“It’s me, Jules.” When he still looks confused, I smile and point to my front teeth. “See? Told you they’d grow back.” For a full four months he called me Gofer, after both of my front teeth fell out at the same time.

His face changes. When he smiles, it’s like a lantern goes on beneath his skin. As he puts his arms around me, I’m enveloped in the familiar scent of metal and smoke.

“You’re working the new forge.” I pull back to look at him. He’s massive, a foot taller than me now, but his face is the same, handsome and earnest. “I don’t believe it—it’s been so long!” The words bubble out of me and I find myself laughing. “How are you? Are you in charge now? Are Etta and Merril still here too?”

But Tam smiles sadly and makes a strange gesture, touching the fingers of one hand in front of his lips and then drawing his hand away. He shakes his head and repeats the gesture, and I understand: he cannot speak.

My joy dissolves in an instant. “What happened?” I blurt out, but he can’t answer. We stare at each other, lost, and I feel something unraveling in me. Images flash through my eyes of Tam and Roan in one of their playacted fights, chasing each other with wooden swords all over Everless.

Tam reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. I understand he’s trying to say it’s good to see you. But even though he smiles, his eyes are full of emotion, his lips shut tight.

“I’ll come back,” I say lamely. Suddenly my heart is beating in my chest like a moth against a lit windowpane.

He squeezes my shoulder again and then, with a smile, takes my letters. I’d almost forgotten them. He turns his broad back to me and without another word, I retreat to the kitchen.

What happened, I wonder, to my old friend?

In the kitchen, a line of servants covered in flour knead dough furiously, as if the Queen herself were watching. I’m on my way to join them when Lora catches my arm.

“I need you to hurry down to the root cellar,” she says. “Fetch me as many onions as you can carry in a basket.”

I stare at her. I’ve already filled the pantry here with coils of onions and thick ropes of garlic, more than she could possibly need. I nod, but linger.

“There’s a boy in the stables who doesn’t speak,” I say, careful to keep my voice casual. “What happened to him?”

“Oh. Tam.” Lora’s smile slips from her face as she turns out a round of dough and begins whacking it, which is how I know I’ve misstepped—it’s only when she’s upset that she seizes work herself, rather than ordering one of us to do it. “Poor boy. He . . .” She trails off, suddenly looking much older. “He insulted the young captain and lost his tongue for it. He’ll do no such thing again.”

A chill shoots down my spine as I think of Ivan’s cold eyes, the steel of his blade. I knew he was cruel, but this is beyond anything I imagined, and I feel a rush of hatred for him.

Lora glares at the dough as though it’s Ivan. “Now mind your own business,” she tells me, in the sharpest tone I’ve heard her use, “and your business will mind you.”

Before I can beg her for more information, the boy who was so afraid to bring the dinner tray to Lady Sida careens into the kitchen, dodging cooks, and skids to a halt before us.

“Hinton Carstairs,” Lora says sternly. “Slow down.”

“A messenger just came for Lord Gerling.” He pants, red-faced. “The Queen’s company will be here soon!” He’s practically squeaking now. “The Queen is coming!”

One of the boys drops a rolling pin, while a girl clutches her chest with a floured hand, gasping. Even though I usually feel little for the Queen, my skin tingles at the thought of seeing the woman who led Sempera to victory against conquest and has ruled for hundreds of years since—a woman who’s said to be blessed by the Sorceress herself, even to have walked by her side.

Lady Sida’s words curdle my thoughts: I say she eats their hearts to stay young.

I shiver. Ridiculous.

“Yes, yes, we know the Queen is coming,” Lora mutters, shooting a reprimanding look at the flustered kitchen staff. Then she takes Hinton’s shoulder. “How long?”

“An hour,” Hinton says, still breathing hard. “Maybe less.”

Around us, the kitchen erupts into chatter. But Lora scowls deeply. She releases Hinton and turns to me.

“Root cellar,” she says. “Now.”

“But . . .” I begin.

“Do it,” she snaps, and I’m not sorry to have an excuse to leave the kitchen: there’s a new, frenetic energy in the air that makes me uneasy.

The cool air on my face as I descend into the cellars is a relief after the sweltering kitchen, but the darkness and closeness of these subterranean halls puts me on edge. Or maybe it’s just that they’re deserted, when I’ve become accustomed to the press of servants around me all day and night. I take a torch from the wall and hold it above me for light.

I turn into the root cellar and move past the barrels of apples with their faint, sour smell. There’s something where it shouldn’t be, something new—a dark mass in the corner. I step forward and the weak, flickering light reveals the figure of a man huddled on the dirt floor, shivering in an old cloak. Even before my eyes adjust, I know him.

“Papa.” My voice comes out as a whisper as he staggers to his feet, gripping a shelf for support. I rush to him and tuck an arm around his waist, holding him upright. He looks terrible—pale and gaunt, his face smeared with dirt and his eyes hollow. I can feel his ribs beneath his cloak. “How— Why— What on earth are you doing here?”

He laughs, the sound a gentle rumble in his chest, and instantly begins coughing. “I had to see you.”

“You shouldn’t be at Everless, Papa.” He is thin, so thin.

“That didn’t stop you,” he says. In spite of its weakness, his voice is still teasing. My smile is fleeting and tight—desperate.

“I was a child then. No one knows my face. How could you—Who knows what will happen if a Gerling sees you? You said—”

“No one will see me,” he says, and even his words carry the exhaustion of his journey. “I convinced a wheat farmer to let me hide in his cart. I won’t be here long.”

“You could have sent me a message, Papa. I’d have come home straightaway.” The thought of him trudging along the side of the road for the entire day, stooped with exhaustion, makes me sick with guilt.

He’s smiling, but there’s an expression behind his eyes I don’t understand. “I couldn’t wait for a messenger, or trust one.” He brings a hand to my face. His fingers are very cold. “Jules. My practical girl. I’m telling you again: you must come home.”

“Papa, it’s all right,” I say numbly. Already my mind is buzzing with plans to get him back to the village. I can rent a cart with the blood-iron in my purse. Lora knew who Papa was—so she’ll know what a risk he’s taking being here. I can’t ask her to help, but perhaps I can pay Hinton to take him, or Tam. “Just a few weeks more and we won’t need to worry about paying our rent for months. Don’t you see? It’s all going to be fine. No one knows me.”