I don't know how long I remained in bed after waking from the vision. It could have been hours, days, or weeks. In the grips of mana sickness, I knew little of anything aside from the ache in my head and in my bones. Occasionally I thought I heard Peroth's voice or Amoroth's, or felt Lionel's cold nose on my own, but I couldn't be sure. I couldn't be sure of anything aside from the pain, the weakness, and the absolute certainty that if I ever fell into another vision, I wouldn't be waking up again.

I laid upon my back, my hands on my head with my fingers spread upon my brow and forehead kneading the skin. I felt like I'd been laying in place for quite some time, though I was certain I'd eaten something at some point. Groaning, I dragged my hand upward through my hair and judged the texture of the strands against my fingertips. Wet. My hair was wet. I must have showered. 

What I remembered above everything, what I clung to as I waited for the sickness to ease, were the words of the Baal and the echo of my thoughts concerning that stupid book I'd first held in my house in Verweald. The book itself was of little consequence; the legend was what was important. In the puzzle of my delirium, I couldn't yet see the picture of my solution, but I at least had the pieces flipped over and upright. 

Maybe.

"What is broken cannot be remade...." I muttered as I stared at the ceiling and pulled a strand of damp hair between my fingers. The scent of orchids lay heavy in the room, combined with the smell of dust and old parchment. When did I shower? I must be losing my mind.

A soft knock sounded at the door—and before I could turn the person away, it opened. Anzel stepped inside, and the only thing I could say was, "What in the world are you wearing?"

I recognized the dark gray waistcoat as the one he'd received from Gran Vyus. Over it he had on a black, high-collared, knee-length coat tooled in a material so lustrous it rippled like water in the weak lamplight. His hair was gathered at the nape and kept in place by a platinum clasp, and embroidered leaves flew upward from the cusp of his cuffs and hem as if caught in a wayward breeze. 

In a word, the Vytian prince looked quite regal. He was never slovenly, but he typically dressed casually in open linen waistcoats with mud flecked half way to his elbows. Right now, he was every inch the royal he claimed to be.

Anzel arched a brow as he shoved the door closed with his foot. "What am I wearing? Clothes?"

"Why are you here?" 

He came around the end of the bed and dropped a sizable box on the foot of the mattress. With his other hand he proffered a bottle brimming with silver energy.

My eyes narrowed.

"I overhead Sloth and the other one discussing your health." He sat beside me without prompting, fussing with the tightness of his silk cravat as the bottle landed squarely in my limp palm. "I hoped to spare you from your own stubbornness before the damage becomes lasting."

"I'm not stubborn."

Anzel actually laughed at me, holding his fair hand over his mouth as the masculine peals echoed into the empty parlor. "Just drink it, love."

I did drink it, though not because Anzel told me to. I drank it because my head felt like an orange left too long on the branch, ready to split right down the middle. I sputtered and choked as tears stung in my eyes—but I drank the entire infusion without any other complaints. When the horrid burning in my lungs cleared and stole the fog crippling my mind, I set the bottle aside on the end table and looked over the Vytian once more.

"Why are you dressed like you're an extra in a Jane Austen novel?"

He scoffed. "An extra? I'm main lead quality, whether you believe it or not."

I snorted and sat up properly as I rubbed my arms and chest to dispel the phantom pain still lurking in my bones. "That's not an answer." 

"Well, I didn't think you were being serious." He waved a hand toward the outer wall. "It's the solstice, Sara. It's the party."

Which meant it was the twenty-first of December. I had been adrift for longer than I expected. Some visible sign of distress must have been visible on my face, because Anzel reached over and squeezed one of my hands. 

"You're feeling better, aren't you? I wish you had come to me earlier." He colorless eyes flickered and gleamed, calculating and compassionate while never losing their cold edge. "You know, asking others for help isn't a crutch, Sara. It's not something to be afraid of; it's a tool the most innovative thinkers wield with great expertise. I wouldn't have survived this long if not for the help of others, of people like Elias. I don't know what you're struggling with, what issue commands your attention so. You won't tell me, thus I cannot help. Either way, being stubborn has done nothing but you cost you your time and give you pain."

I studied his hand overlapping my own before he removed it, biting the kneejerk retort balanced on the tip of my tongue. He wasn't wrong. I could have gone to Anzel or to Elias and asked for an infusion, but I hadn't wanted to. I didn't want to involve them—but the sickness had lasted for much longer than I'd thought. Weeks. I'd been out for weeks.

Weeks I needed. Weeks I couldn't afford to lose.

"That—." Anzel pointed to the empty bottle. "—is nothing to me. A minimal effort. An afterthought. You aren't indebted to me. You owe me nothing. Don't hesitate in the future to use me again in such a manner when your health is on the line."

