Nobody needed to say anything. Everything happened the way the Queen planned it.

  Later records indicated that the battle occurred thus: Idris, Lila and Riette, with the trail of soldier-thralls, rode straight through the pass. Queen Cressida followed, with the remaining men that had not fallen the previous day and an army of fae behind her, giants and centaurs and unicorns, fairies and pixies and gnomes, everywhere they went bringing fresh grass and flowers, vines and moss. Willard took Lady Eremont and the healers back through the stone tunnel to work on the cleansing, and they got to work immediately; several of them fainted with exertion before the task was through. It rained hard, turning the clay to mush, running down the walls of the cliffs.

  Those records do not document what happened to Sir Idris of Gleesdale.

  *

  The ride through the pass was treacherous, and Idris was riding too fast and too recklessly for it to matter much either way. The bodies of the animals and any remaining soldiers were gone – likely absorbed into Layton’s army – but the blood and viscera remained and mingled with the rainwater, making the rock slippery underfoot. A spray of orange-red went up every time the horse’s hoofs beat the earth; Idris’s boots were covered in it. The rain slammed into his cheeks, all through his hair, until his teeth chattered and he was sure his bones were frozen.

  As soon as he and his companions were through the pass, the undead army hit them like a wave.

  Riette shouted, “Duty first! Duty always!” and slung a salt bomb that whizzed over the top of Idris’s head and splashed down on the five thralls directly in front of him; they flailed and fizzed while the aria burned away around them and Idris plunged on. Lila, her feet tucked hard into her stirrups, was standing with her bow, sending arrows into the eyes and throats of their foes. But even their combined efforts could not keep the thralls from slamming so hard into Idris’s horse that, eventually, the horse stumbled.

  Idris felt the momentum before he was aware that he was being thrown. The beast teetered left, whinnying hard, and he gripped the reins tight and shut his eyes and begged the animal not to crush his only good leg. At the last minute, it veered, and Idris was bucked furiously off to the right.

  He fell with a jolt and a splatter, amidst a smattering of putrid legs and tattered clothing. Disorientated, he hardly had time to realise what had happened to him before the thralls began swarming in on him. One grabbed his hair, the other his neck. Idris could not reach for Black Star in time to dissuade them.

  Then, there was a brilliant burst of gold light, like radiant lightning, and the thrall in front of Idris turned to receive a hand slammed into its mouth.

  “Not today,” said Willard grimly, his eyes glowing pure gold.

  A creeper burst out the back of the thrall’s neck. Its companions, confused, turned en masse to the princeling, who twisted his free, golden hand without blinking. At once, the creeper swirled like a lasso around the throats of Idris’s attackers and pulled them all together into a bundle, and squeezed.

  “Salt!” he shouted, in a resonant voice, and another salt bomb span through the air.

  Idris rolled to avoid being collateral damage, pulled himself to his knees and armed himself with Black Star. Willard promptly vanished into a pile of moss at his feet. Within seconds, he was in front of Idris in a new pile of moss.

  “Best stand back,” he said, eyes now back to normal, and jerked his head at the pass.

  Idris turned, gasping for breath. Through the sheets of rain, Queen Cressida made her move.

  She stood alone on the lip of the pass, in perfect casting stance, her hair soaked through and more glorious for it. Her sea-blue eyes seemed to glitter, even from that distance. Her hands shaped spears of rainwater, hovering in the air before her. The sea aria hummed around her – even Idris could hear it, fluid and endless, deep and unfathomable.

  “She ain’t playing,” said Willard.

  With one hand movement, Cressida launched all twenty spears straight forwards.

  “Duck,” said Idris, grabbing Willard’s shoulder.

  They launched themselves at the ground, splashing mud all up themselves, as the spears crashed into their targets. The thralls went flying, hitting bodies behind them as they dropped; Lila made quick work of the prone ones and turned her attentions back to those still trying to push her horse down.

  “Go,” said Willard, pushing Idris’s arm. “Run.”

  “You -”

  “I’ll be right behind you,” said the hedge witch, with a comforting smile. “Like always. Don’t you fret.”

  Idris gripped his shoulder once, then clambered to his feet.

  “With me!” shouted Riette, speeding past on the back of her horse, hand outstretched. Idris grabbed it; his arm was almost yanked from the socket as she hauled him up onto the saddle, but he did not mind. “Let the soldiers worry about the war,” she said. “We have work to do.”

  Idris stared at the battlefield. The thralls were insatiable. The Queen’s soldiers were in the fray, now, and taking the heads of whatever they could, but the rain meant that visibility was low. The thralls used their sheer advantage of numbers and endless reserves of energy to push back. Salt bombs kept crashing down on the scene; Cressida’s spears did not let up. Somewhere in the distance, there was a glimmer of pearly white light.

  “My mother,” Idris whispered.

  A spot on the floor, not ten feet from Riette’s horse, burst with the same luminescence. The pentagon that would have caught them went up in purifying fire, and died.

  “It worked,” said Idris, craning his neck to see more of the pentagons bloom and fade.

