From the top drawer of her vanity she drew a witchlight rune-stone. She had asked Charles to give her one, and of course he had had no choice but to do so. She held back from asking him for more, not wanting to raise suspicions.

The adamas felt cool and smooth as water in her hand. She held it up to her lips, watching her reflection in the vanity mirror. The adamas was white, shot with bits of silver: the same color as her hair. Her eyes were wide and frightened. There was nothing she could do about that, and perhaps it was better.

She raised the stone to her lips and spoke. “Mama,” she said, her voice low and clear. “Audite. Listen.”

Her reflection rippled. Her long pale hair turned iron-gray, her eyes darkening to a muddy green. Lines crept across her face. She wanted to shudder, to flinch away, but she held still. It was not her own reflection she was looking at, she told herself. She was gazing through a window, opening a pathway.

Tatiana Blackthorn smiled back at her from the glass. She wore a simple gray dress, and her hair was bound into long braids in the style of the Iron Sisters. Her eyes had not changed: they were sharp, calculating.

Tatiana smiled mirthlessly. “I thought you might have forgotten about your poor mother, trapped in the Adamant Citadel.”

“I think of you often, Mama,” said Grace. “But they watch me, you know. It is difficult to be alone.”

“Then why are you reaching out now?” Tatiana frowned. “Do you want something? I settled with the Inquisitor before I was exiled: there should be plenty of money for the Bridgestocks to buy you new dresses. I will not have it said my daughter is poorly outfitted.”

Grace did not try to protest that she had not asked her mother for money; there was never any point. “It is about Malcolm Fade,” she said. “I am close to getting him on our side.”

“What do you mean?”

“That he will help us,” said Grace. “With Jesse. Do you recall that aletheia crystal in the study at Chiswick House? The one that shows the trial of Annabel Blackthorn?”

Tatiana indicated impatiently that she did.

“She was exiled to the Citadel,” Grace said. “Because of her relationship with Malcolm. But if you could speak to her—perhaps get a message to him—”

Tatiana burst out laughing.

Grace sat very still, feeling cold and small, as she often had when she was a child. Her mother’s mocking laughter was as brittle as the cracking of melting ice.