Frederick had carried out the decision to betray his wife, and now that it was done, he realized he'd made the wrong decision. One that could never be undone.

With Arabella and her court captured, Saebane had few tasks remaining at Carnelia. He took a small group of Rycard's resurrected mortals and descended upon the Carnelian Empire. Frederick could not help the overwhelming guilt that suffocated him as sounds of war erupted from the city.

Then abruptly stopped.

Urnald and Rycard set about the task of emptying Arabella's castle of anything of value while they waited for Saebane to return. Soldiers from Thescan and Hendlemark, newly aligned and under Saebane's direction, took whatever treasures they could find. The morbid art. The silverware. Fabrics. Contraptions. Weapons and more weapons.

As they set about their work, they fast discovered that they were running out of time. The castle was already disintegrating with no Errand to thrum through its stones. The remaining barbicans crumbled and fell, its structure coming undone as it succumbed to rubble and ash. The rest of the castle faded piece by piece within the hour, nothing but a pile of stones remaining as if it had been destroyed for millenniums.

Frederick's newfound home. Gone. Soldiers desperately overturning rocks like vultures picking at a corpse. He felt a sense of loss as he viewed the pieces that once held Arabella's history become no more.

As if she never existed.

Saebane returned with word that most of the Carnelian inhabitants had vanished, their prized belongings leaving with them. Only the most loyal had remained behind to fight, and all of them had successfully been subdued and taken to Thescan—the new middle ground that would serve as the stronghold between Hendlemark and the Carnelian ruins.

Frederick hid his relief in knowing that most of Arabella's subjects had escaped, but those who remained would surely suffer for it now. He had yet to learn of what had become of Gheorge and Viscon, but he would find out soon enough. Knowing that whatever they were about to be subjected to was likely so abhorrent that he couldn't stand to fathom it ...

He foolishly began to believe that the worst of this nightmare had come to pass. That he could now turn his focus to finding and freeing Arabella.

When Saebane declared his intention to go to the Spiderweb.

Saebane mystically conjured Viscon and Gheorge and commanded them to take them to Arabella's prison. Unable to resist his magic, they vanished and took them to the small above-ground structure that led to the most abhorrent criminals in all the Star.

Saebane's mouth split into a grin. "It truly exists. I almost didn't believe it. Are the beings that are held here really terrifying?"

Urnald looked to Frederick for the answer, but Frederick shook his head. "I advise you to exercise caution before dealing with them. They're here for a reason."

"Yes, well, they'll be given two options," Saebane said. "They can swear to serve me, or they can choose to die by my hand. I don't mind either way."

"They won't be easy to find," Frederick continued. "When I first arrived, the dungeon turned into a maze, and there was no way to get out. The enchantment that holds them there might trap us also."

Saebane shrugged, the spikes on his shoulder glinting. "No matter. I can see through any enchantment. So let's head in, shall we?"

They made the descent into the dark, the lime flames lighting their way to the antechamber full of torture apparatus. Rycard and Urnald paused to examine the devices that lined the walls.

"Barbaric," Urnald said.

"Such unusual instruments," Rycard agreed.

Saebane cast an eye over all of them and gave a nod of approval. "Yes. She's always had such exquisite taste in matters of pain. We will take them all with us. For now, we go onward. I sense many beings in here. One of you needs to tell me how many."

Viscon's lips thinned.

Gheorge crossed his arms. "Two hundred and thirty-seven."

"And the age of your oldest prisoner?" Saebane asked.

Again, Viscon said nothing, so Gheorge replied, "Over a thousand years old."

"And he is the strongest prisoner?"

"No."

Saebane turned to address them further. "Well, don't keep me in suspense. Who is the strongest here?"

"Drognese. Rathmore," Viscon said through his teeth, causing the hair on the back of Frederick's neck to rise. "Do not bother with that prisoner. He is an abomination. Do what you want with the others but kill Rathmore at once. He's fit for nothing but the grave."

"So, the misshapen creature can speak," Saebane said. "I did wonder if you were capable of it." Viscon raised his chin, and Saebane's expression soured with displeasure. "You know, I can't much stand the sight of you. We'll have to do something about that later." With a dismissive gesture, Saebane made Viscon disappear, leaving Gheorge behind. "Continue."

Gheorge and Frederick's eyes met for a vicious second but the vampyre continued into the dungeon, leading the way. "There are prisoners everywhere. Are you to retrieve them one by one?"

