Perverse exhilaration electrified the humid air as the upper ranks gazed on, mesmerized by the appearance of Valarie Crowther. Hunger for my father's impending humiliation thickened the taut atmosphere—a thick, oily film, greasing my skin and raising the fine hair on the nape of my neck.

The silver threads in Valarie's black lamé dress sparkled in the dim light of the Emporium, and the faint glow from the fake sky above coated her shoulders in hazy lavender. There was strength in the cruelty of Valarie's challenging pose. Such beauty in her leashed violence. And for one brief, twisted moment, I admired the smile curving her lips, as graceful and shrewd as a death-dealer marking their opponent.

Valarie had locked her gaze with my father in silent combat.

But my father...

Astonishment swept through me to see his iron mask crack and deep hurt seep across his features, crumpling his steely expression as if it were parchment before he wiped it away and fortified himself with a grim glare.

Who the hells was she to him?

It was an elegant crossing of her ankles and a downward sweep of her upper body as she bowed. "Byron... Marissa."

"Valarie," my father acknowledged in a flinty tone.

My mother shrank her frail figure closer to my father, clutching tightly onto his arm. She gestured to her neck, a fluttering motion of bony fingers, speaking fast and low and full of pleading fervor. "You tied a rope around my daughter's throat."

Valarie's sharp features were softened by the candlelight dancing across the angles of her face when she half-turned my way, gazing up at me as if admiring a classical statue from the old world. "Pretty, isn't it?"

"Remove it," my father demanded brusquely.

Her nose wrinkled when she turned back to him and replied with a biting smile. "I'd rather not.

His lips thinned when he glanced briefly at the courtesans behind me. "What do I have to do to stop this, Valarie?"

The skirt flicked around her knees as she stepped closer, and the swanlike column of her neck arched sideways as she stared at him from beneath lowered lashes. She stretched a hand toward him, almost as if she were about to smooth his wayward tie back into place. An inch away, she stopped, her hand hovering briefly before she placed it on her hip instead. "You know what I want, Byron." Her voice was as soft and enticing as a lover's. "But first I want you on your knees. I want to see you bowing at my feet."

His eyes dimmed with confusion before they sharpened with understanding.

Shock punched into my ribcage.

I'd never, ever seen my father bow to anyone. All my ancestors, the Wychthorns that came before us, ruling the Great House, had bowed to none. Not even to Master Sirro. A ghastly sensation, bleak like winter sleet, chilled my soul when I saw in my father's eyes the moment he resigned himself to disgrace. I watched in horror as his knees softened and began to buckle.

No, no, no...

Fury razed across every inch of my flesh, gathering like a dark firestorm in the center of my chest. I fisted my hands and stomped a foot. "DON'T!"

Everyone, including Valarie and my father, whipped their gazes toward me. While my entire body shook with outrage, my father slackened with defeat. Such guilt and disquiet were swimming in his eyes it knocked the breath from my lungs. I was his daughter. He loved me. There was nothing he wouldn't do to save me from the Crowthers. This was more than their ruse, Valarie would force him to kneel because he'd harbored an other—me. But like hells was I going to let them break my father this way.

Valarie's stony gaze narrowed on me. "You kneel," she ordered, venom soaking her tone, before she shot a second one to my father "Both of you."

The impudence of her demand almost obliterated the last shred of sanity. "NO!"

"Nelle," my father implored, raising both his palms. "Please," he begged, but for one heartbeat I wasn't sure who he was speaking to, whether the word was for myself or Valarie.

Wisps of pale tresses wavered in front of my vision when I shook my head furiously. My nostrils flared as I clamped my mouth into a harsh line.

Valarie's gaze was just as enraged, her violet eyes burning bright in the low light. She slashed a finger downward to feet encased in black stilettos. "NOW!"

But my bloodstream was alight with the cold flames of injustice. I pinned my father with a glare of defiance and I whispered the words of the mantra he'd help me craft. He wouldn't be able to hear me because I was speaking so softly, but he could read my lips. We'd spoken the mantra often enough to each other over the years.

