The look on Seven’s face mirrored Twelve’s thoughts. Hope, delight, and despair flew over her features like clouds across a storm-whipped sky.

“Y-y-you’re really here,” she said softly, her words swallowed by Morgren calling for another chair.

The guards dragged her closer as another seat was hurried in and set beside Twelve. Seven wasn’t able to put up much of a fight as they tied her to it. Her face was chalk-pale and her blue eyes sunken over bruised cheeks and a split lip. She was as weak as a kitten and shivering. Twelve suspected she hadn’t had much to eat in the last few days. A comforting rage flared in her chest.

“Yes, I’m here,” Twelve whispered. “I wanted to rescue you, but I got it all wrong.”

Seven shook her head. “No,” she said, “y-y-you didn’t. You don’t know w-w-what—”

“Quiet,” Morgren said. He peeled off his glove and pale fire ran between his fingertips. He held his hand up and stared at it greedily, hardly seeming to believe it was real. Victory eyed it uneasily.

“See how our master keeps his promises,” Morgren murmured. “My people’s magic will be returned, our territory restored. We will have compensation for our generations of shame.” His eyes turned to Seven and his smile showed rows of pointed teeth. “Starting with the caves. They should have been ours years ago. I will stand in the Cavern of Light, pluck every moonstone from its walls.” To Twelve’s horror, he pulled her moonstone from his pocket. “This is just a morsel of the riches that will be mine.”

He set it on the arm of Victory’s chair, where it blazed gloriously to life, illuminating the mutilated hall around them. Twelve was surprised at the wrench of guilt and sadness she felt to see it in his hands. It had been given to her by Seven, had helped save her from the Ygrex, and had given her light in some very dark places. Now she’d lost it.

“It will n-n-never happen,” Seven said, her fragile form trembling with defiance. “Never.”

He sneered at her. “We’ll soon know if that’s the truth or an idle wish, so-called seer.”

A voice came from the doorway behind him, toneless and strange. “The truth is a slippery thing, Morgren. I cannot promise you that, only what lies inside her thoughts and dreams.”

The hairs stood up on the back of her neck before Twelve even saw the thing that had spoken. Fear coursed through her, pure instinctive fear, like when—as a child—she had heard wolves howling in the night.

The goblins leaped aside as though poked with spears and even Victory flinched. Only Morgren appeared unfazed and his gaze, when it brushed Seven, was alight with triumphant malice.

“Your timing is impeccable as always,” he purred.

Chapter

Forty-Two