With those resentful thoughts circling in my head, we approach the forge. It is quiet, its embers cold. No smoke comes from its metal chimneys.

“So you’ve seen this key?” the Roach asks, going to a window and wiping away the grime to try to peer through the pane.

“It’s crystal and hanging on the wall,” I say in return, seeing nothing through the cloudy glass. It’s too dark inside for my eyes. “And he’s begun a new sword for Madoc.”

“I wouldn’t mind ruining that before it’s put to my throat,” says Cardan.

“Look for the big one,” I say. “That’ll be it.”

The Roach gives me a frown. I can’t help not having a better description; the last time I saw it, it was barely more than a bar of metal.

“Really big,” I say.

Cardan snorts.

“And we ought to be careful,” I say, thinking of the jeweled spider, of Grimsen’s earrings that can give beauty or steal it. “There are bound to be traps.”

“We’ll go in and out fast,” says the Roach. “But I would feel a lot better if the both of you stayed out and let me be the one to go in.”

When neither of us reply, the goblin squats down to pick the lock on the door. After applying a bit of oil to the joints, they swing open silently.

I follow him inside. The moonlight reflects off the snow in such a way that even my poor, mortal eyes can see around the workshop. A jumble of items—some jeweled, some sharp, all piled up on one another. A collection of swords rests on a hat rack, one with a handle that is coiled like a snake. But there is no mistaking Madoc’s blade. It sits on a table, not yet sharpened or polished, its tang raw. Pale bone-like fragments of root rest beside it, waiting to be carved and fitted into a handle.

I lift the crystal key from the wall gingerly. Cardan stands by me, looking over the array of objects. The Roach crosses the floor toward the sword.

He’s halfway there when a sound like the chime of a clock rings out. High up the wall, two inset doors open, revealing a round hole. All I have time to do before a spray of darts shoots out is point and make a sound of warning.

Cardan steps in front of me, pulling his cloak up. The metal needles glance off the fabric, falling to the floor. For a moment, we stare at each other, wide-eyed. He looks as surprised as I am that he protected me.

Then, from the hole where the darts shot, comes a metal bird. Its beak opens and closes. “Thieves!” it cries. “Thieves! Thieves!”

Outside, I hear shouts.

Then I spot the Roach across the room. His skin has turned pale. He’s about to say something, his face anguished, when he slides to one knee. The darts must have struck him. I rush over. “What was he hit with?” Cardan calls.

“Deathsweet,” I say. Probably plucked from the same patch I found in the woods. “The Bomb can help him. She can make an antidote.”

I hope she can, at least. I hope there’s time.

With surprising ease, Cardan lifts the Roach in his arms. “Tell me this wasn’t your plan,” he pleads. “Tell me.”

“No,” I say. “Of course not. I swear it.”

“Come then,” he says. “My pocket is full of ragwort. We can fly.”

I shake my head.

“Jude,” he warns.

We don’t have time to argue. “Vivi and Taryn are still waiting for me. They won’t know what’s happened. If I don’t go to them, they’ll be caught.”

I can tell he’s not sure if he should believe me, but all he does is shift the Roach so that he can untie his cloak with one hand. “Take this, and do not stop,” he orders, his expression fierce. Then he heads into the night, bearing the Roach in his arms.

I set out for the woods, neither running nor hiding, exactly, but moving swiftly, tying his cloak over my shoulders as I go. I glance back once and see the soldiers swarming around the forge—a few entering Madoc’s tent.

I said I was going straight to Vivi, but I lied. I head for the cave. There’s still time, I tell myself. The incident at the forge is an excellent distraction. If they’re looking for intruders there, they won’t be looking for me here with the Ghost.

My optimism seems borne out as I draw close. The guards aren’t at their posts. Letting out a sigh of relief, I rush inside.

But the Ghost is no longer in chains. He’s not there at all. In his place is Madoc, outfitted in his full suit of armor.

“I’m afraid you’re too late,” he says. “Much too late.”

Then he draws his sword.

Fear steals my breath. Not only do I not have a weapon with the range of his sword, but it’s unimaginable to win in battle against the person who taught me nearly everything I know. And looking at him, I can tell he’s come to fight.

I draw the cloak more closely around me, inexpressibly glad for it. Without it, I would have no chance.

“When did you know it was me and not Taryn?” I ask.

“Later than I ought,” he says conversationally, taking a step toward me. “But I wasn’t looking, was I? No, it was a little thing. Your expression when you saw that map of the isles of Elfhame. Just that and every other thing you’d said and done went slant, and I saw they all belonged to you.”

I am grateful to know he didn’t guess from the start. Whatever he’s planned, he had to do it hastily, at least. “Where’s the Ghost?”

“Garrett,” he corrects, mocking me with part of the Ghost’s true name, the name the Ghost never told me, even when I might have used it to countermand the orders he’d received from Madoc. “Even if you live, you’ll never stop him in time.”

“Whom did you send him after?” My voice shakes a little, imagining Cardan escaping from Madoc’s camp only to be shot in his own palace as he was once almost shot in his own bed.

Madoc’s smile is all sharp teeth and satisfaction, as though I am being taught a lesson. “You’re still loyal to that puppet. Why, Jude? Wouldn’t it be better if he took an arrow through the heart in his own hall? You cannot believe he makes a better High King than I would.”

I look Madoc in the eye, and my mouth makes the words before I can snatch them back. “Maybe I believe that it’s time for Elfhame to be ruled by a queen.”

He laughs at that, a bark of surprise. “You think Cardan will just hand over his power? To you? Mortal child, surely you know better. He exiled you. He reviled you. He will never see you as anything but beneath him.”

It’s nothing I haven’t thought myself, yet his words still fall like blows.

“That boy is your weakness. But worry not,” Madoc continues. “His reign will be short.”

I take some satisfaction in the fact that Cardan was here, under his nose, and that he got away. But everything else is awful. The Ghost is gone. The Roach is poisoned. I’ve made mistakes. Even now, Vivi and Taryn and possibly Heather wait for me across the snow, growing more and more worried the closer dawn creeps to the horizon.

“Surrender, child,” Madoc says, looking as though he feels a little sorry for me. “It’s time to submit to your punishment.”

I take a step backward. My hand goes to my knife on instinct, but fighting him when he is in armor and his weapon has the superior reach is a bad idea.