Fog surged across the river. Slim, silver fingers stretched far from the body of mist, almost seeking in its nature. Standing silently on the stone bridge, I watched it move with sinuous grace, wishing I could escape what was to come by dropping into the river's cold depths.

Few came the way of the Low Bridge except peddlers and transients, and over the years, even they avoided the creaky relic unless forced. Overgrown with vines and grass, it was easy to find cover in case the Wardens patrolled here, but with the entire city hunting for the Reaper, I doubted they had thought to check here.

I assumed that's why the Reaper chose to meet here. He sat atop the bridge's railing, his cloak motionless. If not for the unnatural gold gleam in his eyes, he appeared normal as he slid a knife through a bright red fruit. Ten minutes had passed as I waited for him to speak, but I was afraid if I pressed him before he was ready, he might disappear again. And Joreen was running out of time.

Seeing me watching, he held out his hand, his black gloved fingers looking like thick veins against the crimson flesh. "Want a piece?"

"That's a blood apple."

Sliding a slice beneath the cowl covering the lower half of his face, he shrugged. "I asked if you wanted a piece. Not what kind of fruit it was."

"They're poisonous."

"Not to those touched by Death."

I sniffed and looked purposefully back at the water. "So you say."

The corners of his eyes raised, giving away his smile behind the mask. "Perhaps if you stopped resenting what you are, you might enjoy it a little."

The emotions caged beneath my breast swelled and broke free as I spun on him. "How could I enjoy it? It's a curse. Do you see what I do? When you touch someone, do you see how they will die? Do you feel it?"

He tossed the blood apple into the river and pocketed the knife. I wished I could see his face. His eyes gave nothing away as they held mine.

"No. I don't, and not every Deathsinger has the gift of Sight."

He almost sounded kind. I lifted my hood higher over my head to protect my face from the drizzle. Fairy lights buzzed to life, illuminating the surrounding space with an argent gleam. With any other person, this moment would feel cozy—the world soft and out of focus in the gloaming, but no amount of gentling his tone could make me forget what the person in front of me was. What I was.

"Can I stop it? Are the deaths I see fated?"

He stood beside me, resting his forearms on the bridge's railing. A lock of dark hair peeked out from under his hood. It was almost as dark as mine.

"By the time I came of age, most Deathsingers were dead or in hiding, but I overheard one once, talking to my father. She'd Seen his death, and she came to warn him. I can't imagine she would have bothered if there was no chance to change his fate."

I exhaled and closed my eyes. There was hope. When I opened my eyes again, the Reaper stared at me intently, causing a blush to rise on my face.

"Your father," I said, clearing my throat. "What happened to him?"

The golden ring around his irises flared. "He died exactly how she said."

No. The hope that had taken flight crashed, leaving me dazed. I gripped the railing.

"Now, we need to talk about the Banshee in the palace, and what I need from you."

The ringing in my ears turned his words to an incoherent buzz. What was I doing out here? He couldn't help me. I needed to get back to the palace and find Joreen. Tell her to run.

"Morana!"

"I need to go."

"No, you need to listen to me. I didn't come to Edresh to Reap souls."

"I don't care why you've come," I said, trying to walk away, but he held onto me.

"You should. You saw that woman's spirit last night. They should not be roaming about like that. You've heard of the children being stillborn. Our entire world is fracturing, and I think I know how to stop it."

"Whatever you came here for, it has nothing to do with me."

He glared at me and opened his mouth to speak, but the harsh clip of hooves on stone startled us both. We looked at the top of the hill. Tievel's navy and gold banner billowed just above the crest, and I could hear his voice as he addressed his guards.

"Morana." He spoke my name like a warning and then vanished just as Tievel appeared.

"Morana, is that you?" he called out, urging his horse forward.

"Your Highness," I replied, dropping into a deep curtsey while he dismounted.

A single finger slipped beneath my chin and tilted my gaze upward. Tievel grinned as he pushed against my jaw until I rose to my full height. His touch remained far longer than was proper, considering the touch alone was enough to raise eyebrows. But when I looked at his guards, they appeared thoroughly disinterested.

"I do enjoy you in that position," Tievel purred, dropping his hand at last. "But you know you do not have to bow to me."

"I would not wish for word to get back that the companion to the princess was not behaving appropriately."

The prince threw his head back and laughed. Normally, his laughter was contagious, but my heart was too burdened to join him. I barely even managed a smile in response.

"Are you all right?" His arms caged me between him and the bridge railing. "Are you angry with me after what happened the other evening?"

That night felt like a hundred years ago. I would give anything to go back to that moment when all I worried about was getting caught. It was so much easier to only care about yourself.

"No, I'm not angry. I should get back inside. The rain is getting worse now."

"Let me escort you."

I set a punishing pace, hoping to put distance between us, but even with a steed to lead, Tievel's long legs kept up with me easily.

"Really, this is unnecessary," I said, shivering as the rain soaked my skin.

