The third thorn burrowed deep, and Seraphine's world exploded into fractals of agony.Blood, thick and hot, coursed down her face in rivules, dripping from her chin onto the marble floor. Each droplet sizzled where it landed, sending up tiny wisps of smoke that smelled of burning hair and spoiled wine. The crown's vines tightened, their thorns pulsng as they drank.Kaelan's wink haunted her. Had she imagined it? The way his left eyelid had dipped,just for a heartbeat,before his face smoothed back into that awful, empty calm? The screaming from below grew louder. It was Pip. Shewould know that voice anywhere, the way it always cracked on the high notes when he was frightened. But that was impossible. She had seen him die. Had watched the light leave his eyes as his lucky coin rolled away. The queen's jeweled slippers clicked against the floor as she spun toward the throne. "Who dares?" The shadows behind the obsidian seat twisted . Not the normal dance of torchlight, but a deliberate, sinuous movement, like a snake coiling to strike. The temperature plummeted. Seraphine's breath fogged in the suddenly frigid air, her skin pebbling with gooseflesh.
Kaelan went rigid.a figure emerged from the darkness.Not Pip.Not quite, it had Pip's lanky frame, his too-big hands, the cowlick that always stuck up at the back of his head. But its skin was wrong, stretched too tight over bone, the color of week-old bruises. Its eyes were pits of blackness. And its mouth... its mouth stretched wider than any human jaw should allow, revealing rows of needle-thin teeth. "Sera... phine..." it rasped, in a voice that was both Pip's and something else entirely. The queen stumbled back, her crown slipping sideways. "What is this?" The thing that was-not-Pip tilted its head. Then it smiled. And from the dungeon depths below, a chorus of other voices, all horribly familiar, took up the scream.Rook's. Brick's. Her mother's.Kaelan's hands spased around the crown of thorns.Seraphine opened her mouth to scream, And the torches went out.