“Keep it quiet; keep it secret. If anyone reveals our defenses, they die at my hand.”

“As you will it,” Sorrel said.

Asterin said, “Do we tell the Yellowlegs and Bluebloods?”

“No,” Manon said, her voice like death and bloodshed. “Blackbeaks only.”

“Even if another coven winds up volunteering for the next round?” Asterin said.

Manon gave a snarl that made the hair on Elide’s neck rise. “We can only tug so much at the leash.”

“Leashes can snap,” Asterin challenged.

“So can your neck,” Manon said.

Now—now, while they were fighting. Abraxos remained unmoving, as if not daring to draw attention to himself while Elide prepared to hurry out. But the chains … Elide sat back down and carefully, slowly, lifted her foot just a little off the floor, holding the chains so they wouldn’t drag. With one foot and one hand, she began pushing herself across the stones, sliding for the door.

“This shadowfire,” Sorrel mused, as if trying to diffuse the brewing storm between the Wing Leader and her cousin. “Will he use it on us?”

“He seemed inclined to think it could be used on entire armies. I wouldn’t put it past him to hold it over our heads.”

Closer and closer, Elide edged for the open doorway.

She was almost there when Manon crooned, “If you had any backbone, Elide, you would have stayed beside Abraxos until we left.”

Manon had spotted Elide sleeping against Abraxos the moment they’d entered the aerie, and she’d become aware of her presence moments before that—tracking her from scent alone up the stairs. If Asterin and Sorrel had noticed, they made no comment.

The servant girl was sitting on her ass, almost to the doorway, one foot in the air to keep her chains from dragging. Smart, even if she’d been too stupid to realize how well they saw in the dark.

“There was someone in my room,” Elide said, lowering her foot and standing.

Asterin stiffened. “Who?”

“I don’t know,” Elide said, keeping near the doorway, even if it would do her no good. “It didn’t seem wise to go inside.”

Abraxos had tensed, his tail shifting over the stones. The useless beast was worried for the girl. Manon narrowed her eyes at him. “Isn’t your kind supposed to eat young women?”

He glared at her.

Elide held her ground as Manon prowled closer. And Manon, despite herself, was impressed. She looked at the girl—really looked at her.

A girl who was not afraid to sleep against a wyvern, who had enough common sense to tell when danger might be approaching … Perhaps that blood really did run blue.

“There is a chamber beneath this castle,” Manon said, and Asterin and Sorrel fell into rank behind her. “Inside it is a coven of Yellowlegs witches, all taken by the duke to … create demon offspring. I want you to get into that chamber. I want you to tell me what’s happening in there.”

The human went pale as death. “I can’t.”

“You can, and you will,” Manon said. “You’re mine now.” She felt Asterin’s attention on her—the disapproval and surprise. Manon went on, “You find a way into that chamber, you give me the details, you keep quiet about what you learn, and you live. If you betray me, if you tell anyone … then we’ll toast to you at your wedding party to a handsome Valg husband, I suppose.”

The girl’s hands were shaking. Manon smacked them down to her sides. “We do not tolerate cowards in the Blackbeak ranks,” she hissed. “Or did you think your protection was free?” Manon pointed to the door. “You’re to stay in my chambers if your own are compromised. Go wait at the bottom of the stairs.”

Elide glanced behind Manon to her Second and Third, as if she was considering begging them to help. But Manon knew that their faces were stony and unyielding. Elide’s terror was a tang in Manon’s nose as she limped away. It took her far too long to get down the stairs, that wasted leg of hers slowing her to a crone’s pace. Once she was at the bottom, Manon turned to Sorrel and Asterin.

“She could go to the duke,” Sorrel said. As Second, she had the right to make that remark—to think through all threats to the heir.

“She’s not that ruthless.”

Asterin clicked her tongue. “That was why you spoke, knowing she was here.”

Manon didn’t bother nodding.

“If she’s caught?” Asterin asked. Sorrel glanced sharply at her. Manon didn’t feel like reprimanding. It was on Sorrel to sort out the dominance between them now.

“If she’s caught, then we’ll find another way.”

“And you have no qualms about them killing her? Or using that shadowfire on her?”

“Stand down, Asterin,” Sorrel ground out.

Asterin did no such thing. “You should be asking these questions, Second.”

Sorrel’s iron teeth snapped down. “It is because of your questioning that you’re now Third.”

“Enough,” Manon said. “Elide is the only one who might get into that chamber and report. The duke has his grunts under orders not to let a single witch near. Even the Shadows can’t get close enough. But a servant girl, cleaning up whatever mess …”

“You were the one waiting in her room,” Asterin said.

“A dose of fear goes a long way in humans.”

“Is she human, though?” Sorrel asked. “Or do we count her among us?”

“It makes no difference if she’s human or witch-kind. I’d send whoever was the most qualified down into those chambers, and at this moment, only Elide can gain access to them.”

Cunning—that was how she would get around the duke, with his schemes and his weapons. She might work for his king, but she would not tolerate being left ignorant.

“I need to know what’s happening in those chambers,” Manon said. “If we lose one life to do that, then so be it.”

“And what then?” Asterin asked, despite Sorrel’s warning. “Once you learn, what then?”

Manon hadn’t decided. Again, that phantom blood coated her hands.

Follow orders—or else she and the Thirteen would be executed. Either by her grandmother or by the duke. After her grandmother read her letter, maybe it would be different. But until then—

“Then we continue as we’ve been commanded,” Manon said. “But I will not be led into this with a blindfold over my eyes.”

Spy.

A spy for the Wing Leader.

Elide supposed it was no different than being a spy for herself—for her own freedom.

But learning about the supply wagons’ arrival and trying to get into that chamber while also going about her duties … Maybe she would get lucky. Maybe she could do both.

Manon had a pallet of hay brought up to her room, setting it near the fire to warm Elide’s mortal bones, she’d said. Elide hardly slept that first night in the witch’s tower. When she stood to use the privy, convinced that the witch was asleep, she’d made it two steps before Manon had said, “Going somewhere?”

Gods, her voice. Like a snake hidden up a tree.

She’d stammered out an explanation about needing the bathing room. When Manon hadn’t replied, Elide had stumbled out. She’d returned to find the witch asleep—or at least her eyes were closed.

Manon slept naked. Even with the chill. Her white hair cascaded down her back, and there wasn’t a part of the witch that didn’t seem lean with muscle or flecked with faint scarring. No part that wasn’t a reminder of what Manon would do to her if she failed.

Three days later, Elide made her move. The exhaustion that had tugged relentlessly on her vanished as she clutched the armful of linens she’d taken from the laundry and peered down the hallway.