be a better way. But nothing came to him, only the echo of Niya’s logic, impervious and inarguable. Barty had given Carroll the map, but it was still sealed. None of them knew the way. Outside the door, Christian heard the scrabbling of a blade against the wood, the muffled sound of men arguing. Whoever went must come back, but now Niya could not. Carroll was gone. He was the only one left.
Niya held out the baby, cradled in her arms, and after a long moment spent desperately seeking a way out, Christian took her.
“I don’t know anything about little ones,” he told Niya, hating the plaintive note in his own voice.
“Change nappies,” Niya told him, without sympathy. “Give bottles. Learn.”
“Christian.”
They both jumped, and Niya let out a short bark of surprise. The baby murmured in sleepy confusion but did not wake. Christian looked around wildly, then bit his lip to keep from crying out.
Queen Arla was sitting up in bed, staring directly at him.
“Christian.”
Her voice was nothing like the deep, imperious voice that Christian had heard so many times before the poisoning. Now it was harsh, high and raucous like a crow’s, or the sharpening of metal.
“Christian, of the Creche. Mace, of the Queen’s Guard. Come here.”
But Christian did not move. He could not. His nerves told him that he was in the room with a ghost.
“Come here!” the Queen rasped.
Against his will, Christian felt his legs begin to move, as though he were a puppet. The door shook behind him as someone—Elston, likely, with his huge shoulders—tried to knock it down. But the tough oak held.
“Majesty,” Christian muttered, kneeling down beside the bed. “Are you—”
“Be quiet,” the Queen commanded, and Christian felt his tongue still. Her green eyes stared into his, unmanning him. “My time is short, and so is yours.”
She reached out and touched the baby’s forehead. Niya made a small sound of protest, but Christian could not begin to stop the Queen, not even if she intended violence. The fracas outside was forgotten; everything was forgotten. At the Queen’s touch, the baby made a soft sound but still did not wake.
“My grandchild,” the Queen murmured. “I have seen her, hidden and chosen. But I will never know her.”
Now she reached beneath the furs, pulling the sapphire free from the girl’s clothing, and placed her own sapphire beside it. Beneath the surface of each, Christian saw something move . . . and then it was gone. A trick of the light.
“I felt it,” the Queen said, her voice wondering. “They call to each other, you know. I can feel them . . . so powerful, but they cannot fight the witch, not alone. She works on me, and in the end I will break . . . unless I act.”
Withdrawing her hand from the baby, the Queen reached up behind her neck, as women did when they meant to fuss with their hair. But a moment later, she had lifted the thin silver chain, drawing it over her head. The sapphire came with it, tumbling down, and Christian realized that the jewel was actually glowing now, such a bright and clear blue that he could see the shadow of the Queen’s hands against the coverlet.
“Are you loyal, Christian of the Queen’s Guard?” she asked.
“Yes,” Christian replied, not knowing in that moment whether he was answering truthfully or not. The baby in his arms seemed suddenly heavy, much heavier than she had before. The glow of the sapphire held him hypnotized.
“Then I have a task for you,” the Queen replied. “Only a small task, perhaps, but kingdoms have turned on less.”
She leaned forward, her arms so thin now that they seemed withered sticks against the bedclothes, and dropped the chain over Christian’s head. The sapphire tumbled down his shoulder, but Christian caught it before it could hit the baby and wake her up. Without thinking, he tucked the jewel beneath his shirt.
“The witch must not have it,” the Queen continued. “I give it to you, in trust for the child. Take her, hide her. The darkness is coming, but perhaps she will live through it. Go.”
Christian blinked, wondering whether he was going mad . . . but the racket outside the door was real enough. He looked down at the Queen again, but she had already fallen back to the pillows, her eyes closed. Her chest rose and fell, contracting in the deep, regular breathing they had all grown used to in the past months. The scene was