“Audra, get out of there.” His voice is a rasp. He squints through eyes swollen nearly shut, but then lifts his head a little more. “What have they done to you? What have you done to her?” he shouts, bucking against his restraints, and this time he’s rewarded with a sickening punch.

I scream and scream, and can’t stop. He’s trying to say something, but I can’t even hear him.

The screen clicks off.

At some point two of the robed men have entered the room and restrained me. I lunge for the phone, the gun, the Historian herself, my arms twisting in their sockets.

“I can’t do it!” I scream, over and over. But what I am really shouting is Luka’s name, my fear, my guilt. This is my fault. He will die, and it is all my fault.

“You have five days,” the Historian says, before they drag me out.

40

They do not take me out the way I came in but through the court itself. A strobe-lit nightmare pounding through my skull.

But all I can think is: If Luka dies, it’ll be because of me. If that happens, I don’t want to remember. I can’t remember and live with it. I’d rather die.

At some point the throbbing ebbs from my ears, if not my head. I see them, belatedly, like an image delayed in long-distance transmission from my eyes to my brain. The masks turned in my direction, mouths agape at my uncovered face—or in recognition, or both. Is this what Nikola wanted? His court in uproar over Amerie’s daughter returned from the dead? My resurrected self appearing to the frenetic masses? If only they knew I was being escorted out by two hunters—that the Historian herself is within their sanctuary.

He accused me of leaving the court shattered in my wake once before.

I could show him shattered.

But I won’t live to take revenge on Nikola. Because, like Luka, I am as good as dead.

We emerge from the underground labyrinth via the stairs of a darkened building and exit through a utility door. The night air assails me, and I begin to shudder between the hands holding me by my upper arms. But not from the chill.

One of them throws his cloak around my shoulders. I find this gesture of kindness ridiculous. Laughable. I shrug the cloak to the ground.

Somewhere across the river Claudia is freaking out; it must be well past midnight. I wonder if she’ll ever be able to forgive me for leaving her a second time without a word. I don’t dare contact her and don’t know how to say good-bye.