Emeline remembered Claw’s last words to Hawthorne.
You will not live long, Tithe Collector. I’ve seen it: my mistress’s curse will swallow the King’s City and everything in it.
“Hawthorne says the curse is poisoning the woods.”
Turning away from the skulls, Grace nodded as she led Emeline back through the crypt.
“The curse has three parts,” she explained. “The first is theStain. It’s rotting the woods from the inside out, gaining more ground every day, spreading its poison closer to the King’s City.
“With the Stain comes the shadow skins. Every week, there’s another attack in the woods, and more are crossing the tree line, wreaking havoc on Edgewood and the other borderlands. Feeding on people’s fears before feasting on their flesh.
“But worst of all: the curse turns everything back to its true form.”
Emeline jerked her eyes to Grace’s face, illuminated by the flame of the torch. “What does that mean? And why is it the worst?”
Grace nodded as if she, too, had once needed to have it explained to her.
“A shiftling, for example, has two forms. Rooke, Nettle, Sable … you know them as one thing. As human, or at least humanlike.But that’s not what they really are. Every day, the curse forces more and more of them into their true forms permanently,preventing them from ever turning back. Every month, the city grows emptier as the curse gets stronger.”
When they arrived at the door they’d come in through, Grace turned to Emeline.
“This is why you can’t be the king’s minstrel.” Grace’s eyes were bright, almost feverish in the light of the orange flame. “The curse grows more powerful every day. You need to escape this place before it devours us. You’re in too much danger here.”
Emeline’s brows lifted. “And you’re not?”
That small frown appeared on Grace’s forehead. “I—”
Whatever she was about to say was cut off by the crypt door swinging open.
They both jumped back, hearts hammering.
On the other side stood Sable, her eyes luminous in the dim light. “There you are.” Her lean shoulders sagged with relief at the sight of Grace. “I’ve been looking—”
At the sight of Emeline, though, Sable stiffened and stepped back.
“Emeline,” said Grace, “this is Sable. Sable, Emeline.”
Emeline nodded. “We’ve met.”
Grace glanced to Sable, her eyes darkening with confusion. Her mouth hardened into a line as a bright emotion flickered across her face. “You’ve met?”
Sable’s lips parted, as if to speak, but Grace cut her off, speaking once more to Emeline.
“Listen.” She handed her torch to Sable, then held the door open for Emeline to pass through. “There’s a pub in the city called The Acorn. Sable and I and a few others go every Friday night.” As Sable replaced the torch in its sconce, Grace and Emeline started up the steps. “Meet me there at sunset on Friday, okay? We can make a plan.”
“Sure,” said Emeline, despite the fact that she was going nowhere until her grandfather was safely out of the Wood King’s clutches.
“We’ll find a way to get you home.” At the top of the stairs, Grace paused, waiting for the golden-eyed shiftling trudging up the steps behind them. “Ready?”
Sable nodded.
To Emeline, Grace said, “See you Friday. Try to stay alive until then, okay?”
The two girls walked away, in the opposite direction of the ballroom, their hushed argument echoing back to Emeline: Grace’s raised voice, followed by Sable’s curt answers.
“You didn’t think I’d want to know?”
“I only found out last night.”
