“Not yet, but I will,” I say. “Why did you hate her so much?”

“Because,” she says with difficulty. “She would not look into her own darkness, so how could she possibly understand the hearts of others? I suppose the centaur’s death means there will be no alliance.”

“I suppose not,” I say, only now realizing the trouble ahead. I made a promise I didn’t keep. Now I have enemies. “And you swear you had nothing to do with Creostus’s murder?” I ask again, passing the pebble through my fingers.

“How could I?” she answers.

When I emerge from behind the water, Asha is waiting for me. She bows quickly.

“Lady Hope, I would speak with you,” she says urgently.

“What is it?”

Asha guides me into a room where the Hajin sit on pallets, stringing beads. Red smoke belches from the many copper pots. “Is it true one of the centaurs was murdered and they blame the Hajin?”

“Yes,” I say. “He was found with a poppy clutched in his hand.”

“But we had nothing to do with his murder.” She rubs her thumb against her palm like a worry stone. “We wanted no part of these politics. We only wish to be left alone, to live in safety—”

“There is no bloody safety!” I shout. “When will you realize that? Do your people even know that I offered them a share of the magic and that you refused it on their behalf?”

The Hajin look up from their poppies.

“Asha, is this true?” a girl asks.

“It is not our path, our destiny. We do not extend beyond our tribe,” Asha says calmly. “You know this.”

“But we could have a voice at last,” a Hajin man says assertively.

The smoke has thinned. Asha stands at the pot, revealed. “And would you use that share of magic to change who we are? Here we have accepted our afflictions. We have found solace in each other. What if suddenly we had the power to remove all flaws? Would you find beauty in each other still? At least now we are one caste.”

The Hajin weigh her words. Some resume their work, pulling their garments across their misshapen legs to hide them.

“It is how it has always been. We will accept the legacy of our ancestors,” Asha says, smiling, and in her smile I do not see warmth or wisdom; I see fear.

“You’re afraid of losing your hold on them,” I say coolly.

“I? I have no power.”

“Don’t you? If you keep them from the magic, they will never know what their lives could be.”

“They will remain protected,” Asha insists.

“No,” I say. “Only untested.”

One of the Hajin stands uncertainly, holding tightly to her skirts. “We should have a voice, Asha. It is time.”

A spark of anger flashes in Asha’s eyes. “We have lived this way always. We shall go on living this way.”

The girl sits, but she does not bow as is customary. In her eyes are the twin gods of doubt and desire. When her skirt falls open, showing her scarred and blistered legs, she does not rush to cover them.

I shake my head. “Change is coming, Asha. Whether you’re ready for it or not.”

My mind is a jumble as I march toward the Borderlands. Who could have murdered Creostus and why? Is Circe telling me the truth? Did Pippa make a bargain with the Winterlands creatures for her magic, and if so, how powerful is she? How will I get Fee to see this? She’ll rightly claim that I’m one to talk, for I’ve been having meetings with a murderess. And still I haven’t deciphered Miss Wyatt’s cryptic messages. Oh, I’m a bloody fool.

No. There’s still a chance to put things right. Eugenia. I’ll find the dagger and save her. I’ll put the realms and the Winterlands to rights, and then…and then? I’ll worry about then another time.

At the turn toward the bramble wall, I note something strange. The fruit of the trees we restored our first day back in the realms has withered to mealy husks. And all the flowers have turned a brittle blue, as if they’ve been strangled upon their stalks. Every last bloom is dead.

I hurry to the bramble wall and tread the path through the blue forest to the castle.

Whoo-oot. The sound is near. Bessie steps out, her stick at the ready.

“Step aside, please, Bessie. I don’t mean you any harm. You know that.”

“You couldn’t do me no ’arm if you wanted,” she says, towering over me.

I shout Pip’s name and Felicity’s and Ann’s, too.

“See? They don’ wan’ you no more,” Bessie snarls.