“What is this about, Clem?” he whispered, but his voice carried. Everyone could hear us.

“I want you to claim the sovereignty of Seren,” I said. “Will you sit on the throne and reinstate a new court? Will you restore the mountain duchy and bring her people home?”

He stared at me for a long moment. And then he said, “Why not you?”

I swallowed scathing laughter, but I glanced at my father, who continued to sit on the floor. He had ceased weeping and now watched the events unfolding on the dais with rapt attention.

I returned my gaze to Phelan and whispered, “I’m unworthy.”

Phelan shook his head. “I’ve never heard something more ridiculous, Clem. You’re not your father, as I’m not my mother.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Nor do I,” he countered.

I sighed, weary of arguing with him. “Will you do it for me, Phelan? For Olivette and Nura? For the people whose nightmares you once fought, for those who are lost and displaced and yet dream of the mountains? Who dream of home?”

He closed his eyes, and I knew my words had stirred something in him. I waited, and when he looked at me again, my worry and my fear began to slip away.

“I will do this, Clem, but only if you are there beside me.”

“Where else would I be?” I teased with a smile.

He reached out and traced my face, and I knew that he would do this for me. I knew that he was the one to bring life back to these mountains.

Mazarine stepped aside and Phelan turned to the throne. He began to close the distance between himself and the chair. I watched at first, eager to see this curse come to its end. But then I felt a prickling at the nape of my neck. A warning that someone was staring at me, which seemed absurd, as everyone in the hall was beholding this moment. But the past two nights, I had been attacked from behind. I had not guarded my back.

I spun to study the hall.

Everyone was just as they had been—Imonie held Emrys, my parents sat on the floor beside a puddle of blood, Nura and Olivette and Mr. Wolfe stood three tables away transfixed, the countess lay unconscious on a tabletop with Lennox at her side, and Mazarine remained close with her crossbow.

And then I realized I was missing someone.

The duke. The master of coin.

I had not seen him since the beginning of the night.

The fires in the hearth continued to cast light, but there were endless pools of shadows. And from one of those shadows the master of coin stepped forward, a crossbow braced against his chest, aimed at the throne.