During the discussion, my mother brings me Cecilia, whom I bounce in my arms as my mother returns to the house.

“And weapons?” my father asks. “What of the problem of the Others’ venom melting through our soldiers’ armor, their shields?”

Evander sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. I realize it’s the first time I’ve seen him return to the old habit in weeks.

“Honestly, Jethro, I have no idea. We have all our best weapons experts on it. I’m practically dumping out our coffers at their feet, if any of them can figure out a solution. So far, no one’s been able to come up with anything. They all say the same thing: how do we fight with creatures who aren’t of our world? Who don’t play by our rules, the rules of our elements?”

My father crosses his arms, leaning back against a crate of cast-iron pans as he nods his head contemplatively.

He says something, but I find myself zoning out, his voice muffled in my mind.

Where my father’s shoulders rest upon the crate is a spot—a hole, where the venom that sprayed on the roof of the workshop during the attack has dripped down and eaten through the wood.

“Papa,” I say, scrambling over to where he’s standing, reaching over him to open the crate.

“I don’t know how much good those will do anybody,” says my father. “Though I can’t believe I didn’t think of it. You’re right, there probably are families who could use some cookware right about now.”

I shake my head, my mouth hanging open in shock, in the hesitation that comes before hope.

“No?” my father asks.

Evander stands up straight from where he’d also been leaning on a crate behind him. “El? What is it?”

I peer down into the crate, tears stinging at my eyes as the light from Evander’s lantern reveals its contents.

“Papa?” I ask again. “What are the properties of glass?”

He frowns, wrinkling his forehead, though to his credit, he rattles them off without questioning me. He ends with, “resistance to harsh chemicals.”

“What was that last one?” I practically choke on my own question.

“Resistance to…”

I turn and face my father, whose eyes have gone wide. A moment later, he’s peering down into the crate with me.

Where a boxful of cast-iron pans sit, unharmed by the venom that now congeals atop them.

“Evander,” I say. “I think I’m going to need you to take Cecilia for a bit.” I hand him our daughter, who yawns carelessly as he takes her into his arms.

“What’s this about, El?” Evander looks back and forth between me and my father, the both of us probably looking high as the topmost turret at the palace.

“Oh, nothing.” Papa grips Evander on the shoulder. “You just married a genius, is all.”

“Well, I already knew that,” he says, bouncing Cecilia and looking not at all amused that we’re teasing him with this information.

“Enameled cast iron. It protects cookware from chemical elements,” I say.

Evander nods, Cecilia wriggling in his arms. “Yes, so you’ve told me. But why exactly is that worthy of the manic grins you two have plastered on your faces?”

“Glass has properties that make it resilient against chemical damage. Meaning it doesn’t erode as quickly as iron.” I gesture to a pan, upon which the wyvern venom is puddled. “Meaning the Others’ venom won’t work on it.”

“Okay, but we can’t very well go around swinging glass swords, can we?” says Evander. “Unless you’ve figured out a way to solve the shattering upon impact problem.”

“We’re not going to make glass weapons,” I say, my father and I exchanging those “manic” grins. “We’re just going to coat the ones we already have.”

CHAPTER 79

PIPER

The flute is right where I left it, buried in a hole that, now that I’m digging it up, seems much too shallow considering what I was hoping to hide.

My fists close around the flute, its white oak shaft as cool as metal to the touch, as smooth as calfskin against my fingertips.

Deep inside me, my Gift hums with delight, static prickling at my skin as I pull the flute from the dirt.

Blaise raises a brow, her arms crossed. “That’s not a very deep hole.”

I let out an exasperated groan, more at my past self than her. This part of the wood is mostly abandoned, but Blaise is right. It could have easily not been here when we arrived.

The full moon shines overhead, and I can’t help but notice that Blaise keeps her gaze fixated either on me, the flute, or the ground.

A chill snakes through the air.

“How do you know it works? How do you know it’ll amplify your powers, I mean?” Blaise asks.

I gesture with my head to the crater in the ground beyond her. She teeters at its edge, craning her neck as she peers down.

“Because that used to be a pond,” I say.

“Used to be?”

“Until I summoned the water and drowned a forest faerie in it.”

“Like, midair?”

I nod, and Blaise lets out a noncommittal humph of consideration.

I tap my fingers against the instrument, tracing the vines etched into its side. Inside me, my Gift bounces with excitement.

I’ve been paying more attention to my Gift lately, noting its mood more often than I usually do. I’ve always had a feeling it was sentient, but ever since learning that Queen Asha’s Gift speaks to her, I can’t help but wonder if my Gift is capable of the same and simply chooses not to.

What do you think?Think this will work? Think we can summon a legion of Others and march them back through the Rip?

My Gift buzzes, vibrating my ribcage, but I can’t tell if it’s shaking its head yes or no.

Can you use words?

Another buzz, though this time it’s lower, deeper than the first.