the Order of Hildegarde, then I don’t have to keep my involvement a secret from my sister any longer. At least I’ll have one sibling I can talk to.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” I say quietly.

She waves her hand. “You couldn’t have. Before . . .” She lets out

a low sigh, and I understand the words she hasn’t said: before Father died. “I wouldn’t have listened to you. I would have said no.”

“But now?”

Her eyes fl ash, fi re and rage and bitter grief alight in her blue gaze. “Th is has to end.”

For a moment, all I can do is stare at her— at my sister, the warrior. And in this instant, everything feels possible. With someone like Margaret in the Order, things can be diﬀerent now. We might actually have a chance. is has to end. But when does it end? When the king and queen are dead? When Morana has been captured? Even if we succeed, could it really be that simple? Could we end six hundred years of war and hatred?

“Jack knew you’d be furious,” Margaret says, a grin tugging at her lips. Mischief sparks in her eyes. “He’s expecting your worst.”

I snort. “He couldn’t handle my worst.”

We both break into laughter, the two of us falling back onto the cot beside each other. We exhale at the same time, the brief moment of reprieve gone as quickly as it came.

We sit up, leaning in as we did when we were children and we would huddle in her hammock, sharing secrets or dreaming about things we thought we could never have. I realize, with a pang in my chest, that during the time we spent living together at Bludgrave, we rarely even spoke to each other. Margaret was starting a new life, and I was holding tightly to the one we left behind.

“So,” Margaret whispers, “what really happened then? Did you see him?”

“Who? Captain Shade?” I lift my shoulder and bite my bottom lip, attempting to give myself time to think of a response. “No,” I

say carefully, using a half-truth to mask the lie. “He never visited me onboard his ship.”

“You were on his ship?” she nearly squeals. “What was it like?”

“Like a ship.”

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

I drum my fi ngers on my pantleg, pretending to be contemplative. “It was . . .” I consider lying, but, “Oh, Marge, it was just as the legends say. His crew was rightly terrifying, and the ship . . . the Starchaser is mysterious, and fantastical, and unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.”

Margaret’s eyes widen with wonder. “That’s . . .” She frowns. “That’s terribly sad.”

The word why almost leaves my lips before I realize what she means. “Yes,” I agree, my voice cracking. I’ve just learned that my sister is privy to the secret I’ve been keeping— about my allegiance to the Order of Hildegarde, and now, her own—but already I cannot tell her the truth of Captain Shade’s false identity, much less his false death. Another secret. Another lie. “It’s awful.”

We remain silent for a long while. Then Margaret takes my hand.

“There’s something else you should know. The king sent his men to Bludgrave,” she says quietly, her gaze searching mine. She bites her bottom lip, as if unsure whether to continue. “They are considering Lewis and Charlie for military service. They said they might be required to join the League of Seven.”

I jump to my feet, my heart nearly leaping out of my chest at the idea of my brothers being forced to join the fight against the Underlings. Jack told me all about the League of Seven, and while the seven kingdoms of the Known World have joined together to

battle Morana’s forces, they see their human conscripts as little more than cannon fodder. “They can’t! Will would never let—”

Margaret stands slowly, her gentle movement causing the words to catch in my throat. She gives me a sympathetic look. “Lord William thinks it might be the Crown’s way of ensuring you act accordingly,” she tells me.

I clench my teeth so hard I fear they might break. I fear I might break.

“Th is is all my fault,” I say, pressing the heels of my palms to my forehead.

Margaret places a soft hand on my shoulder. “Jack said the Order asked that you keep an eye on the prince the night of the ball. How could you have said no?”

I let out a low, hollow sigh. “I had a choice,” I say. “I chose to do it because I thought— at the time . . .”

Understanding fl ickers in Margaret’s eyes. “You were going to try to kill the prince.” She nods slowly. “I can’t say I blame you.”

My stomach lurches. “Why do you say that?”

She looks at me as if I’d grown a second head.

“You know what he’s done,” she says, dropping her voice even lower than before. “I don’t care if he’s part of the Order. He’s still killed countless humans for the Crown. I’ve heard stories—”

“Not all stories are true—”

“Well, I believe them! They say he hunts humans for sport on the streets of Jade—that he kills men with his bare hands more efficiently than you could with a blade. They call him the king’s beast—the Reaper.” Her face blanches as a chill sweeps through the tiny cabin, as if the very name stole all warmth from the room.

“The Reaper?” I whisper.