Saebane halted, and all of them ceased at his sides. He closed his eyes as if centering himself, and when they opened they glowed with that glacial blue.

The same blue that powered Tessande's magic.

They could be the same type of creature, Frederick realized.

The key to understanding Saebane might have been asking more questions about Tessande. Frederick had been a fool not to push for information. But both Arabella and Gheorge had said that she couldn't be defeated.

Surely there was a way. All Frederick had to do now was discover it.

"This isn't a maze," Saebane muttered, "it's a lock. Many mechanisms and bolts. Old magic. So many places that must be picked apart."

Stone scraped against stone, some invisible force prying their surroundings apart. Hisses and whispers sounded in response, and horrid wails of desperation followed.

Saebane panted and raised both his arms. Walls shifted like sand and parted, revealing a long strip of black passageway. Doors etched themselves along the sides, each of them nearly as dark as the stone and near indiscernible under the torchlight. With a broad gesture that seemed to take much from Saebane, he jerked back. The churn of mechanisms creaked all around them.

Every cell door flew open at once.

The light evaporated from Saebane's eyes, and he gave a soft grunt as he rolled his temples with his gloved fingertips.

"Are you all right?" Rycard asked.

Saebane's lip twitched. "Fine. Just fine."

Comprehension culminated within Frederick's mind: Saebane was near exerted. Saebane could be exerted.

The sorcerer sighed and folded his arms, his eyes flickering with ice as he said: "Everyone. Out."

Steps echoed all around them, and figures emerged beyond the doors, forming a line as far as the eye could see.

A small army of depraved monsters.

They stared at the men who had summoned them, many of their heads cocked in that predatory way that reminded Frederick these were not people. These were vampyres. All of them could have the strength of thrice to twenty times of a mortal soldier. And if even one of them were unleashed, they would struggle to make it out alive.

If all of them were released ...

"Such patience," Saebane said quietly. "Such obedience. Power for the taking. I was right to come here."

"Saebane," Rycard said unsteadily. "Are you sure about this?"

"I've never been so sure about anything." Saebane strolled into the hall, pacing among both columns of prisoners. "Which one of you goes by the name of Ledromas?"

Ledromas. Frederick knew that name. Heard Tessande say it.

A figure distinguished themself from the line, too far to discern any of his features. "I am Ledromas," he called.

Saebane's grin was a slash of bone in the darkness. "You're owed and thus expected. Please give your mate my thanks and regards."

The vampyre disappeared from the line, and Frederick stared at the space he left.

Mate. Tessande had been warring with Arabella for the release and return of her mate. Two diabolical beings reunited. Arabella would be infuriated when she found out.

Please give your mate my thanks and regards.

Tessande was in league with this sorcerer?

"You have two choices," Saebane announced to the rest. "Side with me. Work for me. Pledge your loyalty to me. Or die. Make your decision quickly."

Many of them lowered to their knees. Many. But not all. The rest remained standing, defiance in the faces of some and a lack of comprehension in others.

Saebane raised his hands, breathing hard as he concentrated. Items shimmered in the air, quickly followed by the sound of thumps on the stone.

Frederick stepped closer to see what had happened. Where the lines were now interrupted, a corpse lay, blood spurting from the neck, their heads a distance away ...

"There are oaths that must be sworn to me in exchange for getting your lives back," Saebane continued. "You pledge the oath, your chains come off. For now, you are free to rise and wait until I've obtained your pledge."

Murmuring echoed down the path, ambivalent expressions on many faces.

"We're free," one of them rasped.

"Free?"

"Pray, sir," said one of the closest vampyres. "Might we know the name of our liberator?"

Rycard stepped forward. "From now on, you submit to and swear your allegiance to Saebane."

His name echoed off their lips like a prayer.

Some rose to their feet and applauded. Others fell to the ground and wept. The rest viewed Saebane with an eerie admiration that turned Frederick's blood cold. His name became a chant—a pulse drumming through the stone and earth.

What had they done?

"Frederick, I really must thank you," Saebane said, facing him slowly. "If not for your detailed notes, I would have never known that such a place existed. You are proving invaluable to me, and I will ensure that your part in this will be remembered for centuries to come. Without you, the Widow Queen would have never fallen, and these vampyres would never be free."

Gheorge glanced back at Frederick, undisguised hatred on his face. "Yes, well done, Freddie."

Shame shot through Frederick sure and true. The worst to come had not yet occurred, and what would happen next would be his fault alone.