"My roots are deep. My strength is stone. My breath the wind. I bow to none."

"Nelle, please," my mother urged in a shaky voice, tears brimming in her eyes.

"We bow to no one," I gritted through clenched teeth.

Wychthorn pride began to glimmer in the depth of my father's eyes locked with mine. It was an almost imperceptible dip of his chin before he locked his spine and squared his shoulders in an alliance.

Witnessing the change in her husband, my mother gasped, "Byron." In a state of panic, she went to bow herself, but he jerked her to him to stop her from folding in submission.

"Jett!" Valarie hissed.

Her nephew moved in a streak of speed. Suddenly he was standing on the dais, snarling, "Do it, Wychthorn!" His arm darted behind me and I felt the shift of coarse rope rubbing against my flesh as his fingers wrapped around the length of the Hangman's Noose at the very top near the knot.

And he pulled.

A hard band wound around my throat like an iron fist. My windpipe was compressed and my lungs denied air. My heart kicked in fear, yet adrenaline slashed through my veins in a fiery blaze, inflaming my rage further.

It was movement in the background that drew my attention to Caidan. Trembling hands dragged through his hair, causing the wavy locks to stick this way and that. His complexion had blanched of color, and he paced back and forth anxiously, as if he were caught in an eddy of confusion, of who to back, what he should do, his eyes rounded in horror and disbelief, bouncing between his aunt, Jett, and me.

Nelle, please—Caidan mouthed, beseeching me to fall to my knees.

I glared back in contempt, my throat aching.

For five long seconds Jett held my life in his hands until he loosened his grip.

The rope fell, thwacking my spine. I sucked in a deep lungful of air, resisting the urge to knead the pain from my throat.

I got the message. We all did.

Bow or suffer.

Silence reigned but for my puffing breaths. The only sound to be heard amongst the crowded rooftop was the music, the pulse of the dark techno beat matching my dread-filled heartbeat. Tearing my gaze from Valarie, I glanced around at the Houses. In the darkness lit up with pockets of pooled candlelight, their faces, staring with open fascination, appeared like ghoulish masks, exaggerated caricatures of themselves. They hung on every word, every gesture, every nuanced emotion flickering over my father's and my features. They fed greedily off our fear, gorging happily on the mockery of the spectacle playing out before them, like fattened pigs. Their eagerness for my fate at the merciless hands of the Crowthers was palpable, with the lustful thrill buzzing through the stifling air. Revulsion crawled across my skin, sickening my soul as the feel of it washed up against me.

The idea of my family and their rulers, going to our knees, was far more enticing than watching the arrival of those we served. They hadn't noticed the slow gathering of Horned Gods.

Beneath the fake sky curving along the dome-like shield of magic that concealed the Emporium from the world of mortals, a gossamer-winged Horned God with spindly black limbs clung to the top of a Corinthian column with delicate stone ivy curling around its crown. More eyes had appeared in the shadowed world behind the line of pillars. Some were a golden amber like Master Sirro's, and others were a vast range of vivid colors, like a scattering of gems on velvet.

A gust of mist billowed outward like a dozing dragon had expelled a sleepy yawn. Mrysst strode out in skittering footsteps, her curved horns angling with the slant of her head as she surveyed the rooftop before glancing over her shoulder as if awaiting the appearance of someone else.

My blood ran cold.

A wild, black nightmare, glistening and oily as if a cauldron had been tipped over, washed across the stone floor. Within the waves of darkness was a horde of tiny critters that were her bedmates.

Jurgana.

She was taller than her sibling, different in appearance as all Horned Gods were to one another, and from what little I could make of Mrysst beneath the layers of tattered lace, there was nothing similar about the sisters either.

She bore herself regally as she stepped into our side of the Emporium, swirling, sticky power flowing around her feet, her bedmates roiling and chittering. She was a tall, lithe humanoid figure, naked but for the many loops of old rope that crossed her body and concealed her modestly. Small leather pouches made from all manner of skin—human, animal, and lesser creatures alike—were tied to the rope and swung gently with her dreamy gait. Pale light shimmered over the hairless skull and reptilian skin, sparkling in an iridescent sheen.

