couldn’t touch them. And with what little she understood about her connection to the Faire, draining seity took time.
Time she wouldn’t have.
So she went limp, and let herself be dragged along as they pulled her and Simon’s body from the tent.
She could only cry.
Jack was murmuring apologies to her, trying to explain himself. But she wasn’t listening. She could only look up at the white tower with all its blazing lightbulbs. It stood out like a glowing beacon against the dark sky. It was still raining, and the bulbs flickered through the mist. It was beautiful. It was terrifying.
And now…it was inevitable.
3
Simon always seemed to find himself a dollar short and a day late in all aspects of his life. And today was no different.
He woke up with his feet dragging on the ground. They’re going to scuff my shoes. He supposed that was the least of his worries, even if it was the one that rose to the top first. For the second time in a handful of hours, his neck had been snapped. And that was annoying, but it was not going to be the worst thing done to him that day.
They were at the door of the tower.
He fought the urge to throw up.
And there was nothing he could do except watch blearily as Ringmaster reached into his coat and produced a key. He unlocked the first pair to reveal the set that waited just beyond it.
These doors were not normal.
Nor was the key that opened them.
He had seen them once before. He had been dragged through them thirty-eight years ago after he had set Hernandez free from his pain. Simon hadn’t deserved the torture then, and he certainly didn’t deserve the torture now.
But he couldn’t even shout at them with the gag in his mouth. He could only stare at those doors that were etched into his memory.
Made of an ancient metal, every inch of the bizarre gateway was engraved with archaic and strange writing whose shapes Simon could barely grasp, let alone understand. The more he looked at them, the more they seemed to evade him. Like they were trying to be forgotten.
And in the center of their surface was a shape, a gap in the twisting carved pattern, as though part of it were missing. And he knew what it was.
The Key to Harrow Faire.
Simon hadn’t understood the first time he had seen it. But as Ringmaster pulled the small metal crest out of his coat pocket and placed it in that missing section, it carried new meaning.
That was what he was meant to steal. That was what he wanted to pry from Turk’s dead fingers and take for himself. The power to command Harrow Faire.
But it wasn’t meant for him. It was meant for Cora.
Perhaps she’d let me have it…
We could rule together.
Would that be so bad?
Or maybe I could just rule at her side. Her advisor, confidant, and lover.
He tried to shake away the traitorous thought. No, he should have been given the opportunity to rule alone. It was his right. He was the only one with the intelligence and the wherewithal to do it. Unlike Turk and Cora, he would do whatever was required to survive.
But none of it mattered anymore. None of it. He had counted on one thing—that the honor of his opponent was greater than his own. Ringmaster never veered from the code he clutched to his heart like a suit of armor. He had never acted without honor.
Until the moment he did.
Simon lifted his head and looked at Cora. She was being pulled along by Amanda, a faraway and frightened look in her eyes. She didn’t understand what was about to happen to her. But she had the intelligence to know it was going to be terrible.
Simon glanced up to the man pulling him along. It was Jack. Always the noble sidekick to Ringmaster. He honestly wasn’t terribly surprised the Rigger had betrayed Cora’s friendship. He mumbled through the gag up at Jack.
Jack rolled his eyes.
He mumbled again. And kept going until Jack pulled the fabric out of his mouth.
“What, Simon?”
“You know the truth, Rigger?” he said, coughing to clear his throat.
“We’re monsters, Simon. You most of all. We shouldn’t exist.” Jack tugged him along as Ringmaster pushed open the large metal doors. They moved silently, despite their thickness and their age. It made them somehow more disturbing. He looked away from the writing on the doors. It made something in his soul itch, and he hated