Annie rested her cheek on her knee. “He’s ruined everything. And I don’t even know why. Why not just send me home instead?” Her voice had taken on a faraway quality that Jane recognized too well from her time in New York City . Once the memories and the pain and the fear took over, there would be no chance of talking to her.She asked quietly, “You were close to Mcanzie . Did you ever overhear anything about his plans?” A dangerous question, but if anyone might tell her, it would be Annie .But the girl was staring at nothing and didn’t reply.Jane stood. “Good luck.”Annie just shivered, tucking her hands under her arms.She should let Annie freeze to death for what she’d tried to do to her. She should walk out of the dungeons smiling, because for once the right person was locked away.“They encourage the crows to fly past here,” Annie murmured, more to herself than to Jane . “And my headaches are worse every day. Worse and worse, and full of all of those flapping wings.”Jane
Vincent shivered as he entered the kennels that afternoon, brushing snow from his red cloak. Beside him, Benjamin puffed air into his cupped hands, and the two young men hurried farther inside, the straw-coated floors crunching underfoot. Vincent hated winter—the intolerable cold and the way his boots never seemed completely dry.They had chosen to enter the castle through the kennels because it was the easiest way to avoid Hollin, Vincent ’s ten-year-old brother, who had returned from school that morning and was already shrieking demands at anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path. Hollin would never look for them here. He hated animals.They strode through the chorus of barking and whining, Vincent pausing every now and then to greet a favorite hound. He could have spent the rest of the day here—if only to avoid the court dinner in honor of Hollin. “I can’t believe my mother pulled him out of school,” he muttered.“She missed her son,” Benjamin said, still rubbing his hand
“Then she’d owe them. They want a puppet queen, not a true ruler.” Of course —of course they would want something like that. “Are they even from Terrasen?”“No. Davis’s family was, years ago, but he’s spent his whole life in Rifthold. If he claims loyalty to Terrasen, it’s only a half truth.”She ground her teeth. “Self-serving bastards.”Archer shrugged. “That may be true. But they’ve also rescued a good number of would-be victims from the king’s gallows, apparently. The night his friends burst into the house, it was because they’d managed to save one of their informants from being interrogated by the king. They smuggled him out of Rifthold before dawn broke the next day.”Did Benjamin know about this? Given how he’d reacted to killing Cain, she didn’t think torturing and hanging traitors were a part of his duties—or wereeven mentioned to him. Or Vincent, for that matter.But if Benjamin wasn’t in charge of interrogating possible traitors, then who was? Was this person the source
Jane leaned against the desk, whipping out her handkerchief, bowing her shoulders, and starting a miserable sniffle-sob as Davis entered his study.The short, solid man paused at the sight of her, the smile that had been on his face fading. Thankfully, he was alone. She popped up, doing her best to look embarrassed. “Oh!” she said, dabbing at her eyes with her kerchief through the holes in her mask. “Oh, I’m sorry, I—I needed a place to be alone for a moment and they s-s-said I could come in here.”Davis’s eyes narrowed, then shifted to the key in the lock. “How did you get in?” A smooth, slippery voice, dripping with calculation—and a hint of fear.She let out a shuddering sniffle. “The housekeeper.” Hopefully, the poor woman wouldn’t be flayed alive after this. Jane hitched her voice, stumbling and rushing through the words. “My-my betrothed l-l-left m-me.”Honestly, she sometimes wondered if there was something a bit wrong with her for being able to cry so easily.Davis took her
Jane didn’t get a meal, or take a bath, or see a healer for her shoulder. Instead, she hurried to the dungeon, not even looking at the guards that shepassed. Exhaustion ripped at her, but fear kept her moving, almost sprinting down the stairs.They want to use me. They tricked me, Kaltain had said. And in Vincent ’s book of Adarlan’s noble lineages, the Rompier family had been listed as one with a strong Skills al line, supposedly vanished two generations ago.Sometimes I think they brought me here, Kaltain had said. Not to marry Perrington, but for another purpose.Brought Kaltain here, the way Maximus had been brought here. Maximus , of the White Fang Mountains, where powerful shamans had long ruled the tribes.Her mouth went dry as she strode down the dungeon hallway to Kaltain’s cell.She stopped in front, staring through the bars.It was empty.All that was left inside was Jane ’s cloak, discarded in the kicked-up hay.As if Kaltain had struggled against whoever had come to ta
“It’s an anagram,” she panted as she reached the tomb.Mort opened an eye. “Clever, wasn’t it? To hide it right where everyone could see?”Jane eased open the door just wide enough to slip inside. The moonlight was strong, and her breath caught in her throat as she saw precisely where it fell. Trembling, she stopped at the foot of the sarcophagus and traced her fingers over the stone letters. “Tell me what it means.”He paused, long enough for her to take a breath to start yelling at him, but he then said, “I Am the First.”And that was all the confirmation she needed.The first Wyrdkey of the three. Jane moved around the stone body, her eyes on Elena’s sleeping face. As she looked upon those fine features, she whispered the words.In grief, he hid one in the crownOf her he loved so well,To keep with her where she lay downInside the starry cell.She lifted shaking fingers to the blue jewel in the center of the crown. If this was indeed the Wyrdkey … what would she do with it? Wou
The cut on her arm throbbed, but Jane kept her hand steady as she dipped her finger again into her blood and traced the Troops on the wall, copying the symbols in the book with perfect precision. They formed an archway—a door—and her blood gleamed in the light of the candles she had brought.It had to be perfect—each symbol had to be flawless, or else it wouldn’t work. She kept pressing on the wound to keep it from clotting. Not everyone could harness the marks; no, The Walking Dead said there had to be power in the blood to do it. Maximus had clearly had some trace of power. That must be why the king had rounded up Kaltain and Roland, too. He’d used the keys to suppress Skills , but he must have some way of harnessing the innate power in someone’s blood—and the Troops s must be able to access that power, too.She drew another symbol, nearly finished with the archway.Their power could warp things. It had warped Maximus . But it had also allowed him to summon the ridderak and gain
Jane had Damaris drawn and leveled at Hobbs in a heartbeat. Fleetfoot growled at him, but kept back, a step behind Jane .“What are you doing here?” It was inconceivable that he’d be here. How had he gotten in?“I’ve been tracking you for weeks,” Hobbs said, eyeing the dog. “Nehemia told me about the passages, showed me the way in. I’ve been down here almost every night since she died.”Jane glanced at the portal. If Nehemia had warned her not to open the portal, then she was certain her friend didn’t want Hobbs seeing it, either. She moved to the wall, keeping well away from the blackness as she ran her hand over the glowing green marks, making to wipe them away.“What are you doing?” Hobbs demanded.Jane pointed Damaris at him, furiously wiping at the marks. They didn’t budge. Whatever this spell was, it was far more complex than the one that had sealed the library door—merely swiping away the marks wouldn’t undo it. But Hobbs now stood between her and the book where she had