Intrigue and hunger shone in wide-set eyes, a dark green like damp moss, with a vertical slit of amber. She desired what I possessed. All those qualities humming inside my body that would make perfect ingredients for her spells.

I knew. Deep down, I knew what I should do—bow. And the execution of it would remove the quality Sirro spoke of that would push her to go against my father and demand the Butcher assess me for the Witches Ball.

It would be so easy to do, to give in.

It was the crack of stilettos on stone that had my gaze slicing from the Witch to Valarie. Behind the wall of Crowther soldiers, she stalked closer. "Make this easier on yourself, Nelle. Save yourself from the Emporium... Fall to your knees."

My hands were balled fists, half-raised. "I'll never do that. You'll never get that from me!"

"Kneel!"

It was her brief sideways glance, lips twitching as if she were stifling a smile, that revealed she was aware they'd drawn Jurgana out from the Emporium.

Anger ignited like a detonation.

"NO!" I roared, my voice cracking and hoarse.

I would never, ever, bow to a Crowther.

I would never kneel at their feet.

I'd rather die than do that.

The Crowthers held enough of my family's secrets over our heads to force my father to do their bidding. My family's lives would be at great risk if they handed over Brangwene's Hjarte. But this threat, of my body being sold to another, I could at least put a stop to.

My lips parted and I got the first few words out, "It's a lie!" before the warmth of a palm slapped across my mouth, stopping my father from hearing what I was about to shout—that all of this was a ruse. The Crowthers weren't ever going to let me be sold off like a whore!

Jett's voice was oddly vulnerable when I heard him whisper, "Don't you dare expose our charade."

I frowned with perplexion. As I turned my head to face him I caught a glance of his brothers. Both of them were pale, uneasy, and torn with loyalty. There was Caidan who loved my sister and was close to betraying his family. Kenton, who I suspected had saved Penn from the last Witches Ball only to shove me into her place. And now his resolve was splintering once more.

And Jett, the worst of Graysen's brothers...

...gave me pause, when I faced him and saw where he was staring. Not at his aunt, but at Sarnia.

Sirro had left, but his assistant Sarnia remained. Perhaps to watch over the proceedings and report back to him. Or maybe even to place a bid on me for him. She stood on the outskirts of the rooftop and her appalled gaze was on Jett. Such dismay and disappointment was reflected in their haunted depths.

I watched Jett's long lashes sweep downward as he closed his eyes to hide his shame. The bob in his throat. The guilty clench of his jaw.

Oh gods, he liked her.

He really liked her.

"Do it," his aunt ordered in a cold, cruel voice. The dark fabric of her dress curved around her long legs when she took a sidelong step, fury carving deep lines into her brow, bracketing her mouth.

Jett's eyes flashed open full of distress.

He hesitated.

And Penn's reminder flooded through my mind.

It's one thing to plan for it, another thing altogether to actually do it.

"NOW, JETT!"

"Fuck," he muttered. "Shit...fucking hells..." He grabbed hold of the rope with shaky hands.

I felt a tug, a tightening, a second warning. I was sure this time it would be longer than the five seconds I'd first endured.

It was the singular expression glowing on Valarie's face that tipped me into insanity—gloating. She was drunk on the power she held over me, my father, and the Great House.

Wrath exploded from me like a breath of wyrmfire.

A red veil descended over my vision as I was snatched up by madness and vengeance. Great swatches of unadulterated fury gusted through my blood, heating my entire body as if my wyrm had unleashed itself, breathing torrents of moonlit fire in its savagery.

"I BOW TO NO ONE!"

I had nothing to lose. I could either die now, right here, or endure far more horrific suffering at the hands of the Butcher, who'd brutally hack me into pieces with his cleaver. Strength coiled around my bones. A slithering of dry scales. Almost as if the presence of my wyrm was with me once again. Graysen had given me one of the greatest gifts last night. I'd fractured, very nearly broken in despair, but he'd reforged my shattered spirit and reminded me I was strong.

