THAT NIGHT, AFTER BLAISE AND his legion are gone and the others have fallen asleep, I lie awake in bed, turning over the vial of dreamless-sleep potion that Heron gave me to take. I told him I would, but now that the time has come, I can’t bring myself to drink it.

Cress can hurt me in my dreams—she already stabbed me. She certainly meant me harm in my last dream as well. With Dagm?r and the two other girls’ deaths on her mind, I don’t doubt she will try to do it again. But this time I will be ready. This time, I have a plan. I have questions. I have a way out.

I turn over on my bedroll, tucking the potion under my pillow. It takes some time for sleep to claim me, but when it does, I am ready for it, my own dagger clutched tightly in my hand.

* * *

—

I manage to surprise Cress for once. She’s slouched down in my mother’s throne, wearing my mother’s crown and a black gown covered in rubies and Fire Gems, and this time she’s alone, without her entourage of wraiths. She looks smaller, somehow, more vulnerable, dwarfed by the size of the room and the throne itself. When she sees me, she frowns, sitting up a little straighter.

“You came back,” she says, as if she doesn’t really believe it.

I step toward her, twirling my dagger between my fingers like Art taught me. After everything Cress has done, everyone she’s hurt, I should be able to plunge it through her heart without an ounce of guilt. She didn’t seem to have any trouble hurting me, so why should I? But I do.

“I came back,” I say.

She regains some of her coldness, but there is a shakiness to her smile as she leans back, regarding me thoughtfully. “Did you enjoy my surprise, then?” she asks me.

I think about the fire, the smell of burning flesh in the air, the screams that will haunt my nightmares for years to come. I think of Artemisia, who might never wake up. I tighten my grip on the dagger in my hand, but I force myself to return her smile.

“I used to tell myself you were nothing like your father,” I tell her. “But I was wrong on that count. He would be very proud of your ruthlessness.”

It isn’t a compliment, and despite the love I know she bears for her father, she doesn’t seem to take it as one.

“I did what was necessary, Thora,” she says. “And I will do it again and again until you understand.”

“I do,” I tell her. “Understand, that is.”

That makes her sit up straight. “You do?” she asks warily, as if I’m playing a trick. “Have you come to ask for mercy, then? It won’t be easy to give, but perhaps if you beg—”

“I don’t want mercy from you,” I tell her. “I doubt you’re even capable of it. No, I meant that I understand you: who you are, what you want. I understand that you are a monster, and that there is no saving you. I understand that the only way to end this is to watch you burn.”

“Perhaps for you,” she says, her eyes glinting. “But my mother has showed me another way to end things, once and for all. Would you like to see?”

My throat goes dry. “Your mother,” I say slowly.

Cress’s smile widens and she gets to her feet, brushes past me on her way out the door. I hasten to follow as she leads me down the winding palace hallways.

“She said she told you about it, the weapon she and her lover created. Velastra. A pretty name, isn’t it, for a weapon like that?”

My stomach twists. I saw what she did to Erik and S?ren—I can only imagine what Cress did to Brigitta. What she must have done to Laius as well.

“She’s your mother,” I say.

“Yes,” Cress says, glancing at me over her shoulder. “I wonder if I’ll make that same pathetic face when I die. I like to think not, though I’m afraid we do have quite similar features.”

“Where are you taking me, Cress?” I ask her, but I’m fairly sure I know. After all of these months, these halls are still burned in my memory. I remember my last night here, being dragged down this same path when the guards brought me to the dungeon.

“Her memory was faulty, after so many years, and it was difficult to replicate the exact tools she had on hand then. And, of course, my mother doesn’t have quite the same alchemical talents as her lover. It took longer than I’d hoped, but we had a bit of a breakthrough in creating velastra,” Cress says. “I thought you’d like to see for yourself.”

My body feels weighed heavy, each step a chore, but I follow her down the darkened steps, clutching the dagger so tightly in my hand that I feel the filigreed hilt digging into the pads of my fingers.

When we reach the guards on duty, she simply nods at each of them and passes, rounding another corner, then another, before coming to a stop in front of a cell occupied by a single figure, cowering against the back wall, his hands bound with heavy iron shackles.

He looks up when he hears Cress approach, and I stumble backward a step.

Laius.

He came here to die, and so it was easier to think of him as dead the moment he left us at the Water Mine, his sacrifice noble and heroic. The best I’d hoped for him was a quick death, but I knew in the deepest part of my heart that Cress is not that merciful.

Still, it is another thing entirely to see him face to face, his gaunt cheeks and wide dark brown eyes, the three fingers missing from his hands and the bandages covering his arms and legs, where I imagine more flesh has been hacked away.

“I confess, Theo, I was a bit cross to discover your deception, sending a boy in the place of an alchemist, but it turns out you sent me more of a gift than you realized.”

“Laius,” I say, because it’s the only word I can form. He can’t see me, can’t hear me, but I say it all the same.

“Is that his name?” Cress asks before shrugging. “It turns out that velastra is a combination of alchemy and Spiritgems. At least, that was what my mother said, and I doubt she could have thought up a decent lie in the state of pain she was in. But still, we couldn’t get it quite right, couldn’t make it last longer than a few minutes, even when we found the formula in her blood. But that was what gave me the idea—blood. It’s the secret to life, isn’t it? It’s where my power is, so why shouldn’t it be where his is kept as well? Blood, a thousand times stronger than any gem could be.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, though I don’t take my eyes off Laius.

He must be alarmed at this, Cress before him, talking to herself. But I remember what S?ren said—perhaps this is normal for him. The thought makes me feel sick.

“It still isn’t a permanent solution, unfortunately, but it does last so much longer now. Hours in most—days in some. But it’s easier to show you than tell you, I think,” she says, before stepping toward the bars. She reaches into her pocket to pull out an empty vial. No, not empty. The air within it glints in the dim candlelight, almost opalescent.

“Laius,” she says, her voice cloyingly sweet. He flinches from it but slowly drags his eyes up to meet hers. “Tell me, what would your Queen say if she could see you now? Low and fractured, a weak and pathetic creature?” she asks, tilting her head to one side.

He cringes at that.

“No,” I say, the word strong, though I know he can’t hear it. He is not weak and pathetic. He is brave and sure, and I’m the one who has failed him, not the other way around.

Laius looks away for a moment before meeting her eyes again, and despite his pain, his bloody face, and missing fingers and flesh, his eyes are bright with anger. His gaze doesn’t waver.

“I imagine she’d remind you of what happened when you thought her low and fractured and weak. I’d imagine my Queen would then show you in no uncertain terms that broken things are the most dangerous of all.”

Cress’s mouth twists into a grimace, and with a feral cry, she throws the glass vial into the cell at Laius’s feet.

For a moment, nothing happens, the air around Laius barely shimmering. Then, all at once, it takes hold of him and his eyes go glazed and distant, his expression slack.

“Laius,” she says again, a cruel smile tugging at her lips. “You should show some respect for your Kaiserin. On your feet.”

As if he’s moving through quicksand, he stands.

“Bow to me,” she says.

He bends at the hip, an awkward bow but a bow all the same. A bow he doesn’t want to give. I can see it in his expression, the flicker of hate behind those dead eyes—so quiet and far away that I wouldn’t see it if I weren’t looking. So weak that it doesn’t make a difference. He does as he’s told because he has no choice.