Lucien looks up at me slowly. “A song. I don’t remember what they were talking about, but I remember at one point this old celeon just started singing.”

A song. It can’t be—this can’t be a coincidence.

“What were the words?” I demand.

“I don’t—” Lucien runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “I don’t remember. If I could, I’m sure it would make more sense. I just remember he started singing—”

“The tree of bone and the tree of glass will sit together as family at last.” I let the words tumble from my mouth, my voice shaky and the notes a bare skeleton of what I can remember Gavik singing.

Lucien’s face lights up instantly. “You know it?” He grabs my shoulders. “Kavar’s eye—how in the afterlife do you know it?”

I look up, my eyes sparking into his, both of us flushed with discovery. The facade of his lofty effortlessness is gone now. He’s treating me like someone he genuinely likes again. It’s then I realize just how close we are. Just how high my words could stoke him. He can’t know what I know. The valkerax is dangerous.

“Zera,” he insists, fingers trembling on my shoulders. “You’re hoarding all this information—why? Varia can’t do everything herself. I know she’s trying to. I know she’ll kill herself doing it. Please—you have to help me help my sister, before she hurts herself.”

Varia’s words, her recitation of the Midnight Gifter, ring in my head. My flesh will feed its furnace. He’s right to be worried. She’ll do anything for her people, just like him. The care in his voice is a velvet knife plunged into my chest. His love for her is so obvious and untethered by guilt or complicated emotions. It’s so strong it even glows through his disdain for me, forces him to ask for help from someone he holds his pride like a shield against.

“If you tell me what’s going on,” he presses, “Fione and I can help you—”

“Why would you?” I laugh. “We’re not friends anymore. I’m a monster, not your Spring Bride. You have no obligation to me. In fact, you hate me.”

Lucien inhales, this time sharp as a spear. “Zera—”

I start moving to leave the ruined building, the sun shafting through my eyes.

“If I could convince my sister to free you—” the prince’s voice suddenly calls.

“No. I won’t be freed by your hand.” My voice is sleek steel.

“Why not?” he presses. “I could free you—”

“I’ll free myself.”

The silence lingers, my body on the edge of collapsing if I don’t get out from under his gaze. My boots take one step over the dusty floor, and Lucien’s words this time aren’t soft at all—they’re strong and clear to my back.