She stepped into the dim light that filtered through the drapes. And there was something in her hands—the bell jar. I looked into it, my ears ringing. Inside was a flower. A flower in full bloom, strange and beautiful, its eight petals wet with nector. The flower that had once been dead. “There can be no mercy,” she said, “for this.”

For a moment Warden looked at the flower, his eyes aglow. His gaze moved to meet hers.

Nashira dropped the bell jar. The glass crashed against the floor, startling me from my paralysis.

I’d just destroyed everything.

“Arcturus Mesarthim, you are my blood-consort. You are Warden of the Mesarthim. But this cannot happen again.” Nashira stepped toward us. “There is only one way to stop treachery, and that is to make an example of traitors. I will hang your flesh from the walls of this city.”

Warden didn’t move. “Better there than used for your pleasures.”

“Always so fearless. Or foolhardy.” She touched her fingers to his face. “I will see to it that all your old companions are destroyed.”

“No.” I stepped out from behind him. “You can’t—”

I didn’t have time to move. The blow she gave me knocked me off my feet. The corner of a crate glanced across my head, opening a cut above my eye. My hands went straight into the broken glass. I heard Warden say my name, his voice shot with rage—but then Thuban and Situla were there, her trusted servants, the ones that wouldn’t let him go. Thuban took the end of his knife and smashed it into Warden’s head. But he didn’t fall. He wouldn’t kneel before the Sargas this time.

“I will deal with your offenses later, Arcturus. I divest you of your position as blood-consort.” Nashira stepped away from him. “Thuban, Situla—take him to the gallery.”

“Yes, my sovereign,” Thuban said. He grasped Warden by the throat. “Time to pay your dues, flesh-traitor.”

Situla dug her fingers into his shoulder. Ashamed of her traitor cousin. He didn’t say a word.

No, no. It couldn’t end like this, not like Bone Season XVIII. He was no longer blood-consort. He was ruined. I’d put out the last ray of light. I sought Warden’s gaze, desperate for something to hope for, to salvage—but his eyes were still and dark, and all I could feel was his silence. Between them, Thuban and Situla dragged him away.

Nashira walked through the broken glass. I stayed where I was, on the floor, in the wreckage. Bitter heat rose to my eyes. I was such a fool. What was I thinking? What was I doing?

“Your time has come, dreamwalker.”

“At last.” Blood seeped from my head wound. “You waited long enough.”

“You ought to rejoice. From what I understand, dreamwalkers crave the æther. Tonight you can join with it.”