Chrysabelle nodded, but she looked lost in thought. They rode in silence until they reached the main road out of achtice. There, Mortalis stopped the car. He cursed in faeish.

Guards swarmed a line of cars blocking the exit. A few of the fringe had assault rifles, which would have little effect on any vampire, but many nobles had human drivers. Car by car, they knocked on windows and forced passengers and drivers out. Some guards were even getting into the vehicles.

Mal growled softly. “Son of a priest. I was afraid this was going to happen.”

“This isn’t going to make Tatiana popular with her peers,” Chrysabelle said. “What are we going to do?”

Mortalis scratched one horn. “You two could get out, jump the wall, and meet me down the road after I get through.”

“We’d have to skirt a long way around not to be seen, and Chrysabelle sticks out in that white dress.” Mal would do anything to keep her safe, but putting them out in the open didn’t seem like the best possible solution. Let her go.

“Can you persuade them?” she asked.

He glanced at her. “Not all of them.”

Mortalis looked at them in the rearview mirror again. “We’re wasting time.”

Mal frowned. “You have a better idea?” Let. Her. Go.

The fae nodded. “Yes, but you’re not going to like it.”

“What?” Chrysabelle asked.

His gaze shifted to her. “They’re probably looking for an injured comarré.”

“No.” Mal slashed a hand through the air. “She’s not crossing the wall alone.” The voices booed him.

Chrysabelle held out her hand to him. “Give me your coat.”

“I don’t want you doing this.”

She raised one brow. “You don’t know what I’m doing yet.” She stretched her hand a little farther. “Give me your coat.”

Reluctantly, he took it off and handed it to her.

“Mortalis, go ahead and get us in line. The less time we have to wait, the better.” She pulled the coat over her like a blanket, completely covering the bloody front of her dress. “Mal, go to smoke.”

“I don’t like this.” But he did it anyway, hovering near the ceiling as Mortalis found them a spot in line.

“Mortalis, if anyone asks, I’m deathly ill and you’re taking me back to the plane until my patron is ready to leave.” She slipped down to lay across the seat, pulled the coat up to cover half her face.

“This isn’t going to work,” Mortalis muttered.

Mal agreed, but it was too late. A guard approached the vehicle.

Drained. Empty. Numb. If it weren’t for the sharp pangs of anger and loss gnawing at the edges of the fog collecting around Tatiana’s heart, she wasn’t sure where she’d find the energy to put one foot in front of the other. But she did. Step by step, she made her way back to her quarters. Back to Octavian.

He would explain what had happened. Tell her what magic the comarré had worked on him to make him hand over Lilith. Clarify what the Castus had said, for surely they had only taken Lilith for safekeeping. Hadn’t they?

Perhaps he could also explain how Mal was still alive, because although she’d seen him die on the news, there was no doubt in her mind that Lord Moreau was actually Mal in disguise. Turning to smoke was a rare vampire trait. So rare, she’d heard of only one or two others who could do it, other than Mal, who’d gone to smoke as many times in their years together as she had scattered into wasps. She’d thought he’d lost that power when he gave up drinking from the vein.

She stopped suddenly and leaned a hand on the wall to steady herself. “That damned comarré. That’s how he did it.”

“What’s that, my lady?” One of the fringe guards who’d been escorting her stopped as well.

“He didn’t die,” she mumbled. “He went to smoke. Somehow, he found safety from the sun.” She shook her head, staring at the swirls of brown and gold and cream in the marble beneath her feet. “Because of that blood whore.”

“We need to get her back to her room.” The guard cupped her elbow. “Almost home now, Lady Tatiana.”

She yanked her arm away from him. “Don’t touch me.” Instead, she wrapped her arms around her body. Empty arms. Arms that should be holding her child. With a stifled sob, she marched forward.

One of the guards ran ahead and opened the door for her. She walked through and stopped, her arms falling away from her sides. “What… what happened?”

Just beyond the sitting room, Kosmina and Oana stood over an irregular pile of ashes. Kosmina had a dagger in her hand. She turned swiftly. “I tried to stop him, my lady. He was going on about betraying you and—”

“Who was? Who did you try to stop?”

Kosmina’s gaze shifted to the ashes. “Lord Octavian.”

Tatiana shook her head. “Who did he kill?”

Oana inhaled sharply. Kosmina swallowed and backed up a step. “My lady, I—”

“Who?” Tatiana demanded. “If someone was betraying me, I want a name. Now.”

Kosmina’s fingers tightened around the dagger’s hilt. “Lord Octavian, my lady.”

Darkness crept in at the edges of Tatiana’s field of vision. “I don’t understand. Who did he kill? Tell me.”

“My lady, I am trying to.” Kosmina stared her squarely in the eyes. “These ashes are Lord Octavian’s. He killed himself.”