"I can walk," I managed, barely holding back a sob.

He nodded and laid his other hand lightly on my back. Taking slow, careful steps, he guided me out of the station house and into a waiting carriage. After sending one of his men after my things at the Fae-mily Home, he entered to sit across from me for the ride to the Governor's home. My eyelids drooped, and as I fell asleep, I was vaguely aware that he had come to my side and put an arm around me. I gave into him just this once, resting my head upon his chest.

Chapter Eleven.

CYSUR NARAVNI.

Luka woke me when the Governor's mansion came into view. A center of business and government in addition to a residence, the grounds and pillared two-story building were illuminated despite the hour. The gated estate was sprawling, especially so for a place in the city, with the grand manor set well back from the street. Memories of the first time I'd been brought here emerged, but I felt none of the dread that original visit had inspired. Instead, I felt I was coming home, for my family would soon be joining me. No matter what else that meant, I would no longer be on my own, no longer living in fear.

The carriage pa.s.sed through the gates and proceeded on to the mansion's sheltered front entry, where cherub statues beamed a welcome. After helping me from the coach, Luka escorted me up the walk and through the double doors that opened into a cherry-paneled vestibule. Straight ahead, across marble floors, rose an arching white staircase, its banisters adorned with green garlands budding with small flowers.

Ignoring the hallways that forked in either direction on the main level, Luka guided me up the steps to the second floor. We proceeded down a hallway, and I registered vague impressions of paintings, statues, and other antiquities, along with a deep green carpet, too tired to retain many details.

We at last came to an open door, and Luka gestured for me to walk inside. Despite the opulent decor, all my eyes took in was an enormous, exceptionally inviting bed, along with the middle-aged maid who stood beside it fluffing a half-dozen pillows.

"Your personal effects will arrive shortly," Luka told me, neglecting to follow me across the threshold. "But we've antic.i.p.ated your arrival for some time and can provide you with every comfort. You'll find clothing for all occasions inside the armoire, and there is an adjacent bath for your private use." He gestured for the maid to approach. "This is Galina, and she will attend to your every need. Please don't hesitate to ask for a.s.sistance."

With a tip of his head, Luka departed, leaving me in Galina's care. While all I wanted was to fall into bed and commence hibernation, I was only too aware of the dirt and sc.u.m coating my skin, the knots in my hair, and the smell that rose from me every time I moved. While my status might merit such queenly accommodations, that glorious bed didn't merit me as its occupant in my current condition.

"Shall I draw you a bath, Princess?" Galina inquired, her thoughts apparently tracking mine.

I nodded. Then the last time I'd sought a bath came sharply to mind, along with an image of the stunned serving girl who had attempted to a.s.sist me. Taking advantage of Galina's absence from the room while she filled the tub, I removed my clothing and slipped into the robe draped over the footboard of the bed, maintaining my feet until she announced everything was ready.

Unable to bear the shame of revealing my disfigurement, I thanked her and told her I could prepare for bed myself. Though she looked dubious at my dismissal, I insisted, forcing a smile around gritted teeth.

Alone at last, I eased myself into the tub and laid my injured wrist on the ledge beside it, careful not to glance at my reflection in any of the pristine mirrors. I inhaled deeply, the steam in the room warming me from the inside while the water caressed my skin, washing away dirt, aches, and tears.

Comfortably drowsy, I stepped out of the bath and slipped on the nightgown Galina had left for me. I reentered the bedroom and was pleased to see my pack had been brought from the Fae-mily Home. I hoped whoever had retrieved it had told Fi I was safe.

I glanced around the room, which had a small seating area with a sofa and chairs in addition to the bed and armoire, but didn't see the clothing I'd been wearing. Galina had no doubt taken it to be washed, if not incinerated. Something about that bothered me, and I stared blankly at the floor, trying in vain to grab onto a wisp of memory.

I was about to crawl into bed when it came to me. The necklace I had taken off Hastings-I'd stuffed it in one of my pockets.

Anxiety on the rise, I searched for it where I had dropped my dirty clothing, with no success. I scanned the area, about ready to chase down the corridor in my nightgown in the hope of finding Galina, when I spotted it on the nightstand. I took a deep breath in relief, one hand over my heart, and went to examine it. The chain was gold, and the pendant that was suspended from it was just like the one given to Shea by her father: an upside-down looking gla.s.s. Based on what she and I had learned about the necklace, it was worn by many of the people involved in the plot against the Fae, a plot with a still undetermined purpose. But one thing I did know was that this was the necklace Hastings had used to force the Sepulchres to identify the elemental connection of each abducted Faerie; this was the necklace he had used to send Sepulchres after Shea and me in the Fere. I closed my hand around it, then tucked it into an inside pocket of my travel satchel. It was not something I wanted to lose.