  The fae army was notably absent. He wondered why.

  Idris kicked off his war boot, let it fall to the clay and pulled on his hare’s foot. The fortress was ahead of him, now, getting larger with each second.

  “You run right in there and you don’t look back,” said Riette. “As soon as I drop you, you run.”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  She tugged the horse to a skidding stop, grabbed Idris’s wrist.

  “You kill that bastard,” she said fiercely, taking off her helmet with her free hand. “Make him rue the day he sired you.”

  “I look forward to it,” said Idris.

  “Don’t you dare stand me up for the opera,” she said.

  “I will be there on time.”

  “Swear it.”

  “I swear.”

  Idris had been kissed before, but not like this. Riette’s lips were warm and soft, and her kiss was hard, and he felt electrified all at once, filled with fire and light – and then she said, “May the aria sing loud and true, Sir Idris. Swing hard.”

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  And he was off the horse, and running as fast as his hare’s foot would allow towards the crumbling castle keep, Black Star in his hands. Behind, he heard Riette give a fierce battle-cry. He turned once, to see her shining ashen braid swing free as she cleaved a thrall’s head from its neck, and then he did as he was told and made to turn away, when he realised where the fae army had got to.

  The ground behind Riette burst to life with wildflowers and vines, and suddenly, in a great wall behind him, were the fae, Joa at the centre, glowing as golden as his son had.

  “Bells,” Idris whispered.

  The Queen’s plan, then, was to keep Idris safe, by hemming the undead army in on all sides. The castle keep and what lay inside it was for him alone.

  Right behind you, Willard had said. He had meant it.

  Idris turned away and forced himself on. He had no stamina for running, but he knew he had to have something left to face Layton, even if it was pure adrenalin and fierce hatred. Black Star felt light and warm in his hands.

  The castle keep was dark and half-dead. No torches were lit in the sconces and the archway that led into it was more hinderance than entrance; its stones littered the ground as Idris hurried past. Beyond the archway was the entrance hall, the door blasted off its hinges.

  Kurellan got this far, Idris thought, and his stomach clenched and his grip tightened on his hammer. Kurellan got there and Layton destroyed him.

  There were no thralls. Surprised, Idris slowed, catching his breath, in the dry darkness of the castle. The roof was intact but the whole place was draughty and dusty. He could not feel the control of any creatures but he could hear the death aria, pulsing. Gingerly, he took a step forward.

  There. A pentagon, etched crudely into the dirt.

  “Layton?” he called, peering into the shadows. “I am here, Father. I am home. Come out.”

  There was no reply, either within the aria or without. He circled the pentagon, creeping forward. Rainwater dripped steadily off the bottom of his coat, off his single boot, down his spine.

  “You have what you wanted,” he said, his voice echoing uncomfortably in the empty space. “I came. I am here to face you. We can settle this like men.”

  There was a faint glitter beyond a doorway to his left – a glimmer of green.

  “I want to show you what the fae made for me,” he said, in a quieter voice, raising the hammer.

  The command and the blow happened simultaneously, or so it felt to Idris. Layton’s voice, everywhere at once, all through the aria, said, “Push,” and Idris was in the air. He slammed into the stone wall and back out into the rain, and fell hard on his back into the dirt.

  Coughing, feeling the pain in his ribs, he rolled over onto his hands and looked up. He was back in the courtyard, the fae army to his right, the rain pummelling into his back. The armoured coat had taken the worst of the strike; Idris struggled back up, staring at the hole in the wall he had been shoved out of.

  “You know,” said Layton, calmly and steadily, “the old man took three of those before he fell.”

  Idris clenched his jaw, feeling the fake molar shift in his gum and the tingle of the old stab wound in his shoulder.

  Layton sighed heavily – Idris still could not see him.

  “Oh, this is tiresome, son,” he said.

  “Come out here and face me.”

  “You come back in and prove to me it is worth my time.” Then, with vicious relish, “Whelp.”

  The rage that consumed Idris then was hotter than any aria could ever be. He roared, from the pit of his stomach, and charged back through the wall, Black Star raised, towards the door which the green glitter shone through. He leapt over the pentagon, felt a surge of power through it like it was trying to suck him back, and he reached the door just as Layton said, “Push,” again.

  This time, the blast struck Idris in the face. He felt it slam against his eyes and he tumbled backwards, skittering over the dusty ground. Panicked, he slammed the shaft of Black Star into the dirt to stop himself landing in Layton’s pentagon, and lay gasping, inches from it, blinking stars from his eyes.

  “Pathetic,” whispered Layton. “One more and you have surpassed the magpie. He was never kind to you, was he? He embarrassed you in public, disparaged you. At least he was always honest in his hatred of you, unlike the rest of those snivelling worms -”

  “Shut up and come out here!” Idris screamed, launching himself back up to the doorway. Before Layton had another opportunity, Idris turned the head of Black Star to face where he assumed his father was and when he heard the command a third time, he braced.

