I nodded. She spoke those four words to me—be patient, be shrewd—every new moon, just before I went to battle. I think she worried about a nightmare getting the best of me; I had a tendency to rush through things, although I had never been badly wounded before.

My courage wavered, but only for a moment.

I met Imonie’s stare and offered her a tilt of a smile.

“Any other words of advice, Imonie?”

She snorted, but it was impossible to decipher what she was thinking.

“Don’t underestimate these magicians. Particularly the quiet one. He was watching you very closely tonight.”

I remembered the way Phelan had regarded me, the way he had spoken my name.

And all I could think was, I should have let the troll devour them both.

6

The night was cool and quiet as my father and I walked to the market. Every door was bolted, every shutter closed. It never ceased to surprise me how different Hereswith felt on new moon nights. Desolate and achingly silent, menace chilling the air like fog. It felt abandoned.

I dwelled on the legend of Seren’s fall, like I did every new moon, my gaze drawn to the dark shadow of the mountains. The fortress in the clouds had been abandoned when the curse had been set a century ago, and yet I wondered what phantoms walked those mountain passages. What joy and light and friendship had once crowned the summit, before the duke’s assassination. Before everything fell apart.

Some legends claimed the duke had been a cruel man, passing harsh judgments on his people. His sadism had been the reason why the seven members of his court were driven to kill him. But other stories depicted him as a gentle ruler, claiming his court plotted his demise because of their own desire to rule.

I wondered which one was true as I slowed my pace to keep in stride with Papa. His breaths were labored, his steps arduous. We were almost to the market; the constellations teemed above us, like sugar spilled across black velvet, and I drew in a deep breath.

“You never told me about Elle Fielding,” he whispered.

Fetching Elle’s nightmare already felt like a week ago. “I had to divine the dream. It was . . . unusual.”

“How so?” Papa came to a stop and turned to face me.

“The setting was here, in the streets and market. She was being pursued by a knight.”

“By night?” He indicated the celestial sky above us.

“No, a knight. An armored person of prowess.” I paused, remembering the heavy cadence of his feet as he walked, the rust and blood on his steel. The sparks of his sword. “He was a threat, but I couldn’t see his face. I couldn’t discern what he wanted . . . but it was very sinister.”

The silence roared between us. I glanced up to see a flicker of fear in Papa’s face.