The world turned grey and cold. Shadows coalesced at Rosa’s side. A tall, thin fellow peered out from beneath a feathered domino mask. She’d seen him before but couldn’t place where. He crouched beside her, a gloved hand extended. Tendrils of greenish-white mists brushed at Rosa’s skin.

“Are you ready to come with me now?” he asked.

Something dark and heavy hit the floor behind Sidara. A sword shone as it skidded away. A man’s cry of pain split the air.

“Leave them to it,” breathed the masked fellow. His fingers brushed her cheek. Soft. Caring. “Take my hand.”

“Aunt Rosa! Please! He’s going to kill Father.” Sidara’s tug on Rosa’s shoulder grew more insistent. She stared right through the masked fellow without reaction. “You said you’d stop him. You promised.”

Promised. The word quickened Rosa’s soul. There was no pain in her throat now, just wet, icy heaviness. Starved lungs spasmed, forcing a baying, hollow croak. It hurt. Lumestra, how it hurt. She didn’t care.

She could breathe again. She could breathe.

And she had a promise to keep.

The masked fellow hung his head. With a sigh, he faded from sight and memory. The mists went with him.

Rosa grasped at the bedpost for support and clambered upright on trembling legs.

Three paces away, a squirming Malachi lay facedown on the floor. The kernclaw had a knee braced against the small of his back, and the fingers of one hand wound through his hair. Some whisper of movement must have warned him, for he turned, eyes widening in pleasing alarm.

“Raven’s Eyes, what are you?”

Rosa barely had time to register the irony before she was on him. The kernclaw’s cloak screeched and scattered. Her hands closed around his throat.

Talons ripped at her forearms as she dragged the kernclaw clear of Malachi. It hurt, but that hurt was nothing compared to the dredging, raking breath of moments before. She ignored it and slammed him against the wall. A vase shuddered from a shelf and shattered at her feet.

“Let me go! Release me!”

The kernclaw’s nose crumpled beneath Rosa’s forehead. His fearful demand vanished in a screech of pain. Blood gushed over her nightdress. He sagged. She let him fall.

Instead of hitting the floor, he lunged. Talons ripped clean through her nightgown, deep into the flesh beneath. But pain was nothing to a knight’s promise. Rosa bore him to the ground once more, kicking and punching in blind, desperate flurry.

Her hand closed around the grips of a sword. Hers or Malachi’s, she didn’t know. She hacked down. The world turned red. The kernclaw howled. A severed hand thudded onto ruined carpet. The sapphire ring’s brilliance drowned in blood. Bird voices screeched and wailed, the beating of spectral wings like thunder in Rosa’s ears.