Oredison Palace, Gazda.
The Gown Tour.
The afternoon.

We were halfway through dressing a mannequin in the ballroom when I felt it—just the slightest tug of heat from the western wing of the palace. I sought out the fire, casting every ounce of my ability out from me, allowing invisible hands to comb each cold hearth, every burnt-out candle, until it collided with two pinpricks of flame. One of oil and one of kerosine.

I exhaled and glanced to where Birk stood arranging a sash over the fake woman's torso. "What—Remind me how the lanterns work again."

He didn't look up from his task but anxiety laced his voice as he asked, "Um...why?"

"Because Arden's just lit both lanterns."

He froze and glanced up at me, then to the pocket watch pinned to his vest. Birk narrowed his eyes at the little time piece and shook his head, as if it were a liar. I stepped forward, glancing at it too. We had just a little under hall an hour until two o'clock. And the lanterns were already lit. That earlier than we'd expected.

Birk and I caught gazes.

Em pursed her lips and crossed the room towards us, keeping her voice down as she asked, "What is it? What's happened?"

"Just..." He hesitated. "Just that we need to hurry."

"What does it mean?" I asked again.

Each of his movements was rushed, his fingers shaking as he finished with the sash and moved to arrange the skirt of the dress. With one hand, he pushed the cart towards me. "I need the sapphire necklace." He snapped his fingers in impatiences.

I did as he asked, shuffling through the wooden jewelry box on until I found what he had requested. "Has it started?"

His voice was almost too quiet to hear as he explained, "The diversions in the city has started, that's what it means. Keep an eye on the oil lantern—when it goes out, we'll know Caine's troops have left."

"And when the kerosine goes out..." I trialed off, turning to look at the row of gowns still hanging on the rack. "We need to split up. Doing it together like this, it isn't working." Before he could say anything else, I'd already grabbed three of the gowns. I held them up for him to see. "Where do these go?"

He hesitated, but Jarvis nodded from his place by the door. He'd been acting as our escort and, for all intents and purposes, our look-out. "She's right," he said. "We still have a lot of gowns to put out and Arden's just shaved off at least thirty minutes of time."

Maya grabbed two dresses. "Tell us where to go. They don't need to be perfect," she said, "But they do need to be in place."

Birk looked to me. "I can do it," I said, unsure exactly which part I was talking about—putting the dresses on display or lighting the explosives.

As we'd worked, I'd been casting a large web across the place, linking my ability to each gown. I imagined all of them—the velvet emerald green gown draped across a settee in one of the music rooms, the pale yellow sun dress with its wide-brimmed hat positioned along the pathway just outside the palace barracks, the royal blue night gown in one of the guest bedrooms, the sapphire and white chiffon monstrosity perched at the dining room table. Each gown was in my mind, a tendril of ability cast out in that general direction—ready for Arden's signal.

I riffled through them mentally, trying to remember what we hadn't done yet. Birk had gone over each gowns placement last night before we'd gone to bed, but it was difficult to remember where we'd been and where we needed to go. As it was, I already felt spread too thin.

Birk nodded, just once and then began rattling off orders to Maya and I. Two of the dresses would go to the southern wing of the palace, to the royal living quarters. One would go to the royal family room—a place I'd only ever visited once—and another was supposed to be positioned in the hallway outside the royal bedchamber. And one gown would go in the library.

As soon as the words left his mouth, I shook my head, "But the books—"

"The books are not as valuable as the act of burning them will be." When I stayed frozen there, just staring at him, he pointed towards the door. "Go. We'll meet..." he glanced to his watch again. "We'll meet in the kitchen in twenty minutes. Be quick and don't get caught."

Birk began passing out dresses to the others and giving details on where each was meant to go. Just before we left the dining room, Maya caught my eye and nodded encouragingly. She paused, gave her brother a quick hug and then she was gone.

Behind me, Em said, "We're almost there. It's almost over. Only an hour or so more."

As I headed for the door, the heavy gowns draped in my arms, I wanted to tell her that she was wrong. It wasn't almost over. It was almost beginning. We were hours, minutes, away from the start.

I should've been more afraid than I was—not worried about stupid books.

The hallway outside the ballroom was empty, but I could hear yelling off in the distance, the sound of it echoing faintly. Panicked orders were being shouted. Boots thudded against marble. I paused for only a second more, trying to compose myself.

I knew my way around. Weeks of being locked here had left me with a good sense of direction. I knew that I could get to the library in only a matter of minutes, less if I ran—which, was tempting. No one was around and time was not in my favor, but I didn't let myself move faster than a brisk walk as I headed in that general direction.

