Four contestants had been killed in the attack—two within the lost tower when it fell, one ripped apart by a demon, one consumed by Nightfire. If I’d stayed in the greenhouse instead of going with Raihn and Mische, I would have been among them.

Mische survived, barely, though she still teetered on the edge of death. And she wasn’t alone. Several others had been burned—one of them so badly that he just lay in a state of semi-consciousness and moaned in pain. He no longer had a face. I hoped, for his sake, that he either died or recovered enough to do the deed himself.

Those with injuries so bad they couldn’t fight put in requests for withdrawal to Nyaxia. In the hushed silence of dawn, we gathered in the great room. The only sounds were the whispered prayers of the injured as they slit their hands and dripped their blood to their parchment pleas, asking the goddess for permission to withdraw their candidacy. Raihn and I did this for Mische, too; she couldn’t get the words out herself. Later, the Ministaer and his acolytes moved solemnly through the room, collecting those bloodstained pieces of parchment. They instructed us to remain in the Moon Palace, reminded us that the Kejari would go on as planned, and told us to await further instruction.

That was it. So we all settled back into what was left of the Moon Palace, and we waited.

At sundown the next night, Vincent addressed the House of Night.

He did it from the castle balcony, overlooking the inner city. He commanded attention across all of Sivrinaj. Magic painted his visage to the sky in ethereal strokes of light. The first two buttons of his jacket were undone, revealing his Heir Mark. His wings were spread. His crown peeked through tendrils of blond hair like the platinum spires of a star.

The message was clear: Vincent was the Nightborn King, and anyone who challenged him would pay dearly for it.

He didn’t speak to his people, but to his enemies.

“I have only one thing to say. The Nightborn are not cowards. We do not take kindly to acts of war. And make no mistake, this attack is an act of war.”

His voice rang through the sky, everywhere at once—inescapable.

“Do you wish to unseat me? Try. You are not the only one who knows how to kill. You have opened a door you cannot close again, and you are not prepared for the horrors that I will pour through it. Horrors that will spare nothing, as you have spared nothing. Horrors that will not spare your wives or children. Horrors that will not spare your food or your homes. And horrors that will not spare you.” A sneer curled the corner of his lip, revealing the lethal point of his teeth. “Not even when you beg for death.”

He lifted his chin. Even rendered in ghostly silver, the Mark on his throat seemed to burn, as if he and it alike had been seared into the night itself.

“I hope it was worth it, Rishan rebels.”

Jesmine came to the Moon Palace later that night. She brought with her a slew of Nightborn warriors, who shadowed her like deadly ghosts.

We had found another room by then—a much smaller chamber on the first floor, at the center of the Moon Palace, which was both easier for Mische to access and more central in case other parts of the structure collapsed. It wasn’t nearly as grand as our previous hideaway, but it was safe and secure. Raihn had even managed to recover some of our possessions from what remained of the eastern tower. His first priority had been Mische’s bag of medical supplies. When he’d dropped the remnants of my pack before me, too, I’d been casually grateful. But later, when I was alone, I had nearly wept when I tore it open to find Ilana’s scarf still intact, albeit a bit singed.

When she arrived, Jesmine pounded on the door with two booming knocks; not a request, but a demand. Raihn answered it, and she gave him a cold, critical look that started at his feet and slowly moved up his body.

“Yes?” Raihn said coldly.

“Come,” she said. “The Nightborn King has summoned you.”

Dread simmered in my chest as I joined them at the door.

He was made for this, Raihn’s voice echoed.

I hadn’t witnessed Vincent in wartime, but I’d certainly witnessed what he was like when he was protecting what was his.

Raihn didn’t move.

“Why?”

“Your king commands it.”

“He’s not my king.”

I tensed. Raihn didn’t blink. Jesmine was still and silent—a predator preparing for a strike.

I knew Raihn was worried and angry and tired, but he was also being a fucking idiot. I wanted to rip him away from her and tell him so.

“His life belongs to Nyaxia as long as he remains in the Kejari,” I said.

Jesmine seemed to realize I was there for the first time, her catlike violet eyes drinking me in with a glint of piqued curiosity, like I’d just said something very interesting.

“The King is well aware,” she said breezily. “Contestants will be returned to the Moon Palace with their lives.”

Contestants?

I peered over her shoulder to see that warriors moved about the great room, some headed down hallways to other apartments, others returning to the entrance with prisoners in tow. Angelika was among them, her arms gripped behind her by two Nightborn guards, strong features stone-set in fury.

They were taking the Rishan and Bloodborn contestants. And yet Jesmine, my father’s highest-ranking general, came here personally to get Raihn.

All these pieces snapped together in my mind to form a gruesome picture. I looked at Raihn just as his gaze darted to me, heavy with the same realization.

“The Rishan didn’t do this,” Raihn said to Jesmine.

She smiled. It was downright hypnotic. Surely that smile had brought men and women, mortals and immortals alike, to their knees.

“Oh, no one is accusing you of such acts. But this is wartime, understand. And the Rishan have a history of such atrocities. The Nightborn King cannot take risks.”

“No,” I said, before I could stop myself. “He’s my ally. The Halfmoon trial is two days away. Tell Vincent that.”

“Vincent is well aware.” Jesmine, again, smiled sweetly. “He will be back in plenty of time for the Halfmoon. Don’t worry. Now, come.” She beckoned to Raihn as if he was a dog. “You must understand the urgency.”

His knuckles whitened where his hand gripped the doorframe.

“I’m not leaving my friend,” he said. “If the king wants to drag me out, he can come do that himself.”

“We can drag you out if that’s how you would prefer to go.”

It was no bluff. If he didn’t back down, I was about to see him beaten and removed from the Palace unconscious. He was good, but he wasn’t good enough to take down an entire Nightborn army by himself.

My heart had quickened—surely both of them could sense it. I pushed closer, standing beside Raihn in the doorframe. “No one here appreciates the fucking threats, Jesmine,” I snapped, then turned to him and lowered my voice. “I’ll get you out. And I’ll take care of Mische.”

He searched my face, unconvinced. I could feel Jesmine’s stare, too. I realized that she was looking at my hand, which rested on Raihn’s forearm. I didn’t even remember putting it there.

I pulled away. Raihn said through his teeth, reluctantly, “Fine.”

Jesmine smirked in satisfaction as he stepped past her into the hall.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” She reached into her pocket and produced two folded pieces of parchment. She handed one to him. “The Ministaer wanted this delivered to your friend.”

Skeptical, Raihn took the letter and unfolded it. His face went white.

“What is this?” he choked out. “Is this a fucking joke?”

Jesmine’s mouth twisted ruefully. “From experience, I know the Ministaer does not make fucking jokes.”

The parchment crinkled, quivering with his rage.