Another.

As if there could possibly be another Blaise in all of Alondria.

As if she’s simply a test subject, not the girl who’s survived rape and abuse and having her child stolen right out from under her, and after all of it, maintained the ability to flash that beautiful smile and coax laughs from everyone else.

I’ve hated the queen for years now, so hate doesn’t feel like a strong enough word for what’s escalated in my chest.

I thirst for her blood. Not the taste, but to spill it freely upon the floor without tainting my mouth with its coppery sting.

I want her blood to flow, and I crave watching it seep into the earth.

“You won’t find another easily,” I say, desperate now for the queen to relent.

The queen picks at her long nails. “I’m willing to wager I won’t have to. You see, my child, I fear I’ve been too lax with you, allowed you too much time to dally. I feared that if I placed pressure on you, it would stifle your creativity. Wither that beautiful imagination of yours. But we’ve tried it one way and failed. I would be a fool to continue with the same methods and expect different results. So I’m modifying the rules. Besides, while you assured me upon the girl’s arrival that killing her would destroy the parasite, I’m beginning to doubt whether your source is accurate.”

I flinch at the reminder of the blatant lie I breathed to the queen when Blaise first arrived. When the queen suggested killing her, and I’d conjured up a string of reasons Blaise’s death would backfire against the queen.

Saliva pools in my mouth as my fingers dig into the metal bars of the dungeon wall, but the goblin iron doesn’t budge.

I’d always assumed the queen had this door forged with test subjects in mind.

Now I’m wondering if it was me she had in mind.

“What do you want?” I ask. “I’ll give you anything.”

The queen frowns, and there’s a moment I think she’s pondering granting my request. That there’s something I can give her she actually longs for.

But then the queen sighs, because even she must know I’ll never be her son, not even if I wanted to be. “I expect you to find a way to extract the magic from the girl. Let’s hope the time constraint will provide you with the spur of motivation you need. Ring the bell should you find anything,” she says, gesturing to a rope in the corner of the room that Gunter and I use to request food from the kitchens.

And with that, the queen stands, brushes the dust off the skirts of her nightgown, and ascends the steps.

Leaving me alone with my prey.

CHAPTER 28

NOX: AGE TWENTY

I’ve done it.

I’ve found a way out.

It’s taken me nine years, but I’d gladly sacrifice that time just to see my family once more.

Once the queen understands what I’ve discovered, she’ll grant me so much more than one last time. Because I’ve uncovered the solution to the gaping hole in the queen’s cold, dead heart. The price of my freedom is cheap compared to what I’m prepared to offer her.

The antidote swirls in the corked vial. It has the look of the steam that drifts off ice after it’s been soaked in boiling water, except there’s a purplish glint to it. I suppose that’s from the bat I ground up as a life sacrifice.

There are plenty of them down here in the dungeons, so it was either the horrifying winged creatures or the rats that scurry against the stone floor at all hours of the night.

I would have preferred to kill the rats, but I thought the bats more fitting.

They have wings to fly, yet they’re bound to the night, just as I am bound to this castle.

The shimmer in the antidote comes from the shards of mirror I ground to a fine dust and sprinkled into the mixture, combined with the liquid moonlight I procured from one of my and Gunter’s seedier contacts.

Gunter doesn’t know of course, about the liquid moonlight. My mentor might be a male of science, but he’s the superstitious sort, prone to believing the legends of old, which would have us believe the silky substance is Fates-cursed.

Perhaps it is, but plenty of antidotes are made with ingredients that if consumed in isolation are lethal.

And if Gunter and I have learned anything from dissecting the queen’s concoctions, it’s that any negative property of a substance can be counteracted.

My formula is missing one ingredient still—one I’ll have to procure from the queen—but she’ll hand it over readily if I only ask.

Because I made this antidote with her in mind, and she won’t be able to resist it.

I decide to present my discovery over dinner. It’s a nightly occurrence that the queen has forced upon me ever since I was a child, but tonight I don’t mind it. It affords me council with the queen without having to ask. She won’t be expecting the deal I wish to make either, so her answer will depend upon emotion, and for once, the queen’s emotions will work in my favor.

The dinner she has prepared for me is hearty—roasted quail with spiced beets and smashed potatoes on the side. Normally I can’t get enough of Simeon’s cooking and often sneak extras after dinner, but tonight my fork taps against my barely touched plate.

“Farin, dear. You’re fidgeting, child.”

I fight the urge to crane my neck and shake off the name that oozes through my bones. Just a few more days, I remind myself. Then I’ll be rid of that name for good.

And the term child.

And all the unwanted terms and notions of endearment I receive from the queen.

She leans across the table and places the back of her cold hand on my forehead. “You don’t appear feverish,” she says, and I swallow the urge to cringe at her touch.

“Just excited, is all,” I say, grateful when she rescinds her hand.

A pleased smile balances precariously on the queen’s face. She’s not used to me being cordial, let alone enthusiastic around her.

Her white-blond hair falls across her shoulder in a simple braid today. She must not have had any meetings with the court.

That is well enough.

It will have her in an amicable mood.

“Excited for what, darling?”

I clear my throat and straighten in my chair. The queen clearly still sees me as a child, having branded me in that stage permanently in her mind, but I desperately need her to take me seriously.

“I’ve made a discovery, my queen. One that I believe you’ll find quite to your liking.”

The queen shifts in her ornate cedar chair. “You did this for me?” she asks, a gentle surprise in her tone. I suppose she’s gotten used to expecting coolness from me.

I clench my hands on my knees so as not to fidget. She’s clearly touched, which will work in my favor if I can keep up the illusion. “Yes, my queen,” I say, and I’m relieved when the fae curse doesn’t punish me for the half-truth.