I tried to blink, tried to move my arms, but nothing happened.

I focused my gaze, willing my indolent body to respond, concentrating on lifting a finger, wiggling a toe. Winking an eye.

The water around me pushed me first one way, and then pulled me the other. I moved in and I moved out, yielding to the force of the tide.

Panic welled inside me as I realized I was a prisoner. Trapped inside a vessel no longer my own.

Buried alive.

I shot upright, gasping and blinking furiously.

Blink. I could blink.

And I could breathe and move and wiggle my toes.

It was only a dream, but my shoulders dropped as I let the terror of the nightmare subside, like the rippling waters of a wave.

I’d never seen the surf before, yet the memory was so real that I knew, in that moment, exactly what it would feel like, exactly how it would smell—the briny tang of salt lingering in the air.

It wasn’t my memory, I realized, easing back against my pillow, which was damp with sweat.

She was there, always inside me. Always trying to find a way out.

This had been Sabara’s dream. Her nightmare.

And just like before, with the mirror, and with her ability to speak to me during my waking hours, she was evolving. Before, she’d only been able to find her voice while I was sleeping; she’d only been able to speak to me in my dreams.

Now, I was having her dreams. Sharing her memories.

She was gone for the moment. I knew because of the silence in my head.

And I needed to find a way to keep it that way.

ix

“What is this place?” I twisted in my seat, my breath steaming the cool glass as the scenery outside changed, morphing into something more savage and bleak than the landscapes we’d left behind.

Across from me, on the other side of the elaborate spread of warm muffins and fresh jams, juices and brewed teas, sliced berries and stewed meats, I saw Brook shake her head, confusion evident as she held a biscuit halfway to her mouth. She turned to stare out too. I knew she hadn’t slept, that she’d stayed out of our sleeping car until the early hours of the morning. Even if I hadn’t been awake, I would’ve known from the dark smudges beneath her eyes.

“It’s the Scablands.” Zafir’s voice was flat when he answered.

I stared off into the distance, to where scrubby gray shrubs sprang up from the dry black earth, but only here and there, making them look like a pox on the landscape rather than a part of the scenery. I saw nothing that suggested life out there would be easy—no water, no trees, and no vegetation, save the spare, sticklike bushes. There were no roads in sight. No signs of civilization whatsoever.

As I contemplated the name, the Scablands, I wondered what I’d expected.

The word “wasteland” came to mind, but to me, wasteland conjured images of flat, desertlike barrenness. And this was anything but flat. I took in the jagged peaks, which seemed to force their way up from the ground, like fat, broken tree trunks, black and dead and fossilized. They were tall and packed together, creating a mountainous forest that looked nothing less than intimidating. Deadly, even.

I guess what I really hadn’t expected was for the train lines to run so close to this remote area.

“Where are all the people?” My breath fogged the window even more.

“There are settlement camps farther east, but building isn’t permitted this close to the railways,” Zafir explained patiently. He poured steaming black coffee into his cup and drank without waiting for it to cool.

I glanced at Brook, and was certain she was just as appalled as I was at the idea of living all the way out here, so close to the northern border, segregated from society. “Why not?”

“The purpose of being sent to the Scablands is to live in isolation.”

“What about supplies?” I was surprised that I’d never posed these questions before, that I’d never pondered the living conditions of the criminals who were no longer permitted to live in Ludanian society. I wondered what else I’d neglected to consider. What other populations I’d ignored.

Zafir didn’t seem to share my concerns. “Being sent to the Scablands is a punishment, not a reward. Everything is meant to be more difficult, including commerce. They trade the same way everyone else does, they just have to travel farther and through more perilous terrain.”

I thought about that as I glanced out at the colorless landscape, feeling something sick twist my gut. “What about the children? There are children, aren’t there? How are their needs met? How are they housed? Schooled? What about medical care? They’re not all convicts, Zafir.” I looked up at him earnestly, wanting him to allay my worries, but knowing he wouldn’t lie simply to appease me.

“Your Majesty,” he started, and my stomach sank over what might follow. He sighed, and I could feel his patience slipping. “These are lawbreakers, and if they’re not, if they were simply born to the parents of criminals, then it’s their choice to remain here. There’s no law that states they have to stay once they reach the age of consent. Don’t feel sorry for them; this is the life they’ve chosen . . . either by actions or by will.”

I didn’t like his answer, but I knew he was right. There had to be a place to send those who’d committed crimes. There had to be consequences and punishments, especially in light of the fact that I’d abolished the gallows. Still, I worried about those who lived out here. They were still my people, still citizens of Ludania.

Aron and Sebastian joined us then, and I had to bite my lip over the eager expression on Sebastian’s face. His eyes lit up when they fell on Brooklynn, even though, as always, she seemed oblivious to the stable master’s attentions.