took in a deep breath to steady herself and take in his scent one last time. Like grass and river salt.
“I love you to the shadow moon,” she said.
Malik’s deep brown eyes blinked up at her and his staves shone like starlight over his dark skin. She felt a pang in her heart, deep in the center, knowing that he’d never be able to use the gifts the Many Gods had given him. He’d never become Liege and never lead their Kin into a world of wonder.
She was going to steal it all from him. His future and his past. And the secret of why would live deep inside of him, in a place so hidden that even he wouldn’t be able to find it.
Vea looked to her mother. “Start the spell.”
Her mother nodded and began humming again, though this time the words were a curse and they floated through the air and into Vea’s ears like a fire stick. They burned and scratched, and when Malik started crying—which he never, ever did, even when he broke his toe or chipped his tooth chasing Saxony around the Uncharted Forest—she knew that the curse was reaching into his heart and clawing out all of those ticks and tocks.
He screamed.
The world turned to dark and smoke.
There was a loud bang and the windows of the tree house burst like tears and Vea’s mother was thrown into the forest. The fire was black, like shadows. They burned against Vea’s skin and she couldn’t move to run.
She stared at Malik, who cried, but remained untouched by the flames of his own magic. Vea tried to tell him that she loved him one last time, but she couldn’t. So instead she watched as he cried, as he blinked up at her with those dark eyes, and then finally disappeared.
Only once he was gone could Vea close her eyes.
Only once he was gone did the flames swallow her whole.
1
Tavia
TAVIA STROKED HER KNIFE, waiting.
The moon was like a beam, casting far too much light on the uneven streets, forcing the shadows to retreat and leaving little space for anyone who might want to hide.
And these days, people needed all the hiding places they could get.
The street was empty, save for Tavia, and too quiet for it to be anything other than purposeful. She pulled up her hood.
This was the place.
Tavia knew a lie when she heard one—after all, she’d worked for the infamous Wesley Thornton Walcott, who was probably the best liar out there—and that skittish little Rishiyat busker hadn’t been lying when Tavia held a mirror doll to the skies and scraped her knife against its carved face. He hadn’t been lying when that same cut appeared across his own cheek and when his eyes widened as Tavia moved the knife to the doll’s neck.
And he certainly hadn’t been lying when she punched him in the face.
This was the spot.
Tavia wiped at her forehead.
The winds of Rishiya were too warm for her taste. She missed the biting edge of Creijen winter. Rishiya was a garden of buildings, with flowers falling from rooftops and vines curling around windows. The streets were filled with crisp leaves and smooth tree roots that coiled across the city and around the narrow rivers that hosted modest floating railways, the banks of which were amassed in purple holly and wildflowers.
And the ivy towns—where she had stolen her share of wallets while tightening her plan earlier that day—were bright and beautiful in a way that made Tavia feel just how rough her edges were.
But she wasn’t in Creije anymore and she could never go back.
The Kingpin had seen to that.
Tavia checked her timepiece as the busker approached.
He was tall and stocky, with a wide jaw and dark eyes. His face matched the description, and the way he walked toward her, untouchable, and so similarly to the way Tavia knew she had walked the streets of Creije, told her this was her guy.
Nolan Kane.
Tavia smiled as he got closer.
Exactly two hours after sundown, just like her source had promised. Rishiya’s best busker was prompt—he liked routine.
What a moron.
Keep them guessing. Don’t do what’s expected. Never let yourself get predictable.
Wesley had taught her the most important lesson a busker could know: how to be invisible.
“If you’re not looking for me, then you should be,” Nolan said, all bright teeth and smarmy eyebrows. “I’m about to give you a wild night.”
Definitely not invisible.
“So what’s your poison?”
“My poison,” Tavia repeated, as though she was pondering it. “I’m