More cries and hurried footsteps echoed from above. The guard, looking up, shook his head. “They’ll have my head—”

“Please,” Rae repeated. “We’ll die. If you close us in again, we will die. You will be choosing that fate for us.”

For a long moment, the guard was still. His eyes lingered over the boy squirming in his arms, over the prominent bulbs of his bones. His face grew grayer. Glancing once more up the long corridor, he released the boy.

“Go,” he said. “Quickly.” His voice was thick, his moons watery.

But Rae hesitated. “The apprentice…,” she said. She pointed in the direction of her cell. “Something’s happened to her as well.”

The guard started. “What do you mean?” He gazed down the passageway. “What’s happened?” But again, he did not wait for Rae to answer. Breaking into a run, he waved over his shoulder. “Go!” he said again. “Go now!”

As the guard’s footsteps thudded away, Rae hurried into her cell and grabbed the bowl marked with the scratches. Perhaps Alba had been only a dream, perhaps the writing on the bowl was only a dream, but she felt the words to be precious all the same.

Wrapping her arm about the boy’s waist, Rae helped him shuffle up the long corridor. Discordant noises echoed around them: Rae did not think she had ever heard so much tumult from above. “Come,” she said, urging the boy on. Whether from the tightening of her voice or the tightening of her arm, the boy responded: His shuffling steps grew quicker as they wobbled up and up.

“Hurry,” she whispered as they neared the top. They turned the corner, passing now through the palace halls. The chaotic noises grew louder. Cries of “The king, the king!” and “The governor-advisor!” bounced along the marble walls. The boy tipped his head, listening, but kept moving forward, his heart quickening under her palm.

They were passing the room where she had eaten her meals. Through the open door, Rae could see the table laid out with breads and cheeses and sausages and fruits: The boy, nostrils flaring at the heady, meaty scents, spun his head as they passed.

Rae, gripped with hunger, hesitated. She could see down the hall and, at its end, a door to the outside. The way was clear, but they were so hungry. Starving. They would not go far without food.

“Quick,” she said, pulling the boy into the room. He did not need to be prodded—he nearly dragged her to the table. Though Rae worried he might lose his balance on his still unsteady legs, he threw himself at the feast, devouring first the heap of greasy sausages, then a whole roast peacock, then a platter of dormice. He crouched over the creatures as though he’d hunted them himself. Rae, eating desperately but still more slowly than the boy—great palmfuls of fruit and bread and cheese—watched in astonishment: Though the boy used his hands to bring the food to his mouth—again, as though he had somehow always understood his body—his stomach still seemed that of a wolf.