Page 61 of The Dragon and the Dove

A bigger, more prescient threat.

So she stowed her suspicions, focusing on the trouble at hand.

‘Andreas isn’t here,’ said Anouk. ‘There’s been no signal.’

They’d been watching for a skittering of shadows up the wall – the sign Ransom was meant to give when he found the prince, but so far … there had been nothing.

Inclining her head towards a nearby couple, Anouk added, ‘I swear I know them. And see those women, standing by the door?’

Val whipped her head around, setting loose a raft of unruly curls. ‘The foxes?’

‘They’re from Castellan.’

In her head, Val unrolled the map of Valterre, picturing the town. It was as far west as you could go without stumbling into the Kingdom of Urnica. What the hell were its people doing here?

You already know, Saint of Truth.

A shudder gripped her. She was still getting used to the voice, that strange chorus of magic and intuition.

Anouk dragged Val and Theo across the dance floor. ‘And him,’ she hissed, pointing to a man in a lion’s mask. ‘I swear he’s the baker’s son. These people are villagers. Why would they be here at his fancy ball?’

You already know.

Tonight was a lie.

Every moment of it.

Val scanned the faces around them. Looking past the bejewelled masks and glittering headpieces to the eyes staring vacantly at nothing. To the bodies that swayed lazily, as though being tugged by invisible strings.

Look harder, Saint of Truth.

Val crushed her hands into fists, trying to call on that new force inside her.

Trying to open her third eye.

Power trickled through her. Her blood was like warm syrup in her veins.

She looked again. Harder.

And was seized by a rush of violent sickness. The wrongness was like a worm squirming in her soul.

The truth crystallized, sudden and absolute.

This was no dance floor.

It was a stage.

‘Your eyes,’ hissed Theo.

They were gold.

‘I’m going to be sick,’ said Val.

Anouk shoved her towards the window. ‘There’s a vase over there.’

Val staggered across the dance floor, shoving dancers out of the way. They hardly noticed her.

Yanking out a bunch of long-stemmed lilies, she gripped the vase on the windowsill and stuck her head inside, vomiting up all the ale she’d drunk on the journey here.