I kept my head down, my eyes mostly on the floor, as I passed footmen and maids—all of them talking in whispers, their tone panicked. Some of them were surely allies of mine, but I had no way of knowing who. Some of the rebels had tattoos similar to the one Harper had, but they'd be carefully hidden from sight.

I heard whispers of an attack in Deca Market. No one specifically mentioned the arena explosion, so I felt certain that it hadn't happened yet. When that happened, the palace would know. My friends had merely caused enough disruption to lure Caine's men from the palace. I let the thought of that bolster me.

Things were going as planned.

We could succeed.

I rounded the final corner and hurried my step, only to nearly trip over myself as I caught sight of a familiar head of black hair. The girl, waif and pale as death, spared a glanced in my direction as my steps faltered and I lost hold of one of the gowns. I knelt quickly, grabbing the gown and piling it into my arms, praying she didn't bother to look twice.

Larkin was mid-conversation with a serving girl I didn't recognize. The servant, a young red-headed girl, continued to talk, but I could feel Larkin's gaze on me as I stood and hurried forward. The skirt of dress was piled around my face, concealing it partially as I passed by. I turned my gaze to the wall, to the carved ceiling, at anything other than Larkin.

Anxiety pooled in the pit on my stomach as her voice echoed through the hallway, sharp as the blade strapped to my body.

"Stop."

The word seemed to echo down the hall and, despite everything my gut was screaming at me to do, I obeyed. I paused, but I didn't turn around. I kept my head down, my eyes on the floor. Larkin's footsteps sounded behind me, slow and unworried, until they stopped directly in front of me. With the gowns up around my face, I wasn't sure she'd recognize me. The most she could see of my head was my hair and that was darker now than it usually would be.

Larkin didn't know me well, I reminded myself. We'd met only a few times. She'd barely ever spoken to me. I was her enemy out of position, not because of anything I'd done to her. The princess had no reason to look too closely at me—I was a serving girl.

I was no one.

You are goddess-touched, that quiet, oily voice seemed to whisper. Soft, like a caress. You are everything and everyone. She should bow to you. She should beg you for her miserable life. Shade. Broken thing. Unnatural creature. You are fire and ash and smoke. She is nothing but a vapor before you. Her power is not a match for yours.

"Here." Larkin shoved something in my direction—a sash from one of the dresses. I'd lost it and hadn't even realized. She offered it to me.

My body seemed to dip into a clumsy, nervous sort of curtsy out of habit and I moved to take the sash from her—but she snatched it away. She clicked her tongue in disapproval as her body leaned close to mine, her mouth lingering just at my ear—so close that her breath left steam on my skin.

"Come to kill a king, little marked girl? Or are you here for the kingmaker?" The words were so quiet, I knew that the servant couldn't have overheard her.

My eyes darted up to Larkin's and I waited, my breath held. She'd call for the guards. She'd call the guards and they take the dresses. They'd discover the explosives and it would all unravel. All because of me.

I wanted to beg. I wanted to get on my knees and beg her not to sound the alarm.

I swallowed, but didn't let myself look away from her. "My fight is not with you, Larkin."

The princess's eyes darted to the serving girl nearby. "Leave us." She opened her mouth as if she'd argue, but Larkin held up a hand. "You don't want me to have to say it again."

I'd never felt quite so alone as I did as the girl's footsteps faded away.

For a what felt like an eternity, Larkin said nothing—she only watched me, her head tilted to one side. Analyzing. Assessing. I felt, more than saw, her try to touch me with her ability—but I'd been careful with my food. I'd been careful with everything I'd touched. There was nothing she could use to hurt me—save for her own skin.

Except for the damp, toxic imprint she'd just left on the side of my face. Her breath. I swallowed and took a step back from her, as if that would help me. Larkin's lips twitched. It was coming—the poison or her call for the guards, I wasn't sure which, but something was on its way.

And then she stepped aside.

When I didn't move, Larkin gestured to the hall before me. "Well?"

I blinked at her. "Well...what?"

"Get on with it then."

I didn't understand. I couldn't begin to fathom what the hell was happening, but I didn't need her to tell me again—I took off towards the library. I'd almost made it to the end of the hall, to the large wooden doors of the entrance, as she said, "Touch the queen and you die."

I didn't look back, didn't so much as pause, as I wrench open the doors to the library and hurried inside.

***

The Palace Library.
Oredison Palace, Gazda.
Ten minutes 'til two.

For a moment, I stayed propped against the closed library doors, panting for air. I waited for her to scream, for her to yell out a warning—anything. But the hallway outside remained deathly quiet. Not a word. Not even a whisper.

