“The risk to me is great,” he said. “If any of the humans inform the Sargas, I will be severely punished for helping a human. But if you are willing to stay a little longer—to take a risk for me, and for your kind—I will do the same for her. That is the bargain I offer you.”

I did think about it. For one appalling moment, I thought about abandoning Liss, about seizing my freedom. About returning to London and leaving this place behind me, never to look back. Then shame rose inside me, hot and swift. I closed my eyes.

“No,” I said. “I want you to help Liss.”

I could feel his gaze.

“Then I will help her,” he said.

A small group of harlies had gathered in the shack. Five of them huddled together in the cold, their heads bowed and their fingers clasped. Cyril and Julian were among them. The rain dripped through the cloth they’d stuffed into the gaps between the boards.

Liss had been in spirit shock for too long to recover. All they could do was hold a silent vigil at her bedside. If she lived, she would be an amaurotic husk of her former self. If she died, one of them would speak the threnody. Banish her beyond the reach of her captors. Either way, they would lose their most beloved performer—Liss Rymore, the girl who never fell.

When Warden arrived, with Michael and I at his side, they backed away. Whispers of fright passed between them. Cyril pushed himself into the corner, wild-eyed. The others just looked. Why was the blood-consort here, the right hand of Nashira? Why should he disturb the deathwatch?

Only Julian didn’t move.

“Paige?”

I put a finger over my lips.

Liss lay on her blankets, covered in filthy sheets. Bits of silk were twisted into her hair, tokens for good luck and hope. Julian gripped her hand, not taking his eyes off the intruder.

Warden knelt beside Liss. His jaw was clenched, but he didn’t mention his pain.

“Paige,” he said, “the amaranth.”

I passed him the vial. The last vial. His last dose.

“The cards,” Warden said. He was completely focused on his work now. I passed them to him. “And the blade.”

Michael handed me a knife with a black handle. I pulled it from its sheath and passed it to Warden. More whispers. Julian held Liss’s hand on his lap, his eyes fixed on me. “Trust me,” I said quietly.

He swallowed.

Warden uncorked the amaranth. He shook a few drops onto his gloved fingers, then dabbed the oil onto Liss’s lips and philtrum. Julian kept a firm grip on her hand, though her cold fingers gave no response. Warden touched a little amaranth to each of her temples, then corked the vial and handed it to me. He took the knife by the blade and held it out to Julian.

“Prick her fingers.”

“What?”