The ballroom was spinning. Musicians were playing fiddles on the ceiling. Dancers were floating in the wine-soaked air. And LaLa’s sequins were everywhere.
At least that’s how it felt to Evangeline as she fled from the dance floor and away from Jacks.
She caught a glimpse of LaLa on the arm of Robin. He looked blissful now that she’d arrived. Since leaving Jacks’s room, LaLa had traded in her goblet for a trident and her nerves for an adoring smile. But Evangeline wondered if it was all an act, as her friendship with Evangeline had been. Was LaLa like Jacks, using Evangeline to get whatever it was that she wanted from inside the Valory Arch?
Evangeline didn’t want to believe that—it didn’t feel like the truth to her. But her head was dizzy from the wine, her chest was tight with hurt, and it was hard to think clearly. All she knew was that she didn’t think she could take another betrayal. She just wanted one person to trust. Was that too much to ask?
“You look as if you could use some fresh air,” Petra said.
She linked arms with Evangeline before she could nod.
Petra was dressed as one of the figures that Evangeline didn’t recognize. She wore a very low-cut white chain-mail gown and a slender silver circlet around the crown of her
moonlight hair. “Come with me,” she coaxed. “I know a secret way out of here.”
Evangeline’s stomach clenched as Petra led her toward a fountain spilling sparkling mead. She still didn’t like or trust this girl. But if she stayed in the ballroom, Jacks would catch up with her. She wasn’t sure what had kept him from doing so already. But Evangeline didn’t dare look behind her shoulder to find out. She’d talk to him again when the room wasn’t spinning and she felt steadier on her feet—right now, it would be far too easy for him to knock them out from under her.
“Where’s this secret passage?” she asked. “Just over here,” Petra said.
In Evangeline’s head, it all happened quite fast. One moment they were at the edge of the dance floor. Then they were at the wallflower benches—empty since this wasn’t the sort of party that wallflower types were invited to.
“I think it’s this one.” Petra grabbed one of the bench legs, tugging it away from the wall and pulling open a concealed door in the process.
“Through here,” she said quickly, almost as if she were on the run as well.
Evangeline felt a flicker of unease. But instead of moldy stones and cobwebs, the other side was reassuringly bright. All torchlit white plaster walls formed of sculptures of Slaughterwoods from the past.
Or at least Evangeline hoped they were sculptures. A few carvings they passed looked so lifelike, Evangeline could all too easily imagine they were actual bodies buried in the white walls.
She slowed her steps, but Petra took her arm once more and urged her to continue forward.
“How did you know about this passage?” Evangeline asked.
“Oh,” Petra said quietly. “I’ve visited here a hundred times.”
“I thought you said you were lucky to get invited to this party?”
“I lied.” Petra winced. “I mean—I just—” she stammered, an action that looked especially strange on her lips, as if floundering for answers was not a thing she often did. “I’ve been coming to parties here longer than you’ve been alive.” Evangeline felt another clench in her gut. Then she felt the mirth stone burning hot beneath her eyelet dress. Only now, Evangeline wasn’t so sure it was the mirth stone after all. Before, she hadn’t sensed much power from the rock, but now it was as if the stone were finally waking up; she could feel it coming alive with power. But this power didn’t give her a sense of joy or mirth as she would have expected. She felt the searing burn of truth—she was wearing the truth stone—and she felt it telling her to get
out, to leave, to flee, to run for her life.
The world finally stopped spinning, and she regretted her lack of thinking.
Of course Evangeline had been thinking—it was just that one of her thoughts had been that when Jacks finally found her, it would feel like triumph to see the look on his face when he discovered her with someone he’d warned her against. Now, his warning about Petra felt a little more merited.
She slipped her arm free of Petra’s. “I’m going to go back to the ball.”
“No, Evangeline. I’m afraid you’re not.” Petra flashed a knife and thrust it straight at Evangeline’s heart.
Evangeline leaped back, barely dodging the blade. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not a bad person—but I don’t want to die.” Petra lunged again, and she might have struck, but her chain-mail
gown was clearly slowing her down.
Evangeline skirted the blade and grabbed for the other girl’s wrist. She’d rather risk a slice in the hand than one to the throat. But Petra’s hair was everywhere. Instead of a blade or wrist, Evangeline caught a handful of her moonlit locks.