Something fearsome stole over Saebane's face. "Your disrespect against His Majesty will be dealt with, of course," and with a sweep of his hand, Gheorge disappeared.

Frederick concentrated on the space Gheorge vanished in silence, sickness churning his gut as he entertained the horrors Gheorge would be forced to meet under Saebane's rule. Gheorge had been a mentor. A friend. A place of laughter for him to turn to when he needed it most. "Saebane, I—"

He waited for Frederick to finish, and when he didn't, he tucked his hands into his pockets. "Say what's on your mind."

"How do you know that this is right?" Frederick asked, hating that his voice was breaking. "How do you know that these prisoners don't deserve to be here. The crimes they're rumored to have committed, the risk ... How can you be sure they didn't do the things they've been imprisoned for?"

"They've all committed the crimes they've been imprisoned for," Saebane replied easily. "Of that, I'm sure. I'm counting on it, really. Arabella wouldn't keep them in this collection of hers if they hadn't."

Tightness wound in Frederick's throat, a chill creeping over his skin. "But how does she know that for certain?"

He raised a brow. "Through the blood, of course. How else would she know if they've deserved it?"

"Through the—" Frederick inhaled for calm, hoping it was dark enough to hide the horror that must be manifesting on his face. "What do you mean?"

"You mean you don't know?" Amusement gleamed in his dark eyes. "She can harness the memories of others by drinking from the vein. She would have sipped from each of these prisoners before agreeing to take them to this place."

The ground from beneath Frederick seemed to shift and sink, and he wondered if Saebane was using his magic again to make him violently ill. "She can see memories of others by drinking their blood?"

"Only if she drinks it straight from the flesh. I'm surprised she never told you. For surely she drank directly from you?"

She did. Many times. She would have seen his memories which meant ...

He was going to throw up.

He was going to throw up.

He was going to throw up.

He was going to stab himself and he didn't need a curse to do it.

Arabella had known his every thought from the day he married her. His every plan. All his motives. His lies.

Everything.

She'd known all along who he really was and what he wanted, and yet she'd let him destroy her anyway.

Gheorge ...

Viscon ...

Errand ...

Her.

Frederick betrayed them all.

"That ring you wear," Saebane murmured. "Where did you get it?"

Frederick swallowed, the lump in his throat too thick to speak around. He glanced down at his hand, Staff glinting dully under the muted light. "It is my wedding ring."

"And you're not ready to take it off?"

Urnald shot Frederick a warning glance, but he ignored it. "I plan on keeping it."

"I wouldn't dream of taking it from you," Saebane said softly. "I just want to know—is it mystically enforced?"

"I'm not sure what you mean?"

"Does it do anything?"

"It stays on my finger." Where he swore to Arabella it would stay.

Saebane assessed him in a long, tense silence, seeming to dismiss the matter between them. "Yes, well, I'm sure you're dying to reunite as a family," he said, his eyes falling to the ring once more. "Thank you for your help, gentlemen. I'll see you back in Thescan."

#

For the first time in his life, Frederick was far too ashamed to be back in Thescan.

Even after his defeat in the battle against Hendlemark, he was still somehow able to hold his head up. This time he ensured to make no eye contact with any soldiers or servants as he followed closely at his father's side, concentrating on the patterns of the rugs beneath his boots.

"It will be all right," Urnald said. "You'll see for yourself, Frederick. You've done the right thing."

He said nothing to Urnald, wanting to believe that his betrayal would be justified in some way but knew that it wouldn't be. It couldn't be.

Even with his sister resurrected, his kingdom won, and the Gentle King imprisoned ...

He could not shake the dishonor of betraying Arabella. Nothing he gained would be worth her downfall. None of it. Never.

And that realization had come far, far too late.

The drawing room neared, sickness twisting in his gut as he realized he was about to come face-to-face with another version of Beatrice. A version Urnald believed was the real Beatrice. And Frederick already wanted to rip him apart for it.

The guards held open the doors for their arrival. And there she stood.

Dressed in some silk Hendlemark fashion that resembled a dress close to Thescan's own fashions. She turned and faced Frederick fully, causing him to still.

She looked exactly the same as he remembered. Mocking. Beautiful. Charming. Good humor sparkling in those dark-brown eyes that resembled her father's in every way. Alive. Breathing. No hint of rot on her small body. She looked just like she used to.

Alive. So alive.

Seeing her made the back of Frederick's eyes prick. A vision from his dreams.

And then she smiled at him. "Frederick, is it truly you?"

