One of the monoliths bleeds black from its base, the glass turning from transparent to opaque as animate midnight slithers up the facets. It happens so fast—Lucien’s whole body giving instantly, forced to his knees. He grunts and snarls as he fights the invisible weight, magic crushing in on him.

I lunge at him, and Malachite draws his weapon, and in the next second all I can hear is a ringing in my ears, my head on the slate floor and my body crumpled against a wall and dozens of feet away from Lucien. I taste blood on my lips. Malachite’s fared no better—his broadsword spiraling up in the air and sinking deep into the slate floor. He runs over, trying to pull it out, but even with his beneather strength, it won’t move an inch.

“Listen well, Black Rose, and carefully,” one of the monoliths says. “The Bone Tree requires a powerful witch to feed once every century. Of this we are sure. It chooses this witch and consumes them. Of this we are sure. The Laughing Daughter fights it, but it will consume her as it has all the others. She uses it, but it will use her, in the end. And when it is over, the Bone Tree will be sated with magic enough to keep the valkerax in the Dark Below for a hundred years more. Of this we are sure.”

“You’re just going to—” Fione’s throat bobs. “You’re just going to let her die? Let her wreak havoc on the world? What if she comes for you?”

“We have ways and methods. We will be safe. We cannot speak for your kind, though, human.”

My anger boils up, faster than the blood over my lip. Fione’s hand around her cane goes slack, and it drops to the ground with a clatter.

“You’re using this,” Lucien manages, throat dry and cracking. “You’re using my sister to—to wipe out the humans for you? To wipe out my kingdom for you?” He roars the last words, the echo harsh and burning.

None of the monoliths speak until the center one lights up, voice even despite everything.

“The scales have been, for a great time, tipped toward humanity. And now, with your sister, they will become balanced once more.”

A cold nausea works into my stomach, and I can’t tell if it’s all me, or some of Lucien’s feelings, or a dizzying combination of both. We thought they’d help us. It would make sense for them to want to stop Varia, stop the Laughing Daughter who took shelter with them five years ago, who learned from them, who took one of their magical artifacts and turned it against the world. It would make sense to want to help. But they’re using this. They’re using the crisis for their own benefit. And that’s…