“Well, I have one bit of bad news and two bits of good news,” she says, hands on her hips. “I’ll start with the bad first. The Others trampled the soil in this area so thoroughly, the crop of flax is damaged. We could plant more, but my supply is going to run out before it grows.”

My soul deflates, and Marcus says, “Perhaps you should have started with the good news.”

Amity shrugs. “The good news is, since I got my supply from Blaise’s bag, I have a good feeling that she knows where she can get some more.”

“What’s the second bit of good news?” I ask.

Amity grins. “You might not know this about her, but Blaise sort of owes us.”

Marcus lets out a laugh that sounds more like a wheeze, though I think it’s genuinely more because he’s humored than the fact that he’s sick.

And suddenly, all three of us burst into laughter. Beautiful, crazed, cathartic laughter.

And somewhere deep within my soul, my Gift chimes in.

CHAPTER 118

BLAISE

Absorbing the parasite, as it turns out, has its perks.

For example, I can shift between my human self and vampire self at will now.

Handy for when I want to go about my life as normal, tasting the sun on my skin to calm my mind when it races.

Shifting is also useful when I need to impersonate someone else.

As I’m doing now, prancing down the Naenden dungeon stairs with the grace and power of Queen Lydia herself.

Lydia is not all that difficult to impersonate. Once I got the face and the form down, the general air about her was fun to master.

Oh, and the snapping my fingers and others doing as I say.

I really should focus, though.

I’m not here for fun.

Well, unless you count murder fun.

Which I probably shouldn’t.

The guards at the bottom of the staircase treat me about the same way as the ones at the top did, parting way for me lest I singe them with my power. I know Lydia well enough to know she wouldn’t actually discipline her guards in such a manner, but these fae must be new.

“Leave us,” I say, having great fun keeping my chin held high as I state the command.

Armor clanks as guards scatter from the hallway, leaving me alone with the prisoner tucked into this hovel.

Once my hearing confirms the guards are long gone, I shift again, this time into myself. Well, the version of myself with fangs.

“Blaise,” says a sly voice from within the cell. The scent of mildew and rot fills my nostrils.

It would have bothered me once.

It doesn’t anymore.

“What kind of trouble are you up to these days?” asks the man in the cell.

He’s sitting, perched up against the clammy wall, his disheveled hair a matted mess that falls into his eyes, obscuring his rounded ears. The type of ears someone might check to see if they were fae otherwise, given how handsome he still looks, even in a dirty cloth tunic and stinking like a pig.

People as awful as Az shouldn’t get to be beautiful.

I mean, I know my record isn’t exactly clean, but the Fates were fair with me and at least made me plain.

“As it turns out,” I say, “the type that concerns you.”

I whip out the key ring I snatched from the belt of a guard, spinning it in circles around my finger.

The grin that emerges on Az’s face is the kind that used to drill a hole in my gut. “Found you couldn’t live without me?”

I shrug. “We all have our own agendas. You just happen to possess more connections than almost anyone I know.”

There’s a twinkle in Az’s sage-green eyes. “I’d be more than happy to help, assuming you know how to use that key there.”

I brush aside the blatant condescension, shoving the key into the lock until it clicks.

Az stands, a bit too eagerly, and wobbles a bit. It’s clear they’ve provided him just enough food to survive.

I wonder if he could even walk out of here on his own.

He steadies himself against the wall, then once he’s gained his balance, takes a step toward the cell door.

I slip into the cell, closing the door behind me.

Metal clanks against metal.

A faint but aggravated smile grazes Az’s lips. “I assume you have conditions.”

I quirk a brow at him. “Whatever would have you assuming that?”

He gestures with his neck toward the door. “Why don’t you get me out of here first? Then I promise I’m all yours. What I can guarantee is that I won’t be much use to you when someone realizes you aren’t Lydia.”

I pause for a moment, still spinning the key ring around my fingers.

“I’m not worried about the guards,” I say. “In fact, I can’t say I’m all that worried about the royal family, either.”

Az cranes his head. “Is there something you know that I don’t?”

“I think we both know that Kiran and Lydia would be happy to see you dead.”