She nods, her throat bobbing. “They say the blood sends him into a frenzy. It turns him into something . . . else. We’ve always known he was a monster.” Her eyes fl it between mine. “Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind?”

“I—” My voice suddenly sounds unnatural. “It’s complicated. There’s so much I want to tell you, but . . .” I cut a glance at the door, shake my head. “Not here.”

She looks taken aback, but she must understand my hesitancy to talk about such matters when Titus could return at any moment and overhear our conversation, because she dips her head. “Whatever you say.” She blows out a tight breath. “So long as no one expects me to watch his back on a battlefield.”

“I don’t think anyone would,” I say, forcing a teasing grin to my lips even as my stomach churns. I knew Titus had a reputation for cruelty, but the Reaper . . . Margaret makes it sound as if he were another creature entirely. I can’t help but wonder if in seeking a cure for my curse—in fighting for my freedom—I have chained myself to a beast.

Margaret spends the afternoon scrubbing, brushing, curling, applying, and blotting— all with surgical precision. I’m beginning to think she enjoys the hours it takes to transform me, because she seems most at peace when she has a series of small, tedious tasks to complete. However, despite Margaret’s sense of pride in her work, now, as I step into the hall where Gabriel and Flynn wait to escort me to dinner, I feel like crawling into a deep, dark hole.

Flynn lost his eye only a few hours ago, but with the aid of bonewielder magic, the wound has healed beyond the point of

pain. And from what I heard, they managed to remove the eye before the poison from the attacker’s cursed dagger could spread and infect his bloodstream.

I can almost feel Flynn gawking at me from behind his helmet— can almost feel him smirking obnoxiously when he says, “How pretty.”

My fist clenches around an invisible dagger. “Do you wish to keep your other eye?”

Flynn chuckles. Gabriel clears his throat.

“Th is way, m’lady,” Flynn says in a singsong voice, making a grand gesture in the direction of the compartment door.

I wish our attacker had aimed for his vocal cords.

At the mere thought of the shadowy assassin, a shiver runs through me. His golden eyes, his cursed dagger . . .

Leave the Eerie or meet your death.

What I wanted to say was, Gladly. Either way, stay or go, I’m dying. But this isn’t about just me. If the League of Seven conscripts Lewis and Charlie, then I have to act fast. I can’t risk losing them in a war they were never meant to fight. No assassin, no king, no one is going to stop me from trying to make this world a safer place for my family.

“Miss Oberon?” Gabriel’s gentle voice stirs me out of my thoughts. We’ve reached the door to the dining car.

I take a deep breath. On the other side of this door, a cacophony of laughter and vibrant conversation hints at a life of careless ease I have never known.

I give a slight nod, and Gabriel opens the door.

The silence that greets me is so heavy and thick I feel as if I can hardly lift my foot to take another step inside.

Ornate golden candelabras adorn every table. Grand scarlet

curtains line the windows, and tables clad with black silk tablecloths and set with gilded plates line either wall. The dining car in which I met with Will when I fi rst came to the Eerie was opulent, but I was not prepared for this height of luxury. Just one of these forks would have been considered a treasure fi ne enough to pay for a year’s worth of food for my family and me. The jewelry in this compartment alone is enough to humble a dragon’s hoard.

I don’t realize I’ve shuﬄed back until I bump into Flynn’s chest.

“He’s waiting for you in the next compartment,” he says in a low, steady voice. “Just keep walking.”

I can’t bring myself to look up, to look at these people on either side, all staring at me as if I were a wild animal. Like I don’t belong.

I don’t belong.

I’ve never belonged in this world. I don’t belong on land; I don’t belong with these people. I might be half Nightweaver, but I will never be one of them.

It is only the presence of Gabriel and Flynn behind me that keeps me from turning around. I’m grateful to them, in some strange way, because despite the helmets that hide their faces from sight, I can sense the looks they give the patrons of the dining compartment as we pass. Looks that beg to be trifled with. Looks I don’t understand. Gabriel and Flynn are Nightweavers; they should hate me, too.

We enter the private dining compartment, this one even more luxurious than the first, the single table bedecked in finery fit for a queen.

“There you are.” Will’s deep, smooth voice is like a salve to my frayed nerves. He stands from the table, where he sits across from two people I’ve never met, candlelight fl ickering in his green eyes, catching flecks of gold and casting them in a dazzling glow that reminds me of Manan, mesmerizing me, drawing me in. . . .