I crawled under the covers, nestled my head in the pillows, and closed my eyes. But the effortless sleep I expected to claim me did not arrive. The house was too quiet. The lights outside the window were too bright. My wrist ached. My throat felt torn and sticky, as though Hastings's hands were still wrapped around it, snuffing out my life.

I groaned, knowing he could no longer hurt me, yet somehow unconvinced. Unable to stop myself, I pictured his corpse, cold and mangled, a bullet hole through the head. Just like the body that had fallen beside me at Evernook Island-the man-made hybrid. A human prisoner subjected to experiments, perhaps the most awful of which had been the grafting of Faerie wings upon...its...back. By the time Zabriel had put that living cadaver out of its misery, it had deteriorated beyond discernment of gender. It had been propped inside its coffin of turning gears and monitors, doubtless seeking death but unable to succ.u.mb.

I jolted upright, the memory from Evernook Island striking me like a sudden illness, and I cradled my stomach, sweat beading on my brow. The room came in and out of focus, and I closed my eyes, but the sensation didn't go away. The image of the corpse from the box stayed with me, growing larger and then smaller, its sagging body changing colors, first sickly green, then blue as death, then purple and yellow like a blossoming bruise. I heard Zabriel's gunshot, felt the smattering of blood and brains across my face, dribbling onto my shoulders, coursing down my arms. I swiped at them, gut lurching, and my eyes flew open. Where was the blood coming from? How could it be coating me, tainting me, choking me?

Terrified, I fought free of my blankets and rolled onto the floor, landing with a heavy thump, my wrist screaming along with the echo in my skull. Then the answer came to me. My back. The blood is coming from my back. Lightning strikes of pain flared behind my eyes-once, twice, three times as the halberd fell to take my wings from me.

I staggered to the bathroom and gagged into the sink basin. With shaking hands, I lit a lamp and stared into the mirror. My soul felt hollow, its deterioration evidenced by the gauntness of my cheeks, my eyes recessed within dark circles like a dying aurora against the night. I needed to sleep, but the memories floating on the edges of my brain seemed intent on preventing a loss of awareness. It was getting harder and harder to keep them at bay, even in the light of day and no matter how tightly I clung to reason. I let my chin drop to touch my chest, and my gaze went to my arms, the skin clean and smooth, not covered in blood like in my waking nightmare. Then my eyes shifted to my inner elbow and the small marks hidden there-reminders of an escape that still beckoned.

I found myself sitting on the edge of the bath with my satchel at my feet, a filled syringe in my left hand. I couldn't recall moving, didn't remember making a decision, and yet this was what I wanted. I wrapped the tie around my upper arm in the manner the supplier had shown me and pulled it tight. Holding my breath, I took careful aim and loosed the Black Magic into my veins.

I was soaring, dipping, and rising on the air currents, then pulling my wings in against my back to roll before once more catching myself. Davic and Evangeline were flying with me, and we were engaged in our own less dangerous form of compet.i.tion-not the plummet like Zabriel and his friends, but a challenge of aboveground acrobatics. I felt light, free, and happy.

Then the scene changed-I was still flying with Davic and Evangeline, but it was night, the moon and stars shimmering off our wings. I twisted and looped, and suddenly they were gone. Fear gripped me-I could not see what had become of them. Swooping toward the ground, I made a smooth landing, then called their names, but there was no answer. I looked around, confused, for we had been in Chrior and yet I now stood on Evernook Island. Up ahead loomed the old castle, and though I had no idea how I had ended up here, I walked toward it. For some reason, I could no longer fly-I tried to unfurl my wings, but they, too, were gone, only dull pain remaining.

It was thickly dark, too dark to see my own hand in front of my face. Screams echoed heart-wrenchingly around me, bespeaking primordial fear and pain. Where was I? I put out my hand and touched stone-cold, damp stone-and understood. I was in a cell inside the castle, and someone was being tortured.

I shuffled forward against the chains that now fettered me, following the wall with my hand until I came to a solid wood door. I found the handle and fumbled with the lock, and the door swung open. I blinked against the light that struck my face, throwing an arm over my eyes to shield them.

I was in a room like none other, a room I had seen once before with my cousins. Bookshelves bearing journals with unmarked spines lined the walls; desks and workstations sprouted at various places in the center; and the scent of chemicals and decay hung heavily in the air. But it was the locked gla.s.s cabinets that drew my attention. I hobbled over to one of them, knowing what I would find but still compelled to look. Inside were shelves of gla.s.s phials, all carefully labeled-Blood of the Fire Fae, drawn the 20th day of spring; Blood of the Air Fae, drawn the 3rd day of fall; Marrow of the Water Fae, supplied the 35th day of summer. Then there were jars, filled with liquid preservative to sustain their contents-pieces of Faerie wings, a heart taken from the chest of one of my people, and other body parts I couldn't identify.

