This wasn’t his sister. This wasn’t the Barl he knew.

I will murder Morgan Danfey. This is his fault.

“Remmie?” Barl touched his arm. “It’s out here, on the other side of the coop.”

It was the most appalling thing he’d ever seen… and after seeing the corpse of a woman caught in mage-mist just outside Fothel, he’d not imagined there could be anything worse.

The dead calf’s body was covered in grey scales, like a lizard. Scales crusted over its eyes and nose and mouth. Wicked spurs, like a fighting cockerel’s, jutted from its spindly legs. A single horn, like a Trindeki spear, thrust out of its forehead.

Remmie felt his empty belly roil. No. No. This had to be a dream. “You did this, Barl? You made this?”

“Morgan and I did, yes.”

“Why?”

She stepped closer, so intent, and took hold of his arm. “Because Dorana is unprotected. Because our neighbours do not love us. Because something terrible is coming, Remmie… and only Morgan and I know.”

Remmie felt his eyes burn with grief.

Oh, Barl. Something terrible is here… and I think it’s you.

“So you can see why we need you, Remmie,” she said, unheeding. “The magework is so difficult. If there were three of us… if you and I could work together, the way we used to… I think then it would hold. Will you stay? You must stay. You must help us save Dorana.”

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

Before he could stop himself, Remmie stumbled backwards. Shook his head. Swallowed the bile surging into his throat.

“I can’t.”

Barl’s eyes widened. “But you have to!”

A kind of sick fascination dragged his gaze back to the monstrosity at their feet. The poor little thing. How the calf must have suffered as it died. Suffered as she and Morgan Danfey changed it.

His fingers shaking, he pointed. “Barl, nobody has to do this. Nobody should do this. What is wrong with you? What you’ve done here is an abomination! It breaks the laws of common decency, let alone magework. What were you thinking? And how could you think I would want anything to do with it?”

Barl’s pale face had flushed with hectic colour. “Remmie Lindin, don’t you dare lecture me, you—you hypocrite. Yes, that’s a dead cow. Well, you eat cows, don’t you?”

“I eat them, yes. But I don’t torture them first!”