My unmarred skin flashed to swollen, bloody track marks to the needle into my arm to an inky black spider crawling down my elbow. And then, for a split second, the cuff was gone, replaced by a friendship bracelet made with bright string and plastic beads.

Somewhere, far away, my body was on fire, the flames eating through my skull, and I faintly heard Sunniva telling me to hang on just a bit longer. But I couldn’t do it. It all hurt too much.

I opened my eyes, and I was staring at the dark stone bricks of my prison cell. The wood bunk was hard and cold against my back, and Dagny wiped a cold rag against my face.

“What’s going on?” I asked her weakly. “Why are you doing that?”

“You’re sick, Ulla,” she said, but her voice cut out. Dagny’s mouth was moving, but it was Sunniva’s voice that came through. “I don’t think you can take much more of this.”

I tried to shake my head, but it wouldn’t move. “I can’t stop.”

“Is she awake?” Pan asked, shouting from across the way. But I could hardly hear him, his voice was fading away.

“I’m losing you,” I whispered as I closed my eyes.

“Ulla, you need to come out of it.” Tove was shouting, but I could hardly hear him over the crackling flames burning through the fog in my brain.

I was moving—not consciously, but I felt the ground pull away from me, and the wind moving over my skin only fanned the burning pain. Someone was shouting but I couldn’t understand what they were saying.

And then, abruptly, cold water washed over me, and I sat up, gasping for breath in a porcelain tub in the gilded palace bathroom.

“Are you okay?” Tove asked as I wiped the water from my eyes.

My heart raced, my head throbbed, and my skin felt sunburnt all over. But I was breathing, and I was alive, so I nodded.

6

Recovery

Four hours later, I still couldn’t fully shake the heat. Finn and Mia had set up an air mattress for me in the twins’ room, and I sat on it with a fan on me while I sipped iced tea.

I had on a tank top, and I kept checking my left arm for the infected needle marks I’d seen. But my arms were fine. There were a few faint pink dots, like fading scars, and a purplish bruise on my wrist. But nothing like what I’d remembered with Sunniva.

Sunniva had apologized, when I’d still been in the Queen’s bathroom, with the showerhead raining cold water down on me. She’d stood in the doorway, her arms folded over her chest, and her tone was impassive when she said, “Whatever is blocking your memories is stronger than anything I’ve encountered.”