"Go on," Urnald urged softly. "Receive your sister and see for yourself. It's really her."

A sense of caution plagued his senses as he stepped forward. The old Beatrice would have sprinted across the room, leaving him to deal with the full impact of her bony frame as she slammed into him with welcome. This Beatrice had the manners of a lady. So refined. Too refined. "You know it's me. How do I know it's truly you?"

She laughed. "Of course, it's me. Who else could I be?"

Frederick stopped short of her outstretched hands and assessed her face. "I don't know. Who are you?"

She narrowed the distance between them before resting her head on his chest. "I'm Beatrice. Your only sister. I've missed you terribly, Frederick. Now, be a good brother and wrap your arms around me."

His arms moved on their own accord to embrace his sister, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of wrongness though there was no wrongness to feel. Her body was warm. Her heart skipped in rapid succession. She felt familiar. Human. She even smelled like she used to—like sun and peppermint.

His flesh-and-blood sister in his arms again.

And yet there was something so crooked about her he couldn't place it. Or maybe he couldn't bring himself to believe it. To accept it.

It couldn't really be her.

Only the darkest of magic could bring people back from the dead. And either Beatrice had been resurrected by this magic where the cost to have her back was insurmountable—or else this wasn't his sister at all.

Frederick pulled away and shook his head. "I can't do this."

She blinked. "I'm not asking you for anything. I just wanted to see you."

"Why now?" he demanded. "What have they done to make you like this?"

Red tinged her cheeks. So, she could flush. Not that she used to. "That's a very personal question."

"Frederick," his father said warningly. "Don't stress your sister."

"My sister would have been honest with me," Frederick said dryly. "And the magic to bring someone back from the dead is a steep, steep cost. Just who brought you back and who paid to have you back?"

"I just ..." She cleared her throat, buying herself time to come up with a lie. "I just don't know how it works, exactly. But Rycard paid Saebane, the sorcerer."

"Then we owe him much," Urnald said softly. "We owe him for your very life."

Horseshit. It was horseshit. And Frederick knew in that moment that the circumstances that brought Beatrice back would remain a mystery. A mystery he would never solve, so there was no use in trying.

Because it wasn't Beatrice at all. This being before him was an apparition. A farce.

"I have matters to attend to in court now that I've returned as Thescan's king," Frederick said, turning from the husk that looked and spoke like his sister. "I'll see you both later."

"Freddie, wait," Beatrice called. "Do you really doubt that it's me?"

"Of course, I doubt," Frederick spat. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I still remember the last time we were together. I know this might all seem strange to you, but I survived what you did to me. And I've been too scared to see you again for fear that you might throw me out another window."

Frederick glared at Urnald. "This isn't right, and you know it. It's not her, you fool."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not in the room," Beatrice demanded, displaying tendrils of that ill-tempered nature she was renowned for having while living. "Turn around and speak to me."

"Fine," Frederick said, facing her. "You and I have nothing to say to each other, because you aren't my sister."

"I am your sister, Frederick," she shouted. "I'm standing right here before you."

"My sister died long ago. I don't know what dark art has brought you back to life, but I don't trust it."

Tears glistened in her eyes. "You won't even give me a chance? After I waited so long to see you again. Frederick, my stomach has been tied up in knots. I've been dreading this meeting yet so desperate to see you."

"Very convincing," Frederick said with disgust. "A most adequate performance. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go and see Rycard about this cost of having you here."

"Frederick, just wait a moment. If you want to know the price, then I'll tell you."

Frederick paused, waiting for her to reveal the alleged cost of this reunion.

"Rycard gave his Chalice-given power to the sorcerer," she said quietly.

Frederick blinked. "You mean to tell me that the sorcerer has been given the unbelievable power of resurrecting the dead? You're telling me he paid for you by making this being inconceivably more powerful than he already was."

"Was I not worth the price?" she asked with a sob. "I just wanted to be back with my family again!"

"Frederick," Urnald barked, reaching for him. "Don't you dare—"

"Don't touch me," Frederick said, stepping away from him. "Don't touch me ever again."

Urnald squared his shoulders, his jaw tight. "It will take you time to recover from the shock of all of this, but when you return to your senses then we'll be right here. Waiting for you."

Frederick stormed out of the drawing room, desperate to get away from the thing that wore his sister's face. A being he would happily throw out another window if it meant having Arabella back and the way things were.

For with this encounter, he proved to himself what he'd dreaded all along: betraying Arabella had given him nothing worth having at all.