It takes everything I have not to sob as Nox takes the scissors to my hair. It’s not the hair, exactly. It’s not even Nox.

It’s just that I’m not seeing Nox at the moment. And when the blades slice a lock clean off the ends of my hair, it’s not Nox’s scissors I hear.

The foul odor that stings my nostrils isn’t a byproduct of Nox’s concoctions, but of a thick layer of grime and tears from where I’ve scrubbed the waste bin clean.

And when Nox brushes a tear from my cheek, it’s not his hands on me, but Derek’s.

“Are you okay?” Nox whispers, his voice as even as death.

I grit my teeth and force a smile to my lips. “Yeah, it’s just”—I hastily wipe the tears from my face—“I just like it long, that’s all. It’s silly, I know.”

It’s a stupid explanation. My hair is still long; he cut only a lock from the nape of my neck.

He cocks his head to the side and examines me. Like he can tell it’s not the loss of a single lock of hair that has me bothered. But he doesn’t push.

Nox’s grimace is impish, guilty. But then he winks, and my nauseous gut does somersaults.

“What?”

“Lopsided sort of suits you.”

I push him again, harder this time, but I’m fairly sure he’s ready for it, because he actually lets me throw him off balance this time, rocking back on his heels before he comes leaning back into me, playfully pushing me against the counter with the weight of his body.

It’s innocent and kind and though it doesn’t take away the memory of Derek in the kitchen, it does wonders to scatter it.

When he returns to crushing what’s left of the fallen star, I perch on a stool and watch him as he works, the way his pale blue eyes narrow in focus, the way his hands are steady as he measures the ingredients, as he burns the lock of my hair over a candle and feeds its ashes to the bubbling concoction.

The result is rather unpleasant to be trapped inside a cell with, both in odor and appearance, but I hardly notice. At this point I’m pretty sure I’d drink the blood of virgins if it means ridding myself of the parasite.

“Ready?” Nox asks, and I hesitate before reaching for the flax of grayish liquid. He catches my hesitation and pulls the vial back to his torso. “Having second thoughts?”

I shake my head. “Of course not. This might not even work.” Nox clutches his chest as if I’ve wounded him. “But if it does—I just…” I wrap my arms around myself, picking at the fabric of Nox’s spare clothes with my fingers. He brought me a new set to change into this morning, and they smell like him. Like cedar and parchment. “I just don’t know what happens next, that’s all.”

There’s a gentle clink when Nox sets the vial back on the workbench. His fingers find mine, settling into the gaps, and it’s not the chill of his skin that sends a shiver rushing through me.

With just that simple, kind touch, it feels as though I’ve been lifted ten feet off the ground. The most pleasant of needles dance across my skin, and my heart thuds so loudly I’m sure Nox can hear it. Indeed, when I chance a glance up at him, his pointed ears twitch.

I tuck my cropped strand of hair behind my ear with my loose hand. “It’s just that the queen—”

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, squeezing my hand. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to you, I promise. And the queen will be too overjoyed to have her little magic pet to concern herself with anything you do. Who knows, I might even convince her…” He trails off, running a hand through his dark hair.

I furrow my brow, and he lets out a nervous laugh. “Just take it, won’t you? Otherwise, I’m going to get the impression you don’t think I’m any good at my job.”

He pulls his hand from mine, leaving his phantom touch behind. When he hands me the vial, I knock it back in one go, hoping the foul liquid will bypass my tongue.

It doesn’t. Instead, it hits me with exactly the taste one might expect from an antidote made of powdered star and burnt hair.

The burnt hair sort of overpowers everything else. Everything but the texture, which is inordinately clumpy.

“Can you taste the magic?” Nox teases when I gag.

“If that’s what magic tastes like, add it to my list of foods I’ll be secretly feeding to the pets at dinner when no one’s watching,” I say with a cough.

The liquid certainly doesn’t feel like magic. The only sensation that’s currently rushing through my blood is the squirming sort, and I’m fairly certain that’s just a byproduct of the taste and the absurd concentration of lumps.

“How long until we know if it’s worked?” It didn’t occur to me until just now that there might not be any outward signs of the parasite working its way out of my system. That we might have to wait until the next full moon to know whether it’s really gone. A thought settles over me like ice water in the middle of a blizzard. “Nox, what are we going to do when it separates itself from me? How are we going to contain it?”

He frowns, which I find disconcerting. Surely the genius Nox thought of this beforehand.

I mean, I certainly didn’t, but I’m not the one employed to think up magic recipes either.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t think of that?” I say, to which he runs his fingers through his hair again and lets out a measured breath.

“I might have been so enamored with freeing you from its influence that the thought failed to cross my mind.”

My heart races and panic sets in. “Well, we have to prepare something.” I rifle through random containers on the desk. “A box, a vial with a stopper, a trunk with a lock and key, something.”

“We don’t know what form the magic will take once it separates itself from you,” Nox says, which is totally unhelpful.

I go to tell him as much, but I find the words get stuck in my throat.

In fact, even the air gets stuck in my throat. A sharp pain jabs at my chest, but I can’t even bring myself to gasp.

The last thing I remember is the horror on Nox’s face and the shattering of glass at my feet as I drop the vial in my hand.

And then everything is nothing at all.

CHAPTER 20

NOX

Blaise falls and all I can see is white.

White in her pale, colorless skin.

White in the froth that bubbles from her lips.

White in her eyes as they roll back in her head.

White in the spots that scatter across my vision.

White in the snow and Zora’s fading laughter.

I at least have the wherewithal about me to catch her before her skull cracks against the stone floor. Her body goes limp in my arms, froth leaking off the shirt I let her borrow and onto my chest. I lower her to the ground.

It’s then that convulsions ripple through her, jerking her limbs this way and that as she lets out a moan that rattles my world.

“Gunter…” My voice is dry and cracked and barely makes a sound at first. “Gunter!”