Lena told him everything. She told him about the night she’d found the butterfly, the song she’d heard, the way the butterfly had glowed and flown toward her in the darkness. The way it had stopped as if it had chosen her. She told him how she didn’t feel like she belonged—not in the crypts, nor in the temples—and how Faul’s hold on her felt tenuous. She told him what she remembered of her strange dream when she’d fallen into the fountain. How, despite her progress in his lessons, every now and then she felt her magic bubbling over like a kettle left too long on the boil, uncontrollable. She told him how she had tried to find answers elsewhere, how this had led her to Chatham’s shop—and she told him everything that had passed. The secret bloodstained room. The woman she had killed. And maybe … maybe even Chatham himself.

As she spoke, Emris leaned forward in his chair, resting his chin on his hands, his face growing more and more serious as her story continued. When she had finished, he was silent for a few long moments.

“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” he said, his tone cold despite the calmness of his words. “But I can set your mind at ease on one score,” he added. “Chatham is gravely injured but … he’s alive.”

“What? How do you know?” Lena’s heart clenched in an odd mixture of relief and terror.

“A messenger arrived with the news a few minutes before I left the First Huntsman. He said Chatham was attacked in broad daylight, his shop vandalized. He’s unconscious, but he’ll survive. Apparently, he’s been taken to the palace for healing.” He looked at her darkly. “But they’re saying his assistant was killed in cold blood. Do you see now how dangerous Chatham’s kind of magic can be?”

Lena shivered. The woman had been unkind, but Lena had never meant for the mechanical cat to kill her. She hadn’t meant to kill anyone. The thought of what she had caused was … overwhelming. She buried her head in her hands.

“How long will it take for Chatham to heal?” she murmured, trying to bring herself back to the present. “Won’t he come after me? He wanted the butterfly, but now he’s also angry about what I’ve seen…”

“Yes, of course he’ll come after you,” Emris admitted. “He’s protective of his secret workshop. Only those closest to him know the truth about what he creates.”

“You knew about it?” Lena asked, shocked.