Page 121 of Queen of War and Ruin

And he is getting under my skin. Fuck.

I exhale slowly, then glance over my shoulder. The ballroom windows glow golden over the garden wall. The music has stopped. Now, the soft night air is filled with the dull, distant roar of applause.

Malrik must be giving a speech. Lovely.

I picture her there, in that beautiful dress, under the glow of the crystal chandeliers. The most gorgeous woman in the kingdom. With Petrys by her side, for some legitimate reason, apparently, and the gods only know how he pulled that off. My brother can work fucking miracles.

My shoulders start to relax. Lilias was right, of course. She needs to be seen at the ball, so no one will have any reason to come looking for her. She’s brilliant, realizing that when Petrys and I didn’t. My chest still feels tight; I force myself to take another long, slow breath. She’s going to be fine. They’re both going to be fine.

They have to be. Or I will tear this entire palace to the ground.

“I gave them half an hour,” I tell Gerard. “Then I go back for them.”

“Them?” Gerard repeats. “How many people know about this secret plan? And how long ago was this?”

“Fuck you,” I snap.

“I’d sooner stick my dick in a⁠—”

His voice cuts off as the night fills with a low, sickening roar. The ground under my feet trembles.

And the air fills with screaming. It’s louder than the music from the victory ball. Much louder.

Gerard’s eyes meet mine as he pulls his dagger from its sheath.

“Where are they?” he demands.

“Follow me,” I reply.

And I spin on my heel and race toward the screams.

Chapter 62

Lilias

VARITAN’S MAGIC

Another window shatters, adding the sound of breaking glass to the cacophony surrounding us. The broken fragments of the window catch the light, shining like falling stars. I stare at them, only dimly aware of the crush of bodies all around us, the screaming and the sobbing. Petrys drags me backward.

“What is this?” he shouts.

Someone starts to laugh. I spin around and see a beautiful woman in a burgundy dress gasping with laughter as tears stream down her face.

“What the fuck is happening?” Petrys demands.

I stare at the woman in red, then at the crowd pushing open the doors of the ballroom as crystals fall from the chandeliers.

And then, slowly, as my gut turns and my throat pulls tight, I turn toward the dais.

King Malrik’s son Jak stands at the edge of the raised platform, his face almost as pale as the marble columns behind him. He’s staring at the emptiness in front of the dais, the gaping hole that was once the ballroom dance floor.

The hole that just swallowed a woman.

As I stare into that inky darkness, I swear I see something else. That it’s not just darkness inside the hole in the world.

No, it’s moving.

Tiny, dark tendrils creep through the air, rising to dance before the dais, like the first fingers of smoke from a fire. Or the gentle, grasping curls of the pea vines, reaching out for the garden stakes.