Every second since I’ve come to Roter Himmel, I’ve been scared. Now is no different as I have to move Cyrus. I’m so careful, go so slow, so I do not disturb the healing tissues. But little by little, I move him. On silent feet, I rise up through the castle, transferring him to a gurney I brought from the infirmary. I wheel him through the empty castle.

After I wheel him into a secure room, I once more assess his healing.

I can’t see bone any longer. Shiny muscle is barely still visible beneath his skin, but what little I can see is reattached. And most of his skin has knitted back together.

I expect that by morning, he will look normal once more.

I turn toward the door to wait for Dorian and Malachi, but I jump, a little yelp strangled in my throat when I find a body standing just inside the doorway.

“Larkin,” I breathe.

There are many reasons why I trust him to do the things I ask, and his absolutely silent feet are two of the little ones.

“Everything has been taken care of back in the States, my Queen,” he says, dipping in a small bow.

I can’t handle any more emotion. This is something I need to process later, what Larkin had to do to cover up what happened to my parents. But I just don’t have room in me for it right now.

“Thank you,” I say, swallowing around my tight and thick throat. I look around, as if I can find and organize my thoughts from the air around me. There are too many strings I need to hold onto right now, and I’m pretty sure I’m dropping a lot of them.

“Things are a mess here,” I say, looking back at the man. “I don’t trust more than a few people. There are plots happening right under my nose. I don’t have enough help or time to deal with it all.”

“Give me an assignment,” he requests simply.

I straighten, gratitude rushing through me.

Larkin has never been an official member of Court. He spends his own time moving from House to House, never staying in one place for long. But he’s always here, whenever I’m alive, ready to serve.

Because I spared his life once. A long, long time ago, when I wore Helda’s face.

“I’ve been told there were five other Born in Roter Himmel who were in on this plot to kill Cyrus,” I say with a swallow. Larkin’s eyes briefly flick to Cyrus, who lies behind me. “Ian Ward killed two already, but I don’t know if the other three are still in the city or not. I need you to find them and get every drop of information you can out of them.”

“It will be done, Sevan,” Larkin says. He offers a deep bow, and immediately turns to leave.

I have all of ten seconds alone before there is the sound of footsteps down the hall.

I want to cover Cyrus up, to hide him. I can hardly bear the thought of Dorian and Malachi seeing Cyrus like this. But when I worked in the mortuary, we covered the dead with white sheets, and I’ve sworn to myself that I won’t let Cyrus stay dead.

Their faces are already pale when Dorian and Malachi step into the room. When they see him, both of them swallow once, their faces growing even whiter. Slowly, they cross the room and stand beside him.

He looks better. Cyrus no longer just looks dead. He looks as if he could be sleeping.

“It hardly looks as if he was injured at all,” Dorian says in awe. “And he truly was decapitated?” He looks over his shoulder at me.

My throat is thick when I nod. “I had to carry him, to move him out of the Great Hall,” I say. “The King was in two completely separate pieces. Trust me.”

I want to throw up at the memory of having to pick him up and arrange him like that.

“Incredible,” Malachi muses. “How? How is this happening?”

“It’s Cyrus’ curse,” I say. My eyes go glazed and I’m not really seeing anything anymore. “That he can never die, while I die over and over. The curse lives on.”

They both shake their heads in wonder.

“Before all of this,” I continue, waving my hand around the space, “Cyrus studied life. His parents were what you might call root doctors and astrologists. They taught Cyrus everything they knew. He claimed he didn’t believe in it. But he used it. I watched him over the years. I was never an actual student, but I learned. I knew.”

They watch me, but I don’t look up.

“Ash for renewal,” I say quietly. “Mud for grounding. Blood for life.”

Someone kneels beside me, and it takes me a moment to find the will to bring myself back into the room. I blink, and let my eyes slide over to meet Malachi’s.

“If anyone in the world can bring the King back from wherever he is, it is you, Sevan,” he says. He reaches out and takes my hands in his.

I’m touched by his words and his display of compassion. Malachi has never been a warm or caring person. He has believed in alliances and power. Not in the way my son ever did. But in a way that made his lines strong, both physically and politically.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“We will protect the King,” Dorian says. “If what you said is true and there are Royals looking to change things, we need a way to vet the entire Court, and maybe even beyond Court.”

Malachi nods, and I know. Whatever has to be done, they’re here to help me.

I feel something in me darken and harden.

“I think it’s time to take a page out of my husband’s playbook,” I say as I stand. “I think we settle this with a game of sorts.”

They look at me with surprise and uncertainty.

They have plenty of experience with Cyrus’ games. But in all these thousands of years, I have never taken part, never condoned any of them.

“I have to believe Cyrus will return,” I say as I stand tall. “I will not let it be to a Court—a Kingdom he cannot trust.”