Something is very, very wrong.

But—it was Rosi. There was no real love between them, but Crier had known her for so long. Had exchanged countless letters over the years. If Rosi was in danger, Crier would help her.

She dismounted, approaching the big wooden doors of the manor on foot. It was a large building of granite and dark wood, about a quarter the size of the sovereign’s palace, high wooden roof curving up toward the darkening sky. It loomed over Crier as she ascended the stone steps. The dark windows looked like missing teeth.

The door knocker was shaped like a swallow, heavy in Crier’s hand. She knocked three times. Was she imagining the way it echoed on the other side of the door, like a shout into an empty hall? She had to be. She was being dramatic. Surely there was a logical explanation for this. Perhaps Rosi had fired the servants for some reason. Perhaps she’d decided to go traveling. Perhaps—

“Lady Crier.”

Crier whirled around.

Rosi was standing at the foot of the steps. Crier hadn’t heard her approach. She should have heard Rosi approach.

“Lady Crier,” Rosi said again, cocking her head to one side, except she cocked it too far, unnaturally far, and did not straighten up again. She stared at Crier, head tilted almost to her shoulder. Gods, she looked so much worse than the last time Crier had seen her. Her gold-brown skin looked pale in the way of dead things, the warmth and color of life sapped out of it. Her hair was thin and loose around her shoulders, and chunks of it were missing, patches of her bald scalp showing like the outcroppings of rock on the hills around them. Her skin stretched grotesquely over her bones. And her veins—her veins were raised and visible, a map of stark black rivers.

“Oh gods, Rosi,” Crier breathed. She tried not to show how scared she was. “Rosi,” she started, but she didn’t know how to finish the sentence. Are you all right? was a stupid question. What happened was obvious: Nightshade. “Rosi, how can I help you?”

Rosi laughed once, a sharp, hollow sound, too loud. “You fool,” she said. She finally straightened up, but only to ascend the first step. Crier fought the urge to back away, to press herself against the door of the manor. “You goddamn fool. You think I need anything from you? Traitor to the throne? Traitor to the Scyre?”

“Rosi, I can explain,” Crier said urgently. “I can explain everything. Kinok sent me here. We had to call off the wedding due to a threat. He trusts you to protect me.”

“Shut up.” Rosi ascended to the next stone step, the distance between them shrinking. “Shut your mouth, traitor. You abandoned the Scyre. You betrayed him. You fool, do you have any idea what I’d give to be in your place, and you squandered it?” She was breathing hard, mouth open. Her tongue was ink black. Her gaze kept skittering around, eyes practically rolling in her head. “Traitor! Were you in league with the other traitor, Lady Crier? Were you another of Reyka’s allies? Answer me!”