The last servant approached Papa’s chair. A noise of distress slipped from me when I saw the flash of the blade. The dagger sank deep into my father’s heart with a wet thump, down to the silver hilt. His blood rushed forward, fast and bright like a rose had bloomed over his breast. It sprayed over the white tablecloth, speckling the china and the candelabras in crimson. I watched its cascade, numb with shock, waiting to feel my face crack like an eggshell. Because I sensed it rising; somewhere deep within me, Clem was screaming in my bones. Furious to escape. Witnessing Imonie’s and my father’s murder was going to shatter my disguise.

This is the end of me. My lips parted, full of ragged breaths, as if I had run for hours.

But my father remained upright. Soon his blood slowed and then ceased altogether, leaving only a red stain on his waistcoat. He sat in his chair and breathed with a pierced heart. My mother remained at his side, eyes closed and her face pale, but even she was not surprised. She wasn’t protesting or reacting to the violence that was unfolding around the table.

I couldn’t fathom it. I prepared myself to see Papa slump in the chair. To gasp his last breath. But the dagger held no power over him.

My father cannot die.

Olivette continued to weep, but Nura held her in her arms. Nura had known this was coming, I realized. That was what Phelan had whispered to her earlier that night, and Nura stared at him now, both furious and fearful. But Phelan’s focus remained on his mother, who stood at the head of the table, calmly watching the demise of her dinner guests.

I waited for Mazarine the troll, Mr. Wolfe the smith, Lord Deryn the duke, Imonie, and my father the magician to drop dead. But they continued to breathe, sitting in their blood-soaked raiment. Waiting. Their gazes strayed to the countess.

Mazarine laughed, and the sound broke the brittle tension in the room. “You have proven who we are, Lady Raven,” the troll said. “Now prove yourself to us.”

The countess didn’t hesitate. She took the last dagger from the servant who waited beside her chair and she plunged the blade deep into her side.

I felt Phelan flinch, but he said nothing. Beneath the table, I reached for his hand. Our fingers intertwined.