Stronger than him.

Stronger than all of them.

I would never lower myself into a subservient position to anyone.

Least of all that loathsome woman.

Jett loosened his hold on the noose and it relaxed against my throat. "I can't..."

He couldn't do it.

So I did it for him.

It was one thing for the Crowthers to plan all of this, but it was another thing altogether to cross that line and go through with it. Capturing me had been the easiest thing to do, but bringing me here to frighten me in this appalling manner was the first true step in their machinations to save their mother.

If I was going to die at the Witches Ball, Jett needed to see what he was going to do to me, to face it head-on. I was going to break him and take him down with me, even if it meant my life would end at my own hands.

I half-swiveled on the pedestal to fully face him. Grabbing hold of the end of the noose I yanked so the collar shifted around and ended up below my chin. I was fast, moving faster than his mind could comprehend. The length of the cord was whipped around his fingers that still held the rope near the knot. Once, twice more. I moved so quickly and secured it so tightly that his fingers were trapped within the loops of rope jammed up against my throat. The force caused the actual collar to become a vice, crushing my windpipe and denying me oxygen.

His eyes bugged and his voice was pitched high and panicky. "What are you doing?"

"I will never bow to a Crowther," I tried to rasp, my throat straining against the rope.

Confusion and terror exploded in Jett's eyes.

He tried to tug his hands free but I'd ensnared them too cleverly. We were toe to toe, eye to eye and he was going to watch me die.

Chaos erupted all around me.

In my periphery I watched my mother stagger back as if she couldn't quite comprehend what was happening.

My father spat out a volley of barked orders to his guards.

"Hold the line!" Valarie commanded, her eyes wide and bewitched.

It was a warzone of clattering sounds and enraged shouts. Of tables upending. Glass shattering. The thump of feet storming forward, of fists striking flesh between black-suited soldiers. Caidan was yelling at Jett to stop; bellowed at his aunt to order her soldiers aside. Kenton was frozen in horror amongst the melee. My father's guards pushed forward, but the Crowthers' soldiers, obeying Valarie, withstood their force.

"Holy Hellsgate..." Jett gasped. "Stop! Stop!" He frantically wrenched at his hands, trying to free himself, to stop what I was doing. In his mindless panic, he jerked us around and I almost stumbled from the pedestal.

My gaze slipped over my shoulder to my parents.

My mother screamed—

My father yelled my name. "NELLE!"

I'm sorry... I'm sorry...

There was a part of me that truly wanted this. If I was dead, I could free my family from everything the Crowthers desired. I could save them from the Horned Gods too.

I gasped like a fish pulled out of the water. The Hangman's Noose crushed my throat. Fiery pain set my chest on fire. My lungs felt as if they'd been slashed with razor blades. Black dots wavered within my periphery, seeping inwards and growing fatter

The world around me was compressed into a wall of noise and blurred impressions as pandemonium rained down. The crowd surged forward with the deliciousness of the spectacle. Caidan had launched into motion, trying to push his way through the jostling sea of bodies and limbs like an ocean caught within a storm. Kenton shoved forward too, flanking his brother, cutting toward him. I wasn't sure if he was going to tackle Caidan or stop Jett.

Above it all, all I could hear was my father, roaring my name again and again. While my mother stood shaking and sobbing, tears streamed along the hollows in her gaunt face, my father was struggling to push past the impenetrable wall of Crowthers. It was heartbreaking to see the utter terror etched upon his pallid features.

Denied air for too long, my head felt hot and stuffy. My lips were swollen and sore. Strength fled my limbs while dizziness overwhelmed my senses. My vision blurred before me like a pane of frosted glass before it darkened like sinking beneath ocean waves.

Until the only thing I could see was a pinprick of violet staring back at me in abject terror.

Until no more.

I tumbled sideways, taking Jett with me.

I fell to my death.

And death was an empty abyss that was cold and black and endless.