Investigating the grate with stinging fingers, she’d discovered that amazingly, improbably, it swung outward on hinges made of a soft, fine yarn. If Lovisa’s mother wanted the fox to enter and leave this room by the heat duct, wouldn’t she just use wire, or actual hinges? Bitterblue had turned and stared at the fox, who’d been watching her quietly from the corner.

Then with her small, tired shoulders, she’d pushed the bed back to the wall. She’d climbed under the covers and curled herself around her aching hands.

—

Bitterblue was good at thinking. She had plenty of experience focusing her thoughts, like tiny, sharp beams of light, through a frightening darkness. And the more she thought, the more convinced she became that she was missing a piece of the puzzle.

On the day that girl, Lovisa, had burst in on her, followed by the tall boy, then the guard, and then the small, frantic woman, Bitterblue had learned that she was probably in the attic of a private Ledra home and that Lovisa’s father might be a politician, for the woman had told the guard to have him fetched immediately from the Keep.

She’d also guessed, though it seemed extraordinary, that the woman might be the current president of Winterkeep. She and Lovisa looked so much like Katu Cavenda, even down to that white streak in their hair. Bitterblue knew Katu had a niece and a few nephews; he’d talked about them, though she couldn’t remember their names. And Katu’s sister, Ferla, was the Keepish president. So—the president of Winterkeep had given her a map of Monsea showing Keepish and Estillan flags. Why would Winterkeep and Estill imagine they could win a war against Monsea? Why would Estill ally with Winterkeep? Bitterblue kept reaching the same unsettling conclusion. Winterkeep must have some military advantage of which she knew nothing. She was missing something—something big.

Bitterblue had tried to prevent that boy from becoming a sacrifice that night. In fact, she’d introduced herself to him as a Lienid visitor named Goldie, using the name of her own prison master back home. Lovisa’s mother had stared at Bitterblue, gobsmacked, and indeed, it had been a silly, useless attempt at saving the life of a boy who, according to Lovisa’s rushed words, was only there to have sex with Lovisa.

Then the guard had left, come back, and handed her a drink. A warm, delicious, steaming drink, in a mug! Parched, Bitterblue had taken a sip, then realized that of course it was a trick. Her head had gone fuzzy and stupid and confused. The next thing she knew, she’d woken in daylight to a room empty of everyone and everything, except her, of course, and the fox.