I didn't argue—having already drank the ether infusion—but that didn't stop the corner of my lips from twitching with distaste at his word choice. Was that what I was? A user? It felt that way more often than not. I used Darius to exact revenge, used Peroth to give me shelter, used Cage to teach me, and used Anzel to keep myself healthy. Was that not the definition of a user?

"Here."

The box Anzel had brought suddenly landed on my blanketed knees. It was light and malleable, about the size of my torso if I were to hold it flat to my chest. Judging its dimensions, shape, and weight, I guessed it held an article of clothing. I lifted a brow in question and the Vytian only smiled. 

"Open it. Go on."

Sighing, I pried the cardboard lid off to reveal a dress partially hidden in flocked tissue paper. It was a lighter gray than Anzel's waistcoat—silver, almost—but it had the same subtle embroidery and the same cool, watery texture. 

"Anzel...."

"I knew—," he went on before I could finish. "You wouldn't remember the party, or simply wouldn't care. I told you before, it's a time for celebration and it's a time you shouldn't miss. Whatever answers you seek, whatever quest you're on, you'll never find your goal by entombing yourself in this...room."

I pulled the dress free of its confines, pinching it by the neckline as if it were a poisonous snake. There was a pair of heels nestled in the bottom of the box. The garment was dreadfully lovely, something that should be worn by a woman of poise and vivacity—not a tired, dying girl.

Anzel was watching me carefully as I trailed my fingers through the dress's silken folds. It was a sleeveless sheath dress with a high-collar neckline and an ankle-length hem. It was modest but elegant, and the similarities between its design and Anzel's attire weren't lost on me. I wasn't wholly familiar with the styles and designs of the otherworld, but it was safe to assume the dress in my hands screamed Vytian.

Not wishing to insult him, I didn't reject the gift. I let the dress puddle into the box and asked, "Why are you so nice to me?" 

"Nice?" The word seemed to puzzle the man. 

"You go out of your way to do things like this for me—or to teach me or to answer my questions—when I know I'm cold and unfriendly. I'm not particularly talented or clever, and that's not me trying to be modest. It's the truth. I know very little of your world or this world or of magic in general, and I know that ignorance gets on your nerves because you're not a patient man, Anzel. That's another reason I struggle to understand why you're so polite and understanding with me. I'm surprised you simply haven't gotten bored." 

I spoke honestly, and Anzel listened as he observed me, the wild state of my washed hair, and the general mess of the room. He slowly rubbed the base of his jaw and considered his answer with care before taking a breath to speak.

"I find myself...interested in you. Interested in your story, in all those secrets you keep locked up in your eyes. It's not every day a man meets a woman who can bend Sins to her will and I am interested in that. I'm interested in the lies you tell to shove me and others from your life as if trying to spare us from entanglement. You're like a gardener growing rosebushes, but you snip the buds before they bloom and keep only bushels of thorns.

"Aside from that, I've no one else to buy anything for. All my sisters are gone, my lovers long since abandoned. I'm the richest man in Vyus and not simply because of monetary holdings, but because my people refuse to take payment from their dethroned king. It doesn't sit well with me to spend that goodwill upon myself. I prefer to spend it upon others."

I tutted under my breath as I took the dress and heels out of the box and tossed the box aside. It landed somewhere out of sight with a hollow thunk. "There's a literal harem of Aos Sí downstairs who would rip each other's eyes out for you to get them a dress—or a pair of socks."

Anzel pulled a face with clear rejection. "They are exactly as you say: Aos Sí women. I have little interest in them, or in buying them anything." Anzel stood and straightened his coat. As he adjusted his cuffs, I noted the silver rings upon his fingers and the minuscule constructs melded into the metal. An arch of ink was briefly visible on the inside of his wrist before the cuff was drawn over it. 

Beneath all his finery, the Vytian prince was brimming with waiting magic and deadly constructs.

"Come downstairs to the party," he said as he bowed his head and made for the door. "Or don't. Whatever you prefer. I will, however, wait all night to dance with you."

I looked at the dress, then at the Vytian lingering at the threshold. "By getting me this dress, you've guaranteed that I'll go. You know I'd feel too guilty not to."

"Is that so?" He turned and left, but I swore I saw the barest upward tilt of a smirk on the princeling's lips.

I would do well to remember that Anzel Vyus was one of the craftiest men I'd ever met.

It was almost disappointing how well the dress fit. If it hadn't, it would have been an excellent excuse not venture downstairs. The silvery fabric draped, hugged, and hung in the appropriate places, giving the allusion of a figure fuller than the one I possessed. If not for the absence of any magical charge lingering in the dress's silk, I would have said it was spelled.

