NOW. The hunger shoves me. I lash forward, my claws outstretched and aimed for Lucien’s hand against Fione’s chest. RIP IT OFF, SUNDER THE THREAT IN TWO.

Broad steel suddenly blocks my vision, my hard claws scraping and screeching against a broadsword’s blade. From over the steel, Malachite’s red eyes glare down at me.

I’m sorry, I want to say.

DROWN IN YOUR OWN BLOOD, the hunger screams.

“At last,” the hunger and I meld into one and say together. “We find a real challenge.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, whelp,” Malachite drawls back at me, looking me up and down as if unimpressed with what I’ve become. “I know I’m not.”

“Was it you, then?” Varia presses. “Who started the witchfire? I had my suspicions. But it seemed far too strong a fire for a barely named witch like you. It was messy, and driven entirely by a terrible wave of emotion. I was almost worried you’d burn the whole city down. But Father was so relieved when your bodyguard brought you back—I suppose you finally passed out from all the smoke. Unconsciousness fixes witchfire just as well as death.”

Lucien simply stares at her, silently, his fingertips still on Fione’s chest.

“And the quake that hit below South Gate?” the princess presses. “Was that you, too? A masterful piece of magic, if I might say so myself. It was so strong and localized I was almost fooled into believing it was a far older, more experienced witch. However did you hide yourself from me? I had every polymath in the Crimson Lady looking for you.”

“How else?” Lucien says. “Gavik knew best, in this case. White mercury, ingested directly.”

Varia laughs. “You drank it? Straight? For days and days? Oh, you poor, stupid thing. You must’ve been in so much pain. But you came prepared to threaten me with Fione’s well-being and everything. So someone must’ve told you what I was planning with the valkerax. With this Bone Tree. And yet I made sure my people kept their mouths shut. I made sure of that more than anything. I constantly checked on them, and I made sure to cut loose ties and looser tongues.”

Fione suddenly darts her eyes away from me, and Lucien fixes his on me. There’s a split second in which a crack in his stone shows, naked and soft and yawning open. Varia’s gaze flickers to me, her face lighting from the inside with a twisted joy.

“No. Brother, you didn’t.”

My brows knit, and I ask him the question our hunger and I burn with.

“What have you done to us?”

Fear courses through me as he opens his mouth, those gentle lips moving. “I—”