  Black Star absorbed the necrotic strike, but the force still almost pushed Idris to the ground. The hare’s foot scraped with a painful squeal against the rock, shivering agony all through his stump, and he grunted with the effort.

  “Interesting at last,” said Layton, a smile in his voice. “A shame.” With the weight of the aria, he said, “Pain.”

  He seemed surprised when Idris did not collapse in a heap. Idris marched forwards, Black Star raised. He could see his father’s face, now, pale and haggard, less youthful than it had once appeared, his hand on the skull of Johannes Vonner as it pulsed with grey energy, and Idris screamed through tears in his eyes and swung as hard as he could -

  And Layton’s breastplate glowed green and as if some invisible force was determined to keep the two pieces of Spirit Glass apart, Idris’s blow hit a barrier, and he shot backwards.

  This time, he flew right back through the entrance hall, made a new hole in the wall and rolled six times before he came to a stop, out in the rain, gasping and shivering.

  “You can take some punishment, Master Vonner, I will give you that,” said Layton. “How did you manage to shield yourself from my grip on your blood, though?”

  Idris blinked hard, looked up. Layton stepped delicately through the hole in the wall, skull in his hands, breastplate shimmering like it was slicked with oil. He seemed small, thin – white, like the bone in his hands. The breastplate was clearly sapping him, taking control of his energy, and yet a terrible black cloud emanated from him, filled with the tainted fae death aria that the Spirit Glass sang. Idris shook his head to clear it, sure he had made some kind of mistake. It seemed that the skull had a diamond crystal, held in its mouth, like the one he had found in the farmhouse.

  “It matters very little,” Layton said, approaching. “Although I am intrigued by your trinket. I wonder where you got such a quantity of Spirit Glass from. I am sure I can guess. What powers did they imbue it with? What did you ask them to do so you could murder your own kin?”

  Idris swallowed hard, tried to steady himself enough to climb back to his feet, but everything felt soft and difficult to control.

  If he kills me, he thought, seeing his father looming over him, at least I will be part of the same song as my uncle. As Kurellan and Polly and King Gael.

  Then, strangely, Layton turned as if startled.

  An arrow whizzed past his left ear.

  Lila, on foot, marched through the archway, bow raised, a second arrow already nocked and aimed for the Dead-Walker, her face set in determined hatred.

  “You leave my family alone,” she snarled, and let it fly.

  “Lila, no,” blurted Idris, as Layton lifted a hand.

  The breastplate did its work. The arrow bounced harmlessly off its protective aria layer, a good inch from the glass. Lila frowned, put her hand to the hilt of her sword as if to rush him instead, but Idris already knew what was coming. The archway’s only remaining bricks were behind her. If she hit them, she was likely dead.

  Idris heard the aria suck in around Layton, a black hole of concentrated force. He did not know where the strength came from, only that he saw Layton’s lips begin to curl around the word push and he was not going to allow anything to hurt his friend.

  He got up and wrapped himself bodily around Layton’s back.

  The momentum shocked Layton out of the concentration he needed to cast and father and son went tumbling to the ground.

  “Lila, run!” Idris ordered. “Get out of here!”

  “Burn,” said Layton beneath him, and the heat that followed was so intense that Idris cried out and leapt off Layton’s back, stumbling onto his backside.

  He knew the next strike was not going to miss, but Lila stood stricken, hand on her sword, stance set like she thought she could take it. Idris pushed himself up and ran at her, and had his arms around her when he heard, “Push,” from behind.

  The force took them both off their feet. Lila screamed as Idris twisted so the back of his armoured coat would hit the archway’s remaining stone, and the air slammed out of him immediately. They fell, damp and panting, at the base. He kept his arms around her and she did not move.

  “Lila, please,” Idris said. “Please, go.”

  “It is an attendant’s job to protect the casting necromancer,” she whispered, looking right up at him with her eyes wide and pleading.

  “He is too strong, Lila. He will kill you. Protect the Queen. She needs you.”

  “Sir Idris -”

  “That is an order,” he said, as firmly as he could muster.

  She hesitated.

  “If you love me,” he whispered, desperate, “like I love you – like family? You will do this for me.”

  “I can’t let him kill you, Idris.”

  “I will not go down without a fight. I can promise you that.”

  “I will give your girl two minutes to leave us,” said Layton, somewhere beyond Lila. “After that, if she interferes again, I will suck the aria from her body and feed her to the crows.”

  “Tell Cressida I was brave,” Idris whispered.

  Lila pursed her lips, but she nodded. “I will.”

  “All will be well.”

  “All...” She bit back tears. “All will be well.”

  “Go.”

  She climbed up, looked once over at Layton.

  “Your son deserves better than whatever you are,” she said. Idris, on his knees, saw Layton smile.

  “My son deserves whatever I say he deserves,” he said.

  “I hope he staves your skull in.”

  With that, Lila turned and walked away. Layton stayed true to his word – he did not attack her – and eventually she vanished in the maelstrom of rain and clay and fae glitter. But another figure stood there, staring at Idris and Layton.

  “Ah,” breathed Layton, and his smile widened. “Hello, Astridia.”