moment’s distraction to brush the dagger’s hilt with my thumb, testing its fit in the sheath while searching for a light, unnoticeable grasp.
I pinch the top …
Zander peels away from me suddenly and takes several steps back, out of my reach.
My hands remain empty, my plan foiled.
His Adam’s apple bobs with his hard swallow. “We could have brought peace. We could have changed Islor and Ybaris together. But you’re right. You’re not who I thought you were.” His jaw clenches as he studies a long, gold hair pin in his palm. “And I will never believe another word out of your treacherous mouth.”
“I swear to you, Zander—”
“Don’t you ever say my name again!” he roars. He pauses a few moments to regain his composure, and when he speaks again, his voice has taken on that cold, detached tone. “You will face your punishment at dawn, along with the rest of the traitors. And I promise, yours won’t be quick or painless, as my parents’ deaths were not.” He nods toward my hand. “Let us see if it can keep you from Azo’dem, for surely that’s where the fates will deem you deserve to go.” He strolls out of my cell without a backward glance, the bars clanging as the door slams shut. His footfalls down the stairs are swift, and they take all my hope along with them.
Tugging my dress back into place, I rush to the window, ready to tell him everything—about Sofie, Korsakov, the horn, this mission for Malachi’s stone. But he must have gone another way because the only people in the courtyard are the soldier pacing in front of the tower door and the two men arranging a line of wooden structures.
Icy unease prickles my skin as I survey the structures again with more discerning eyes. Piles of timber of varying lengths are stacked purposely beneath, like kindling for a fire.
Those are pyres and this is an execution square.
And by his last words to me, I’m certain I know which method I’m destined for.
My insides sink as I finally grasp the true gravity of my situation.
The king may still love whoever he thinks I am, but he also just sentenced her to death.
Chapter Eight
My heartbeat is a relentless anvil against its cavity wall. This is all playing out like some terrible nightmare, and yet my every grain is warning me that if I don’t get out of this tiny cell before sunrise, there is no waking up from what will happen to me.
Sofie talked of mythical creatures as gods and making flames dance on her fingertips. She alluded to there being other, far more superior beings. Such as what? All I’ve seen are more humans. Angry humans who think I’ve risen from the dead after murdering their king and queen, and inciting an insurrection in their city.
But where is this Cirilea? Where on earth could there be a medieval city like this, with war in the streets and a king who hasn’t heard of New York, who executes people and talks of these casters and power like it’s a magical force?
Could there be magic in the world?
Centuries ago, they burned women by the thousands for witchcraft, on account of superstition, not fact. Or so history books say. But what if there is truth to the magic? And what if Sofie somehow sent me back to that time, to a place that no longer exists on a map? It’s either that, or …
You are about to enter a world unlike that which you know.
There are two moons in the sky.
No, it’s not possible.
None of this can be happening. This is a delusion. Just like my father has delusions. My worst nightmare—that his sickness is hereditary—is coming to fruition.
And yet, my palm stings from Zander’s blade, and my knee aches from where it smashed against the stone floor, and the sound of the cell door slamming shut still chimes in my ear.
And tomorrow morning, when I’m chained to one of those posts and the wood is lit, I know in my gut everyone will hear my screams.
Wherever I am, this is all too real.
I’ve been in desperate situations before—hell, the last decade of my life has been one big desperate situation—and yet this time feels different.
I pace around my cell, feeling the walls move closer as the minutes pass. I pause long enough to check the sky. I can see only one moon from this angle—the lower, bigger one—and it is still shining bright, but dawn can’t be