“Do you?” False-Andros tilted his head at an impossible, sickening angle. She heard bones snapping in his neck, and flinched. “Do you know everything now, little puppet? Who I am, why I was forced to do this?” He stepped off the bed on legs that moved wrong. Knock-kneed and bent inward, as though he were collapsing before her eyes.

She stumbled backward and bumped into her desk. Frozen, pinned between a nightmare and the hard wood.

“You made me kill him, Akeylah.” He bent closer. Close enough for her to smell the rot on his breath, the same stench that had filled her senses when she’d ripped the curse from his veins. “I gave you a simple order, puppet. Put your sister on trial. You didn’t.”

“You didn’t have to kill my father,” she growled.

He snapped his fingers, shook his head sadly. “I keep my bargains, puppet. What did I say? Ignore me, and I’ll make those you love suffer. You ignored me.”

“You’re a monster.” Her voice hardened.

“Perhaps. Perhaps you have to become a monster to get what you want in this world.” His eyes narrowed. “Forget trials. I want your sister out of my way once and for all. Make Ren publicly rescind her claim on the throne by tonight, or someone else dies.”

“It won’t matter.” Akeylah straightened her spine. “Even if she does, even if you ruin me next, nobody will crown you. I’ll make sure all the Reaches know what you’ve done.”

Father clicked his tongue, with a sound like insect wings fluttering. “Oh, we’ll discuss my coronation soon, puppet. For now, you have your orders. See to it they’re completed.” With that, the apparition vanished.

Akeylah continued to stare at the spot where the vision had been, long after it faded. So Rozalind wanted Akeylah to pave her way onto the throne?

Over my seas-cursed body.

22

Florencia

Right. Here we go. Ren stared up at the University entrance, and pricked her fingertip on the slim needle that served for a knob. The doors clanked, whirred, and began to open on their own.

She tugged her acolyte’s cloak tighter and slipped through the widening gap. She walked with her head down, purposefully, as though she knew where she was headed. In truth, she hadn’t the faintest clue. But as long as she looked like she belonged, hopefully no one would notice.

Ren needed to understand the types of Vulgar Arts curses Rozalind had been using. If that sort of information resided anywhere in the Keep, it would be here.

But Ren couldn’t exactly walk up to the headmaster and inquire about illegal cursework. So she moved slowly, canvassing one room at a time. The first floor consisted of studies filled with acolytes, noses buried in their work. She stole peeks at covers, but soon drew too many curious glances. She was forced to hurry past, feigning some other errand.