Jag puts one of his hands to his heart as though he’s going to say something, while the other drops by his side. But it drops unnaturally fast. For a second I can’t decide if his wrist flicked slightly or if I just imagined it. Then I see it—a small glass vial in the palm of his hand. The lightning poison! And from where my dad is standing, I know it’s not visible.

And once again I see a flash from my dream—the great hall filled with dead bodies, Jag holding poison. While Aarya and Ash were right that it was just a dream, I realize that it wasn’t the death that scared me; it was the fear that I wouldn’t be able to do what I needed to in order to stop Jag.

There is no time to warn my dad, so instead I ready my knife and yell the one thing I can think of that will affect them both.

“Hamilton!” I scream.

Jag’s eyes flit to me just as I had hoped, and I can tell my dad has registered my meaning—Jag is being crooked. And as Jag raises a blowpipe to his mouth, I don’t hesitate. I pull back my knife and throw.

My aim is true and my knife lodges deep in Jag’s chest. But to my utter surprise, a dozen more knives and an arrow strike him as well. Not only did my dad and I react in time, but my friends and some of the crowd did, too.

Jag falls to his knees, gasps for one last breath, and slumps to the ground. We’re all still for a beat, everyone absorbing what just happened and braced for backlash. But no one defends Jag. No one even looks upset he’s gone. After it becomes obvious that the conflict is over, my friends lower their weapons and everyone starts talking, astonished voices filling the courtyard.

My dad turns to me, but I don’t move. It feels like I’m frozen in place, stuck between my moment of terror and my relief.

“I hope his last words were the desire to look like a pincushion, because if so, he got his wish,” Aarya says. Even in the midst of her grief, Aarya can’t help being Aarya.

But I’m not looking at my friends because I’m running full-speed to my dad.

“Dad?” I manage, my voice cracking.

He opens his arms, pulling me into a big hug. My dad, who I love more than anything, is here, hugging me, not lost in Europe or chained in a dungeon. I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his shoulder. His familiar scent brings tears to my eyes and he rests his cheek against my head.

“My girl,” he says gently, and I soak up his reassuring voice like it was sunshine.