Constance? In her mind’s ear, she heard him drop something, the clatter of a chair, and in the puddle his scarred face swam into view. He was disheveled. Scorch marks on his gray robes suggested a fight, and his right shoulder drooped. But she already knew she didn’t have time to ask—the drain on her magic was intense and unrelenting. You ignored my advice, then, he said, quickly composing himself. You shouldn’t be doing this. It’s dangerous. Where are you, anyway?

“In the dungeon in Duke’s Forest. Things are more serious than you realize. My father is dead,” she whispered. “Emris, is there a girl there with you? A girl with a birthmark on her face, a mage …?”

He nodded. Her name is Lena. I’ve been trying to figure out—

“Let me figure it out for you,” she interrupted. “She has the heart of the storm spell—a small brass butterfly that once belonged to my mother. Emris, you have to send her back to me so I can destroy it—before it’s too late.”

Emotions crossed his scarred face, fleeting as shadows, until his eyes settled into a kind of understanding. The books … the forbidden magic you were studying…

“What is it?” She could feel the connection slipping.

You were studying the storm spell. It’s necromancy—that’s why you had all those forbidden texts … and your experiments in Chatham’s workshop. You were studying it to find out how to break it. His voice was full of sudden wonder, even in her mind.

“For gods’ sakes, Emris.” She streamed her magic across the puddle, feeling her hand tremble with the effort. “There’s no time. The Justice has taken control. I am trapped in the dungeons and the dead are rising. The fate of Duke’s Forest rests on your shoulders.” Her whole body shook. She could feel Emris’s confusion through the mirror-bond, though he said nothing. “Just hurry.”

His expression shifted to determination. We’ll be there tomorrow.

And with that, the connection was severed.

NINETEEN

The Cat

Lena woke to the sound of rumbling and a warm, furry creature pressing against her legs.

She opened her eyes. A small gray cat with a snub face stood on the steps, silvery in the moonlight, purring loudly and nudging its cheek against her shin. She sat up, her back aching from leaning against the door, and rolled her shoulders. The cat regarded her thoughtfully.

“Hello, puss,” said Lena as the cat nudged her again, smiling in spite of herself. The butterfly peeked out curiously from behind her ear, not quite daring to fly. Lena rubbed her knuckles against the cat’s head until it sank to the ground, its purr thunderous. “Who are you, eh? What’s your name?” The cat meowed and rolled onto its side, arching its back in delight. She ran her hand through its soft fur.