Akeylah read and reread Zofi’s mother’s note half a dozen times. Deena said she’d need to use the same scar. Reopen it to work the curse again, but in reverse this time. Where before, she’d been planting a seed, now she needed to tear that plant out by its roots.

In theory, it should work. Just one problem—Akeylah had shielded that morning. It wouldn’t wear off until dawn.

By the time Akeylah had finished committing Deena’s instructions to memory, it was well past sunset, but the mender had said Andros was fading fast.

Akeylah knelt at his bedside. “Hold on, Father,” she whispered. “Please.”

On the far side of the chambers, Rozalind sat behind the king’s desk, watching. Akeylah couldn’t stop thinking about Ren’s warning not to let the queen out of her sight. If Rozalind was the heir, she couldn’t do anything with Akeylah a few feet away. Not unless Rozalind wanted to let all her secrets slip out at once.

Still, just because she had to be in the same room didn’t mean Akeylah needed to acknowledge the queen’s existence.

They spent the night like that. Akeylah kneeling beside her father, counting his every breath with her own held. Rozalind perched at his desk, until exhaustion overtook her, and she laid her head down to sleep on the hard stonewood surface.

The only break Akeylah took from their standoff had been to pen a quick note to Ren, to reassure her sister they had a cure, an end goal in sight. Father only needed to hang on for a few more hours, until she could perform it.

Finally, after the longest night of her life, predawn light painted the curtains.

Akeylah crossed to the desk first. Satisfied the queen was still asleep, Akeylah tiptoed past her into the bathing chamber.

Please, Mother Ocean, let this work, she thought as she knelt on the tile floor and gripped her bloodletter in a trembling fist.

The pain was worse than she remembered. When she reopened the scar on her thigh, sparks exploded in her vision, and her breath came so sharp she thought she might faint.

She didn’t.

She ignored the pain flaring at every nerve ending. Focused her mind instead, the way she’d done on the beach months ago.

It was easier this time. Easier to look past her own bloodstream, to turn with that extra sense and survey the other bodies nearby—her close relatives. Siblings and parents.

This time, she counted the bodies.

She couldn’t see any features, of course. Not faces or body shapes or anything identifiable. Only people’s insides. Hearts, veins, muscles, nerves. Yet she noticed, now that she knew what to look for, subtle differences.

Andros was easy to find. His veins ran black with the curse she’d planted. She could smell it on him—vomit and bedpans, nostalgia and regret.