I would either have to thank the Vytian or punch him in the middle for paying that close of attention to my details.

Tying my damp hair into a loose braid, I glared at myself in the bathroom mirror and traced the black circles under my eyes. I didn't have any makeup, nor did I care what others thought I looked like; I simply thought it a shame such a striking dress was left without any adornment. As ever, I was a pretty girl. Not a beautiful woman.

I closed my hands into fists and averted my gaze from the offending mirror. Killing the lights, I left Darius's rooms and started downstairs. I had only left the first hall when the noise of voices reached my ears. It was so loud I was surprised I hadn't heard it through the walls or the floor.

As I descended, it became apparent that the manor had...changed, altering facets of itself to suit such a large gathering and its design. The change wasn't apparent at first; I continued on the stairs, passing Aos Sí dressed in much gaudier gowns than my own, all painted in gold dust or adorned with gemmed tiaras, and noticed that some of the mid-century hunting lodge décor had been removed. The farther I descended, the more discrepancies I noted until the change was undeniable.

The foyer was nothing like its usual self. It easily enclosed the thirty or so people milling about its sizeable space. Columns draped in ivy stretched upward and enshrined the vast chandelier with its brilliant baubles and molten candles. The herringbone floor was now a glossy black marble, and the macabre paintings had been replaced by vivid landscapes and immaculate portraits.

The party goers seemed to branch in two directions, toward the dining hall and the front entrance. I wasn't particularly hungry despite my previous sickness, so I decided against wandering into the dining room. I hoped fresh air would help clear the lingering hollowness left inside my chest by the sickness, so I walked outside.

I expected a blast of winter's chill to overwhelm me when I crossed the threshold, but the manor's balmy warmth somehow extended beyond its porch. Terraformed gardens of blooming, blue-veined flowers and silver-leafed trees were aligned where pitted bogs and mires had once bordered the graveyard. The gravel and grass had been transformed into aged pavers of brick. A trellis burdened with black roses swooped over the new courtyard. It was strung with round lanterns filled with flames of blue, gold, and green.

I stood at the foot of the steps trying to make sense of where it had all come from. How had Peroth managed all this? All of the changes were old. Moss seeped between the pavers. The planters were grayed by rainwater, and the vines on the trellis were thick and established. It was disorienting but stately. It was the kind of courtyard one would expect to find adjoining an English manor.

The Aos Sí and the other residents of Crow's End were spilled across the landscape in couples or triplets. Most dance around a stone dais where musicians played harps and lutes. Others wandered the thorny hedge maze, the tops of their heads visible against the backdrop of a misty, frozen winter night.

"Sara."

I jumped when Peroth and Amoroth appeared at my side. He was dressed in a black tux with a gold cummerbund that perfectly complemented the summery color of his gilded eyes. In contrast, Amoroth was dressed in a button-down I was fairly certain was Peroth's and a pair of skinny jeans.

"Hey—what the hell! You don't have to get dressed up?" I demanded in a huff. The woman was still far more beautiful than I was and wore more diamonds than I'd ever owned in my entire life. Her chestnut hair was curled and splayed in artful rivers around her fine-boned face while her makeup was impeccable as ever, her lips painted a bloody red.

The woman rolled her eyes as she looped an arm through Peroth's. "My corporate empire is currently crumbling and my host is threatening to dissolve a contract that took forty years of my careful diligence to maintain. Forgive me if I'm not in a celebratory mood."

"Amor," Peroth chided as he patted her hand. He smiled for my benefit, though I noticed the lines about his eyes were tighter than normal. "Forgive her, Sara. You look lovely."

"Thanks."

Amoroth clearly wanted nothing more than to smack Peroth for apologizing for her, but the Sin of Sloth either didn't notice or chose to ignore her venomous glare. "We've somewhere to be. Excuse us—and enjoy the party, will you?"

I nodded as he and the now apoplectic Sin of Lust headed back indoors. I watched them go, and saw Amoroth land a rib-cracking blow with her elbow to Peroth's middle before the two were out of sight.

Chuckling, I gave a half-hearted search for Anzel but didn't spot him among the dancing couples or hedge wanderers. The music was imbued with the sultry, enticing magic of the many Aos Sí waltzing in the courtyard and it beckoned me to dance, but I ignored the power's call and purposefully walked in the other direction.

I had never been one for parties. I preferred my own company or the company of my books and always ended up flitting about the edges of social entanglements such as these. When I was younger, I had only been invited to parties to because I was Tara's sister. Tara had been the highlight of any gathering. She would have strolled right into the thick of the faeries, would have picked any of the men who caught her eye, and would have danced to her heart's content.

