Page 117 of The Queen's Box

Willow pictured cage after cramped cage filled with jewel-scaled creatures, their lives reduced to a cycle of harvest and pain.

“Are they a threat in Eryth?” Cole asked. “The duskwyrms?”

“Not that I know of. Not to people going about their normal lives.”

“So maybe the Sisters use them in... I don’t know. Rites. Rituals. And they need to be protected.”

“Maybe,” Willow said. “Or maybe . . .”

Cole turned to her. “Tell me.”

Willow pushed her thumbnail between her teeth and nodded. Her theory had been threading itself together piece by piece since she’d left Eryth. She needed to lay it bare and see if it held.

“In our world,” she said slowly, “kids go missing. Not often, but... it happens.” She placed her hand on his arm. “Like Micah.”

“And a pile of jewels is left in return,” Cole said bitterly. “Are they taken to Eryth, these kids? If so, what happens to them there?”

Willow thought of the bedraggled bird she’d pulled from the pond. The goat, the dog, the possum. The baby suspended in algae like fruit set in Jell-O—

Nope. No. In what world—literally—would that story help Cole?

“In Eryth, things happen to little kids, too,” she said, opting to just plow forward. “Well, babies. But they’re not taken. They’re changed.”

“How?”

“You saw what happened to Amira . . . ?”

Cole gave a tight nod. “She looked like a burn victim, as if the fire had ignited inside her.”

“That’s what happens to the babies. One day, they’re perfect. Rosy cheeks and cute little bellies.” She thought of Maeve cowering on the dining hall floor, scrambling to clean up a mess that wasn’t her fault. “They’re burned from within, just like Amira.”

Horror rippled over Cole’s face. “This happens tobabies?”

Willow’s ribs constricted. “And in Eryth, when a baby ends up like that... it means they’re wicked, people say. The babies. That they brought it on themselves.”

“That is seriously fucked up,” Cole said.

“And when they grow up, they’re... well, people treat them really badly. They get the worst jobs, the worst pay—everyone’s really mean to them. They’re untouchables, basically, only in Eryth, they’re called the Blighted.”

“Sheesh, Willow.” Cole let out a bitter laugh. “I thought faeries were the Fair Folk. The Shining Ones.”

Willow’s heart thumped painfully. “I keep thinking about the Secret Sisters. The duskwyrms pose no real threat, so why would they need immunity?”

“A strange rite or ritual, like I said?”

“Yeah. Maybe. But they only strike if they’re provoked,” Willow continued. “And it takes alotof provocation. With Amira, we both saw how much.”

“But supposedly, they sense wickedness in babies,” Cole said slowly.

Willow watched his face, wondering if he’d come to the same conclusion she had.

“Babies who are just lying in their cribs. Babies who aren’t bothering a soul.” Cole rubbed his chin. “But if a Secret Sister provoked one and then forced it into a baby’s crib...”

They looked at each other.

“Who do they work for, these Secret Sisters?” Cole asked.

“The queen,” said Willow.

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