"Why are we running?" he asked, ignoring my question.

He reached for me, trying to slow me down, but I dodged him. With a sob, I broke into a run, my streaming eyes locked on the palace looming ahead of me. It was both my hell and my salvation.

"Morana, pl-"

Ringing bells drowned out what Tievel had been about to say, and the shouts of Wardens pouring out of the palace punctuated each clang. They surrounded me in a circle, the points of the swords and spears biting into my skin as I stumbled about the small space they left me. Trembling, I tucked my hands beneath my armpits to protect them.

"What is the meaning of this?" Tievel demanded, tearing through the men to get closer to me. "Release her."

"Stand down, son," King Brinley said in a booming voice as he walked down the castle steps.

I flinched at the sight of him. It had only been a few days since I'd last seen him, but he had changed much since then. The insipid lecher was gone, replaced by a man with madness in his smile.

"Father, what is Morana guilty of?"

The king gestured behind him, and two soldiers dragged Astreia into view. Her eyes were enormous in her face, and her lips stretched painfully over a gag. She jerked against her captors, but they only tightened their hold, their faces grim as they waited for further instruction from their liege.

"The Deathsinger you captured has escaped," King Brinley said as he approached, a feverish light glowing within. "And it would appear that the princess and this girl are responsible."

"No, Morana would never," Tievel hissed even as he shifted a step back.

"Of course not," I insisted. "There's been a mistake."

"There is no mistake. Jeromi and Lady Yoko both confirmed that these two visited the cells last night. No one else has been down there. So unless you released the woman you captured, my son..."

"Morana?" My name was a plea on the prince's tongue. He shook his head. "No."

"She had nothing to do with it," Astreia screamed as she finally freed herself from the gag. "It was me. Morana is innocent. I released the girl."

Tievel sagged in relief even as his jaw tightened. Raising a finger, he pointed it at the princess. "That is treason. Father, we cannot punish Morana simply for associating with a traitor."

King Brinley laughed, and unlike the joy his son's laughter brought, this sound sent shivers down my spine. Never once taking his gaze off me, he announced. "She is guilty of another crime. She is a Deathsinger."

The courtyard went quiet, and a few of the Wardens shuffled backward as if being too close to me was dangerous. Astreia stopped struggling and gaped at the King. The fact my friend thought he was insane for suggesting I was a Deathsinger made me love her even more.

"Th-that's absurd," Tievel spat out at last.

King Brinley didn't speak. He crooked his finger behind him, and a Warden came forward, tossing something at the crowd. It hit the ground with a splat and rolled across the paved pathway, stopping just in front of the king's booted feet. He lifted it by its long, tangled hair, and I didn't need to see the accusing green gaze to know it was Joreen's head.

"No," I wailed, falling to my knees.

"We found this girl attempting a forbidden spell, and during her questioning, she told us the truth. That this girl was a Deathsinger."

"Morana, tell me he's lying," Tievel demanded.

I could tell him nothing through my tears. They choked me, but they did not blind me. Joreen's head dangled from the fist of an ignorant bastard. Every careful, measured choice. Every piece of my conscience sacrificed to stay safe had come to this.

It made me want to scream. It made me want to make them burn the way I had so long ago. Maybe that was it. We could all burn together.

Words penetrated the haze around my thoughts. Brinley commanded them to send for a sedative and a collar. I frowned.

They didn't want to kill me. No, they would lock me up like the girl we rescued, and for once, I wished my power worked the way they feared. That I could Sing and rip the souls from their bodies.

"You are a fool, Brinley," I hissed as someone jerked me to my feet.

There was a sharp sting in my arm, but it did not quiet the single note welling in my chest. Dark and heavy and powerful. Ribbons of black twined around my arms as the Song's magic built. I recognized it as the Song from last night.

I lunged toward the king and ignored the pain slicing through my skin as the Wardens' weapons cut me open. Brinley shoved a Warden in front of him, and my fingers tangled in the mesh of his armor as I unleashed the Song.

Behind us, glass windows shattered, sending a spray of multicolored shards upon the crowd. Astreia dropped to her knees, unable to cover her head with her bound hands, and the soldier in my grasp collapsed. Blood leaked from his nose and eyes. Eyes that stared unseeing into the night sky, and inside of me, a foreign, icy essence settled into my bones.

"You see," the king roared, his victorious expression crumbling before the only thing he'd ever feared. "She reveals herself."

I stared at my hands and then touched my throat. It was raw and aching, and I felt hollow.

"You did not have to kill her! She was innocent," I shouted while I swayed. The sedative was winning now that the magic was gone.

In my peripheral vision, someone approached with a silver collar. Tievel. The rage bled from my bones as he opened it to place around my neck, but then he hesitated, the cool metal just inches from my throat.

"Why did you not tell me?" he whispered low enough only I could hear.

"Would it have changed anything?"

The snap of the latch was all the answer I needed.