Tearing my gaze away, I spotted a key on a desk. I seized it, knowing instinctively it would unlock my chains. A scream, louder now, tore through the air, and I realized there were three doors s.p.a.ced between the shelves on the opposite wall. Freeing myself of the fetters, I approached the first door, beseeching Nature for the strength to handle whatever I found inside, for I had no weapons. To my surprise, it was not locked and swung open at my touch.

Inside, a man loomed over a pale little girl with limp black hair. She was leaning forward with palms upon the far wall, her back bare, and he was heating the blade of a knife. To my mortification, both of them were Fae.

"Bite on this," he told her, handing her a leather strap, and she obligingly put it between her teeth.

"This way you will never forget," he continued. "This way, the pain and the power will be part of you, inside you. You will no longer be weak."

He touched the point of the blade to the girl's skin, and tears ran down her cheeks. But he was intent on his work, intent on his carving, and did not seem to notice.

I stepped closer, wanting to see his face, wanting to tell him that this was not how he should treat his daughter, but all I could see were the marks he had made: strength, belief, power, perseverance. Overcome by nausea and cowardice, I turned and fled.

Standing again in the main room, I moved to the second door, wondering if it might be empty, for I could discern no sound from inside. Again, it opened at my touch. My eyes fell on a teenage boy, sitting bare-chested on the floor, awkwardly gripping his fully extended left wing with his left hand. In his right, he held a dagger, its blade red with blood. He met my eyes, then lifted the blade to bring it forcefully down against the wing, as close to his back as he could. Though his entire body shuddered and he panted from the pain, he released no cry, but determinedly raised the blade again in preparation for another strike.

"Zabriel, no," I cried, rushing to his side. "Please stop!"

"I don't want to be the heir to the throne, Anya. I don't want to be Fae."

"So you would rather be human? What makes you think that would be better?"

"At least in the human world, no one expects anything from me."

"You don't have to cut off your wings-just talk to your mother."

He scoffed and hacked again at his wing, and I cringed. Blood was now streaming from the wound, and I grabbed his shirt off the floor to try to stave its flow. He seized hold of my wrist and met my eyes, his own filled with anger and despair.

"Just leave, Anya. You don't have to watch."

"You're hurting me!" He released me at once, and I stood, rubbing my wrist. "If you want me to leave you to your butchering, I will. But it's just like you to make a dramatic statement instead of finding a real solution."

His eyes widened, but I spun on my heel and stalked from him, not waiting for a response.

I stood once more in the room of bookshelves and cabinets, trembling in the aftermath of my encounter with Zabriel and afraid I had done the wrong thing in leaving him alone. But I could not make myself return. Instead, I walked toward the third door, knowing I was also supposed to enter it, yet more afraid than ever. Gathering my courage, I stepped forward and, with a hard push, sent it crashing open.

It was dark inside, darker than the other rooms, but a faint light-moonlight-shone upon one wall. A young woman with auburn hair was pinned against it, an arrow through her wings, her hands shackled. Sweat beaded on her face, putting a shine on her terror. She lifted her head to see a man with a halberd bearing down on her, raising the weapon to strike. Just before it fell, a slightly built figure stepped forward, reaching out a comforting hand.

"Shhhh," she whispered.

Then the halberd fell, and I screamed.

I woke to soft knocking and the discovery that I'd pa.s.sed out on the hardwood floor. The knocking gained volume, and my equilibrium returned, bringing my surroundings into focus. I was lying with the lower half of my body in the bathroom and the upper half in the bedroom-and I was in the Governor's mansion.

I scrambled to my feet, the floor undulating beneath me as though I were at sea. Fighting the sensation, I leaned forward, hands on my knees for stability, breathing hard through my nose. I didn't know what time it was, didn't know who might be summoning me-but I had to answer the door.

The knocking paused and then resumed with more insistence. I straightened and kicked the contents of my spilled satchel into the bathroom. Throwing on a robe from the armoire, I went to greet my visitor, a pasted-on smile in place.

Galina stood in the corridor, hand in the air, poised to continue pounding. Despite her efforts to rouse me, she seemed shocked to see me-or perhaps her expression was due to the position of her knuckles but a short distance from my face.

"Good morning, Princess Anya," she brightly said, quickly retracting her hand. Her hair was tied in a neat bun, the dark dress she wore crisply pressed. "The Governor would like me to extend an invitation on his behalf. He requests that you join him for breakfast."

Breakfast-the very word made my stomach pitch. And yet meeting the Governor had long piqued my interest.

