Thisbe fell asleep with those pictures in her mind and woke up disoriented and still thinking of them a few hours later. The sound of the door lock turning brought her back immediately, and she sat up, then scrambled for her pitcher of water so she could drain the rest of it before Mangrel could take it away.

He stepped back in surprise.

Thisbe froze, then moved deliberately to sit down and fixed her vacant stare.

Mangrel studied her suspiciously, then set a tray of food on the floor at her feet. She took a slow bite of food, pretending that she hadn’t just lunged for the pitcher of water. After a long moment, Mangrel stepped out. “I’ll come back for the tray,” he said, his voice measured. “The Revinir wants you to report to the kitchen to make dragon-bone broth. She said you’d know what to do.”

Thisbe nodded slightly. “Yes, Mangrel,” she said in a monotone voice, and put another spoonful of something disgusting into her mouth. It was better than nothing. Slightly.

Seemingly satisfied, Mangrel left. Thisbe sank against the wall in relief. Then she hurriedly choked down the rest of the food and water and set out into the hallway, heading to the kitchen. She slowed when she went past Rohan’s hallway, but he wasn’t anywhere around that she could see while still maintaining her low-key glassy-eyed stare.

She thought about last night. Had she imagined the knock exchange? She’d been delirious with exhaustion. And Rohan hadn’t recognized her at all on the entire journey—even the accidental pinkie-brushing was hardly evidence of anything. How would he have known to do the knocking, especially when he was in a trance like everyone else? Maybe she’d just wished it so much that she’d only thought she’d heard it.

By the time she reached the passageway that led to the kitchen, Thisbe had concluded that she’d imagined the interaction with Rohan from the middle of the night and chalked it up to exhaustion and weird dreams about being back here. Once she entered the warm, smelly kitchen, she immediately forgot all about Rohan. Because standing with his back to her, stirring a cauldron of bone broth, was Dev.

Thisbe abandoned her role momentarily. “Dev!” she cried, then slapped her hand over her mouth and whirled around to make sure nobody was around, especially the Revinir. But the throne room off the kitchen was empty, and there was no one else about either.

Dev turned slowly.

“You’re alive!” Thisbe said softly. Tears threatened to brim over. It was a great relief to see him.

Dev stared blankly. His eyes looked dead. Thisbe could see he was even more covered in scales than before.

“Oh, Dev,” Thisbe whispered, walking toward him. It was a reckless move, trying to engage him—he could report her. But she couldn’t help herself.