A click sounded. The padlock slid open. Linta’s voice grew louder, heavy footsteps pacing, a man’s voice asking a question, another man responding. Two guards? Carefully, grimacing with anticipation of creaks and squeaks, Hava opened the chest. It made no sound. With a grin at Lovisa—this girl was a maniac; what was she so happy about?—Hava reached inside and pulled out something Lovisa had never seen before: a metal, egg-shaped thing, about the size of a large potato, with a ring and pin at one end. Hava inspected it closely, holding it to the dim light, then bringing it to her own pale face. She turned it around, then turned it back again. All the while, Lovisa was staring at the thing with a growing sense of distress that she couldn’t articulate. She wanted Hava to put the thing down, close it back inside the chest. She thought to herself, Whatever Linta Massera is making here, it can’t be good. She thought to herself, That would fit in a banker’s box. She thought to herself, When the house was on fire, something exploded in my mother’s study.

“Put it back,” Lovisa said sharply, not even caring if Linta heard her. “Put it back.”

Hava, her eyebrows furrowed in curiosity, took hold of the ring at the end of the egg. And Lovisa knew; all at once, she understood what was going to happen. As Hava pulled the pin from the egg, Lovisa screamed. She snatched the egg from Hava and threw it as hard as she could, then grabbed Hava and knocked her down. She covered Hava’s ears with her hands.

The world turned to sound and light.

Chapter Thirty-eight

The roar of the explosion shot Giddon to his feet. He felt the room shaking and thought, momentarily, that he must be losing his mind.

“What was that?” Bitterblue said thickly, the nausea plain in her face. He helped her up and they ran toward the sitting room door. In the corridor, when they encountered a guard who was also rushing to get outside, Giddon made a split decision.

“Sorry,” he said, driving his fist into the astonished man’s face. As the man struggled for balance, Giddon grabbed the sword at his belt, then cracked him across the temple with the hilt. The man crumpled to the ground, breathing shallowly.

Giddon spun to Bitterblue, expecting an appalled expression. She was already to the door, knives of her own in each hand. “Here comes another one,” she said, pushing outside and marching unsteadily toward a guard who was running from the front gate.

What was she going to do, stab him? It was the nice guard, the one who’d been kind to Bitterblue about her magic. Gritting his teeth, Giddon burst after Bitterblue and ran at him. Instantly, the startled guard unsheathed his own sword, but Giddon was upon him, knocking him down, punching him, clipping his temple.