Slowly, she turned around. But the thing waiting for her wasn’t a shadow; it was a horse. Her black coat gleamed in the moonlight and her eyes glowed like the twisting flames of a fire. The ember mare flicked her ears, staring at Emeline.
“Lament,” she breathed.
At the sound of her name, the horse started forward. Emeline reached her arms around Lament’s neck, pressing her cheek to that warm, soft coat.
“Can you take me to the city?”
Lamentwhuffedinto her hair. As if to say,Get on.
THE ONCE-WHITE WALLS SURROUNDINGthe King’s City were cracked and blackened with mold. At the entrance, the copper gate twisted back on its hinges like a broken rib cage.
Emeline shivered as Lament took them through.
The streets beyond were dark and lifeless. A thin sheet of graydust—like crumbled leaves—caked the cobbles. No hedgemen marched. No faces peeked out of windows.
The city was empty.
Emeline nudged Lament into a gallop.
They rode straight to Grace and Sable’s house. At the entrance, Emeline slowed the ember mare, then slid down her warm back. The gate was open, and the sight of the broken latch sent a chill creeping across Emeline’s skin.
Emeline didn’t bring Lament to the stable. She didn’t want the horse trapped, in case any shadow skins lurked nearby.
The night pressed in close as she warily approached the silent house. Lament watched, ears flicking nervously. No plume of smoke issued out of the chimney, and the once-beautiful willow in the yard was white and withered with rot. Taking the dust-covered steps quickly, Emeline knocked on the door. When no one answered, she reached for the crystal knob and turned, only to find it locked.
“Grace!”
No one answered.
She banged, her panic rising.
“It’s me! Emeline!”
She was about to bang again when chains clinked from inside and a bolt slid open.
When the door swung in, Emeline relaxed—only to feel the cold, honed tip of a sword pressed to her throat.
At the other end of the shimmering blade stood Grace, both hands clutching the pommel. Her thick black curls were a tangled cloud around her head, and her eyes were dark hollows.
“Move,” she said, “and I’ll kill you.”
FORTY-ONE
EMELINE GULPED, RAISED BOTHhands, and stepped back. Wondering if the curse had somehow poisoned Grace too.
“Hasn’t she learned by now?” Grace’s voice was rough with fury. “I keep killing you, and you keep coming back, pretending to be people I love.”
She thinks I’m a shadow skin.
“You can’t trick me,” Grace said bitterly. “Everyone I love is gone.”
“Grace …”
“Don’t speak!” Grace hissed, coming forward, onto the step. The steel of her blade pressed harder into Emeline’s skin.
How do I prove I’m me?
She contemplated the glimmering steel, remembering the times she’d watched a shadow skin die, the way they dissolved like smoke. If Grace killed her, Emeline wouldn’t dissolve. She would fall dead to the ground, her blood seeping into the dust-covered earth.
