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predictable. I knew you’d envision some grand conspiracy for your

brother after my success in Lumenaria—but if you think Alvar could

ever muster the discipline, determination, and endurance he would

need to pull off a feat like that, you’re even more foolish than I

thought.”

The pride in Gethen’s voice was equal parts disgusting and

terrifying.

It took a special kind of evil to brag about murder.

“How’s the Black Swan faring without their bloated leader, by the

way?” Gethen asked, as if he knew what Sophie had been thinking.

But he didn’t know that there used to be two Mr. Forkles gobbling

up ruckleberries to disguise themselves for that role—or that one of

the twin brothers lived on. And it was Sophie’s job to make sure it

stayed that way.

So she let her shoulders slump and curled one arm around herself,

looking every bit the grief-broken girl she knew Gethen wanted her to

be.

He rewarded her performance with another smile.

“I still have the sword,” he said, pulling aside the thick fabric of his

cloak to reveal the familiar diamond-encrusted hilt protruding from a

gleaming silver sheath. “I’m sure I’ll find another use for it

eventually.”

His voice sounded flat and bored, as if he were talking about a pair

of shoes instead of an ancient weapon he’d pulled from a stone in

Lumenaria and used to steal a life. But there was a wild gleam in his

eyes, a hint of whatever damage the murder had done to his mind—

and now was not the time to let that madness take over.

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