I scanned the tall shelves before me. The front desk was empty, the rolling cart gone from its usual place. I could hear the squealing of its wheels coming from one of the back cases—someone was shelving the books.

Good. That was good.

I pushed away from the door and kept to the outside sitting areas as I walked towards the doors of the sunroom. I expected to see the mannequin there—already set up and ready to be dressed, but it wasn't. The room was empty save for a few acolytes sitting in a circle talking to one another. They didn't even glance up at me as I passed by.

I walked down two different isles before I found the mannequin. It was in a dark corner of the library. Madame Leroux had staged this dress in way that really showcased the dark plumb of the skirt and the bronze accents on the bodice. Leather bound books with gold filigree and lettering were stacked next to it in large piles, along with dried flowers and two flickering lanterns.

I made quick work of dressing the stuffed body. And while I didn't take as much care to fluff the skirt and position the stiff, plastic arms as Birk had, I did a good enough job. I moved the skirts as far away from the lanterns as possible, careful of the hidden explosives. Anyone who saw the mannequin between now and the start of the gown tour—between now and when the gown exploded—wouldn't suspect it as being anything out of ordinary.

I'd just stepped back, admiring my decent enough handy-work when I noticed one of the lanterns had gone out. With a rotation of my wrist, the wick was burning again, the candle inside already heated enough to be melting once more. I bent down to gather the two remaining dresses but paused as I heard a small gasp to my left.

I turned, instinctively—searching the rows of shelving for the source of the noise. There, through a gap between books, I could see a set of black boots. I froze, unsure if the sound of surprise had been aimed at me.

Fear coursed through me, thick as honey, as the boots moved back a step. The heels of them bumped into the shelf at their back. I eased to my feet slowly, causally, careful to keep most of my attention on the mannequin.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the boots moved—they darted down the long row of shelves towards the front of the library. I didn't think—I didn't consider what I was doing, I just threw out a hand to stop her. In an instant, my ability snapped back, pulling away from where it had been keeping a web over Arden's lanterns.

The force of that pent up power slammed into the figure before they could reach the end of the aisle. The priestess tripped on her own boots in surprise, in pain.

A little gasp escaped her. She spun midair, the silver beads in black hair glittering as she fell, first onto her side and then onto her stomach. She cried out, panicked and afraid as she tried to flee whatever was happening to her.

She tired to stand and failed. Heat emanated from me, fire pulsing like a life line between the voider and I. But no flames were visible. This was different. New.

Then she was clawing her way down the aisle, her fingernails digging into the floorboards—inching towards help.

No.

She wasn't going to get help.

She was going to die.

I pushed my ability forward, viciously, desperately. Until the videra wasn't crawling at the floor of the library anymore. Until her nails were clawing at her throat, her chest. Until she was tearing at her robes. She opened her mouth to scream but no sound escaped her.

Silent.

Someone dying shouldn't be so terribly quiet.

And yet she was. If anyone had heard her hit the floor, they didn't rush to her aid. There was nothing but the slow creak of the book cart being pushed by the attendant aisles away. Nothing but the flutter of pages as someone read at a table a few shelves down. Nothing at all accept the whisper of the acolytes in the sunroom. Nothing but my too loud heartbeat.

Smoke curled from her mouth and nose. The fire I'd put inside of her fizzled out. And there was only the quiet of death. Heavy and aching and terrible.

And I could not regret it. I would not regret it. She had damned me once and I would not let her damn me again.

Her's would be the first of many bodies. The first in what would be an empire built on ash. So, there was no room for regret. For shame. Not as I gathered the last of the dresses and headed for the door.

Not as I stepped over Dahlia's steaming corpse.

Off in the distance, a clock chimed two in the afternoon. Through the open doors of the sunroom, I heard one of the acolytes laugh. The wheels of the book cart still squeaked. And there, in the corner, was the chair I'd sat in for weeks. Alone and afraid.

I didn't pause to look back. I didn't stop to make sure Dahlia was dead.  I only hurried my step.

Soon someone would see. One of the priestesses or acolytes would notice it—the growing stench, the sweet, musty sort of aroma that came from burned flesh. They would find her body, her lips parted in a scream that ended in black smoke. Smoke that was already fogging the chandeliers.

My stomach churned at the thought, but I did not turn back.

***

Happy Halloween, friends.

If you liked this chapter (or this series, or just me) please go follow me on Instagram. Don't have an account? Sounds like a good time to get one! If you don't already follow me there, please do. It would seriously mean a ton to me. We are gearing up for publication—so a bunch of fun announcements will be coming in the coming months. We got cover art and giveaways and all sorts of stuff that will be over on Instagram. 👑🧡🔥 Be there or be square 🟧.

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