She yanked the hair. It was just one tug, but the entire glowing mane came off.
Evangeline gasped. It was fake. Petra’s real hair was a pile of pink, made of strands of rose with hints of gold.
“Your hair! It’s just—” Evangeline was going to say it was just like hers, but Petra didn’t give her the chance.
She pulled a second knife from the folds of her gown.
Evangeline threw the wig at Petra’s face, buying herself a heartbeat of time. Her head was telling her to flee. But she was getting very tired of people trying to kill her. Instead of running, she launched herself at Petra, grabbing her wrists while the girl was still blinded. “Why are you trying to murder me?”
The stone Evangeline wore surged once more with heat as she spoke.
Petra thrashed, still holding both knives, and shook the wig from her face. Sweat plastered rose-gold hair to her forehead, and anger mottled her cheeks as she fought both Evangeline and the power of the truth stone. “I know you’re also a key. And if I don’t kill you, you’ll kill me for my stone.”
“What stone do you have?”
“The youth stone—argh—” Petra glared at the chain around Evangeline’s neck. “Stop asking me questions!”
“Stop trying to kill me—I’m not your enemy.”
“Yes, you are.” Petra’s shoulders sagged, and for the briefest moment, she stopped her struggle. “I was just like you once. I was married to a prince until I was accused of a crime I didn’t commit. Then I learned about the prophecy,
and I thought I was special—that everything had happened to me for a reason. I was the key—the one girl crowned in rose gold who could unlock the Valory Arch.” She shook her head and laughed without joy. “But neither of us are special, Evangeline. We are just tools others use. In fact, I bet they don’t even let you use the stones that you’ve found. Chaos wouldn’t let me use the one I managed to discover.”
Evangeline tried not to react. Chaos had told her that the last key had died—he’d said it had happened because the luck stone had made her reckless. But Evangeline didn’t think that Petra could be lying with the truth stone so near.
“How did you know I’m working with Chaos?”
“Because I worked with him. I found Chaos the luck stone,” Petra said, “but he didn’t trust me with it. He locked it away to keep it safe, rather than to keep me safe. So when I found the youth stone and realized that with it I could stay young and live forever, I faked my death and disappeared.” Her smile turned triumphant. “It was only then that I learned what all four stones could do together. But I’m guessing they didn’t tell you that part, did they?”
“Is that why you’re trying to kill me? So that you can get all four stones?”
“No!” Petra’s head reared back, and she looked entirely offended. “I just want to keep my stone. I’m telling you this so that you know you can’t trust them. But … I can already see you’re way too trusting.” Petra’s eyes shone with something sad, right before she pressed all her weight against Evangeline’s hands and slammed her body against the opposite wall.
Her teeth clacked as her head hit one of the statues. “Please, stop this—” Evangeline cried, still struggling to
hold Petra’s wrists. She didn’t want to hurt her, but Petra wouldn’t stop fighting. Petra bucked against Evangeline’s grip and nearly slashed Evangeline’s cheek with one of her
knives, finally giving Evangeline the strength to grit her teeth and smash Petra’s knuckles into the wall hard enough to make her drop both blades.
The daggers clattered to the floor, skittering in opposite directions.
Evangeline didn’t want to scramble for one, but Petra didn’t hesitate to dart for the other and stalk after Evangeline. She wasn’t going to give up. Evangeline wondered if this was why she’d seen Petra sneaking around last night—if she hadn’t been coming from Jacks’s room but from Evangeline’s because she’d hoped to murder her in her sleep.
The torches flickered with each step Petra took, smoke snaking through the shrinking space between them.
“Stop, please.” Evangeline’s hands were slick with sweat and dread, but she grabbed the other knife and held it like a shield.
“I’m really not a bad person,” Petra repeated, and for a second, her eyes looked truly sorry, but she didn’t stop her steps or lower the knife. “It’s not that I want to do this, but as soon as I saw you here, I knew—”
Evangeline thrust her dagger into Petra’s chest, right on the edge of her chain-mail dress.
Petra made the worst sound Evangeline had ever heard, or maybe it was just the awful ringing in her ears, the sudden flash of horror and regret that swallowed her as soon as she’d thrust the knife. This wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to pull it out. She wanted to take it back.
A laugh gurgled up from Petra’s throat as blood leaked from her chest. “I was once like you … but now you’re … just … like me.”