I wondered if she'd ever grown tired of carting me around like an unwieldly appendage. She'd tried to immerse me in her scene, had tried to introduce to her people, and what few boyfriends I'd had in my past had been friends of hers—but Tara and I had been two different people from two different worlds. Tara failed to mold me into someone sociable, and I'd failed Tara.

Nothing I can do about it now, I thought as I pried my hands apart so I'd stop wringing them. I smoothed the front of my dress and took a breath to calm my nerves. Tara's gone. In that, too, I failed her.

I came to an area separated from the main courtyard by a wall of lattice insulated with evergreen ivy. There were benches interspersed throughout the space beneath a collection of rusted iron lamps. The air was cooler, a paltry winter breeze managing to break through the manor's omniscient heat. I lifted my face and savored the cold air and its refreshing touch.

There were three people that I could see, two of them huddled together in a halo of lamplight while the third sat on the nearest bench, half hidden by the displacement of shadows. The man on the bench was staring at me as he softly hummed to himself.

"Cage?" I questioned as I came nearer, unsure if my eyes were deceiving me—but it was the black mage. He was dressed in his black duffle coat with the steely-blue lining, and the silver ribbon was still fastened securely about his throat. "W-what are you doing here?"

"Apprentice!" the mage greeted with a beaming smile as he rose to his feet and dipped into a small bow. I approached, and finally noted the presence of large shackles looped about his wrists. They dripped chains of iron to his feet. Each coil of the chains shimmered with incandescent runes painstakingly carved upon every link.

The two on the ground were a man and a woman, both ragged and bone-thin, and they trembled when Cage hopped to his feet. I gathered that if the fetters about their ankles hadn't pinned them in place, they would have been as far from Cage as they could get.

"What's going on?" I asked as I gestured to his restraints. My instructor lifted his arms and allowed the chains to rattle together in an ominous chorus.

"I told you, Sara, I was only in Crow's End awaiting my execution." He sat again and adjusted his bonds. "My grim-faced retinue has come at last to escort me off to Blue-Iron. About time, too. I almost thought they'd forgotten about me."

I lowered my gaze to the pavers beneath his booted feet. Of course, I'd known Cage was imprisoned and facing punishment by his fellow mages. Taking instruction from the man through a wall of iron bars had reinforced that fact every time I'd gone for lessons—but I hadn't considered I would witness his departure. I'd honestly thought I would have been dead by then.

"Such a tragic face for me. I'm touched."

I frowned as I lifted my head and Cage continued to smile as if he wasn't decked in chains. He was always frightfully optimistic. It was difficult to tell when he was being serious. "Is there anything I can do? Anything I can say on your behalf to ask for lenience?"

The mage snickered and the two on the ground moaned in terror. I looked at them, confused, and almost jumped out of my skin when Cage popped up again and stood only feet away. There wasn't a wall of iron between us now. He wasn't very tall, but he was physically larger than I was. It was intimidating and I wasn't sure why.

"Oh no, my apprentice. I've killed someone far too dear to the Blue-Fire bigots to ever be granted leniency. But don't condemn me to my pyre just yet. It's not over until the fire's burnt out and the ashes are scattered."

Cage's smile withered into a bitter grimace as he looked past me to the moors beyond. The courtyard continued for several more yards, then seemed to...dissolve into the bog, dissipating into the waiting winter winds and white frost. The faeries continued to dance and sing, and those lanterns shone like distant stars calling me to return.

"This is quite fortuitous, actually. I had hoped to speak with you before I was shipped off. I have one last lesson I wish to teach, my apprentice."

Cage grabbed my hand before I had the sense to move. I sucked in an alarmed breath as the mage squeezed my palm to his and I felt the rough texture of his brand against my own skin. The arcane whisper of mage energy thrummed inside his muscles and flesh, waiting to be unleashed.

"Cage—!"

He eyes were fixed on mine with unnerving stillness. They were bronze with deeper striations of brown, black, and slender highlights of hazel—but all that warm color was receding as red and orange and bursts of scarlet dominated the normal hues. A cruel smile of sharp teeth peeked between his parted lips.

I knew those eyes. They were like dying suns about to implode and devour worlds.

Cage released me. I stumbled as I stepped back and knees weakened. "You're—!"

"You have much to learn about being shadeborn. Much to learn, and much to understand." His voice had deepened, and his tongue lingered upon different syllables. It wasn't Cage. It couldn't be Cage. "You've sought answers in the magic of your forebears when you should consider the skills only you possess. You have sin in your soul, in your heart, and in your mind. Remember that, Sara Gaspard."

I was shaking. The titan's eyes dimmed and Cage's returned. The black mage shrugged off the Baal's possession and began to laugh.