Page 86 of Of Songs and Silence

“Yes,” one of them murmurs. “She is.”

Fear makes his voice reedy, but there is a question in his tone—something curiously akin to hope. And not one of them has attacked yet. In our many planning conversations, Zaina surmised that Madame would be even more volatile than usual. That even people who are oppressed and terrified reach a point where they have nothing left to lose.

These men are already halfway there. I just need to prod them in the right direction, to persuade them to keep my presence here a secret until morning and to ignore any suspicious activity they may or may not observe in the house. The ship is on the way. If we lose, they can take their families to safety on the boat before she finds them.

If we win, they can be free of her forever. I just need to convince them of that.

Three wraiths slip past the gate while the men keep their rapt attention on me. Giving them a crooked smile, I throw out my hand in a challenge. My favorite challenge, in fact.

“Would you care to wager on it?”

CHAPTERFIFTY-FOUR

ZAINA

When I walked out of Castle Alfhild to meet Damian all those months ago, I knew with an unshakable certainty that I was walking to my death. Yet I managed to face that night with more bravery than I feel right now.

Perhaps the difference is that I have more to lose.

Einar’s words about a future resound in my head, all the things he wants us to have.

A life. A child. The chance to find my family—all of it is so close to being within my grasp.

We just have to get through today first.

Einar moves through the trees on surprisingly stealthy footsteps as I sneak through the courtyard. The balcony I used to share with my sisters looms above me, dark and ominous, like a stormcloud just before a twister touches down.

A lantern shines from the smaller bedroom Damian occupies on the first floor, underneath the balcony. It’s another sign that despite her words, she sees him more like a guard dog than a son. Rather than grant him his own sprawling suites to match ours, she placed him where he could more easily keep an eye on us.

As if we would have dared to sneak away.

I wait until I see a shadow moving behind his window to slowly, silently ascend from his balcony to the one on the floor above. Einar is taking care of the guards around the perimeter, so no one else should be able to spot me.

In theory.It’s a risk, like everything else about this plan.

Instead of going through the main doors of the balcony, I slip to the side to creep through the window that used to be mine. It isn’t locked. It never needed to be. No one would have been brave enough to break in. Nor out.

Everything is just as I remember it, somehow both lavish and empty. In the corner sits the four-poster bed where I sobbed myself to sleep after Madame killed Rose. Where I wasted away night after night, coming in from my missions and my kills and endless nights of using my body as a lure for the victims she gave me.

Where Damian trapped me more than once, stopping just short of the one thing his preciousmothermight not forgive him for.

Will this feel like a victory for him?

On heavy footsteps, I make my way over to the nightstand. An ornate lantern decorates the table. Like everything else in this room, it is pristine. The oil is filled to the brim, the wick freshly cut and ready to be lit.

I expected dust, expected that Madame would let this space turn into a tomb in the year since I left. It’s worse, somehow, the way she has kept it spotless like she is expecting me to come home. To her.

I slide the drawer open to find the comb she would run through my hair when I was a child. Picking it up, I run my fingers along the ivory edges, fighting back the memories that lay siege to me.

You’re so beautiful, my daughter.

I can still feel the sharp spokes digging into my scalp the day she overheard me telling Rose I couldn’t remember what my parents looked like.

I don’t understand why you insist on being such a disappointment, Zaina, when all I’ve ever done is give you everything.

The comb falls to the floor with a clatter, the teeth breaking off and skittering across the polished wood panels.

I hold my breath, fighting down a curse, fighting down the panic. My heart beats an unsteady staccato in my ears, drowning out the sounds I’m straining to hear. In an effort to calm myself, I run my hand along the plush feather mattress, the gilded wooden frame, the carvings I stared at every night, wondering if I’ll ever find a way to forgive Madame for the things she’s done.

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