"Thank you. I'll be down shortly." I started to close the door, but Galina put a hand on the wood and slipped past me into the room.

"I've been sent to help you dress. And I'll tidy the room while you're out."

She moved to the windows and threw aside the heavy drapes, permitting the sun to enter, and I cringed as if burned by acid. Panic a.s.sailed me-my eyes were overly sensitive to light, my balance unsteady, and my mind encased in cotton. Self-loathing washed over me, seeming to undo the work of last night's bath, and I fervently wished I hadn't touched the Cysur. I was ill, I was a mess, and it was because of my own choices.

"No, that won't be necessary," I told the maid firmly, moving to close the bathroom door. I needed to get rid of her. I couldn't let her discover the activity in which I'd engaged. No one could know of my burgeoning-and illegal-habit. "Inform the Governor I'll be down shortly."

Galina glanced at me, her brow furrowed as though my words had been garbled, then moved to the armoire.

"It's a beautiful day, and you've been provided with plenty of pretty garments. Would you like me to suggest something?"

I sighed, finding her cheerful att.i.tude exhausting.

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary. I've been dressing myself since I was a little girl." I smiled, though my thoughts had moved to the scars on my back. "So please, just carry my acceptance back to the Governor."

Confusion skipped across her face, telling me my acceptance was a.s.sumed and didn't need to be delivered. I apparently had choices when it came to dresses but not when it came to Wolfram Ivanova. In truth, I hadn't been invited; I'd been summoned.

Galina had ceased fussing about the room and was standing flat-footed, looking chagrined.

"Have I displeased you in some way?" she tentatively asked, and I groaned internally. Even Ivanova servants were difficult to discourage. "Would you prefer someone else a.s.sist you?"

"No, that's not it. I'd just be more comfortable getting ready on my own. And you don't need to tidy the room. Fae tend to be private by nature, and I've always taken care of my own living quarters."

"But your wrist-"

"One good hand is all I need." I kept my tone light, trying to keep the exasperation I was feeling from entering my voice. This woman was fully committed to her mission.

"I could at least make-"

"No."

"I could bring you-"

"No."

"Linens?"

"No."

She sighed, and I had the distinct feeling she thought me odd. "Very well, then, Princess."

"Don't fret, Galina," I said with a small forced laugh, escorting her to the door. "This just reflects a difference between your culture and mine. But if I do think of something I need, I'll happily send for you."

"As you wish, Princess." She gave me a smile and a curtsey and disappeared into the hallway. At least I hadn't dampened her spirits.

Feeling better now that I had been upright for a while, I hurried to the armoire and selected a simple, loose-fitting gown that fell around my ankles. I slipped it over my head, splashed some water on my face, and tied my hair back, all the while thanking Nature that someone had thought to provide me with traditional Fae clothing. If I'd been saddled with the layered skirts, corset, and bustle of a wealthy human woman, I'd have been forced to run after my personal maid.

Prepared at last, I left the room, firmly closing the door behind me, and almost ran into Constable Marcus Farrier, who had apparently been posted at my door to guard me through the night. At least, that was the best reason I could think of for his disgruntled expression.

"Anya, this way," he said, and though I wasn't used to being addressed as "Princess," I couldn't help but notice his lack of formal address, especially when Luka had corrected him the night before.

I walked past him down the corridor to the landing at the top of the stairs. He came up beside me but did not extend his arm to escort me down the steps, and I gripped the banister to steady myself while I shakily descended. Once more, he followed, and I wondered if he would at least pick me off the floor if I fainted.

"This way," he informed me upon reaching the magnificent entryway. He gestured toward one of many corridors that extended like spokes of a wheel from where we stood.

With a nod, I proceeded, the fact that he did not walk beside me down the wide hallway making me feel more and more uncomfortable. Either he was brusquer and less gentlemanly by nature than the other high-ranking men I had encountered or he resented me. Since I could think of no reason for such a reaction stemming from the relatively few contacts between the two of us, it suggested he disliked the Fae. Was Luka heavily reliant on a Fae-hating prevaricator? And if so, in what sorts of activities could a man in his position and with his access to resources engage? I shivered-Marcus Farrier was a man I needed to watch.

Chapter Twelve.

PYRITE AND THE PRINCE.

Voices floated toward Constable Farrier and me as we neared a door that was almost, but not quite, closed, and I recognized Luka as the first speaker.

"You need to consider it-seriously consider it."

"There's nothing to consider. It's a risk I won't take." The second voice was gruff, grim, and deep. There was little about it that was inviting; it seemed Luka had not inherited his warmth from his father.

"You're taking a ma.s.sive risk by doing nothing."

"Doing nothing? I've exhausted-"

Luka interrupted the Governor, drowning out his words. "Yes, that's my point-"