By the time I make it to the bustling street, every last bit of my charred skin is healed. A kind celeon sees me walking out of the flames and throws a blanket around my naked body. I stagger back to the palace among flying rumors, displaced families, and fearful, heavily armed guards harassing the populace. They beat down doors, loudly interrogating anyone who catches their eye. The Vetrisian soldiers from the army outside the walls trickle in to give support in the form of more intimidation and patrols wandering the streets, and between the waves of my exhaustion, my heart sinks—the knife’s edge the war has teetered on will come ever closer in the wake of this witchfire. Nightsinger, Crav, Peligli, Y’shennria—the danger of war and death is looming ever closer to them.

I manage to trudge back to the noble quarter and cross the tightly guarded bridge by displaying Father’s rusted sword to the lawguards—an item the entire Vetrisian court knows Lady Zera Y’shennria owns, and the only thing of mine that survived the flames. The nobles are gathered on the palace’s front lawn in close-knit groups, all of them watching the fire with drawn and worried faces. No invading Heartless have been spotted from over the wall, and so the initial panic has died down, but still it simmers just below the surface.

I’m halfway up the gravel road to the palace when I hear the gasp of a nearby noble group gathered around a large brass tube, not unlike the small one Y’shennria gave me to see into the distance with the first time we met.

“The fire!”

“It’s gone out!”

I turn my head over my shoulder, and for once the nobles have decided to speak truth. The sun, beginning to set in bright shades of violet and ice, illuminates a smoky South Gate free of any black flames, ash and char the only evidence left. Whoever the witch was, wherever they are, they’ve either willed the fire to stop or they’ve been killed. Knowing what state the city is in, I’d hazard a rough guess at the latter. Varia would know. She has to—she has people up in the Crimson Lady, scrubbing her magical doings from detection. Surely they picked something up about this rogue witch.

I walk through the Serpent’s Wing back to Varia’s room, and briefly my eyes catch on the hall leading to Lucien’s apartments. A gaggle of royal polymaths linger outside, whispering with concerned looks on their faces. I want nothing more than to walk into his room and see him, see with my own two eyes if his chest still rises and falls.

“Lady Tarroux!”

I look up to see the polymaths fussing over a breathless Lady Tarroux. Her face is white, her hands clutched in front of her chest and her soft voice just loud enough for me to hear.