I peeked through slitted eyelids, glancing over my shoulder. Sure enough, Belen stood in the middle of six guards—three on each side. His hands had been manacled behind his back.

“What the hell! Are you all right, Avry?” Belen asked.

“She’s fine,” the Skeleton King answered. “I just had a taste.”

I shuddered at his possessive tone.

“I wasn’t talking to you, you filthy cannibal.”

The king strode to Belen. “You have no right to judge. I’d like to see what you’d resort to to keep your family from starving to death.”

“Everyone was hungry after the plague and they all managed without becoming cannibals.”

So the Skeleton King was an actual cannibal. It explained...a lot.

“Managed? You call dying by the thousands managing?”

Belen just shook his head. “Avry, are you all right?”

“I’m—” what to say that wasn’t a lie? “—here.”

“What did you do to her?” Belen demanded.

“She did it to herself. She refused to answer a question. Maybe we’ll have better luck with you.”

I met Belen’s gaze. “Don’t.”

“Who is the death magician?” the Skeleton King asked Belen.

“Me,” Belen said without hesitation.

“Prove it.”

“Okay, take off these cuffs.”

The king’s cackle set my nerves on edge.

“I have a better idea.” He rummaged in a pack on the conference table and withdrew a syringe filled with a clear liquid.

I sagged against the post. He was going to threaten to infect Belen with the new plague and I’d have to decide between him and Flea.

Sure enough, the king held up the syringe in front of my face. “Sepp claimed he was immune. Do you want to test his theory?”

I tried delaying the inevitable. “Did you get that from Wynn?”

“Yes. Her sister was too squeamish to use it against her enemies. Wynn was smart to bring it to me.”

“And you’ve been busy using it to send a message to Prince Ryne.”

“Exactly. He needs to know who is going to be in charge. Plus it’s a good idea to mark the victims. I wouldn’t want my people to accidentally eat an infected person. That wouldn’t do.” He waggled the syringe. “Now, about that test—”

Belen roared. The guards shouted as Poppa Bear charged. The Skeleton King backed up, holding the needle out like a weapon. But the king wasn’t his target.

Instead, Belen dipped his head and rammed into the wooden post with his shoulder. The impact rattled my teeth. The post creaked and leaned. Belen grunted, digging into the dirt. With a crack, the post fell over, dragging me and the tent fabric with it. The material collapsed on top of everyone.

My manacles popped free of the hook when I slammed to the ground. Belen landed next to me. The rest of the occupants were obscured by the olive-green fabric, which muffled their shouts and curses.