They arrived like shadows, silent and dark, shifting shapes on the horizon line. An undulating ocean tide creeping closer in increments, backlit by the purple-orange velvet of the starless spirit sky. Lira watched them approach from her window. She should have felt relief, a sense of impending freedom, but the tears running down her cheeks were salted with dread and apprehension. Bebinn had no intention of giving up her carnival and she had no intention of letting Lira leave for the human world—not when she could lead an army of spirits for her. Lira was a puppet master only in name, someone with far more power pulled her strings. No matter what she wanted, she would play for Bebinn tonight and fight against Zabaria.

Lira pushed open her window, wishing that a breeze would come through and dry her tears, cool her neck. But nothing came through the window except the tense silence that had descended upon the fairgrounds when Bebinn closed down the carnival. Nothing moved and in the dead air it felt like the very world was about to collapse.

She wondered where Owen was and what he was thinking. She had not seen any of the others since the night Atlas had betrayed her, confined to her room, her meals brought to her by Atlas herself. Whenever the tiny girl entered, Lira turned her head away and refused to look over or speak until she had left. Sometimes Atlas merely set the tray down and moved back through the door without a sound; sometimes she tried to talk with Lira, chatting away like nothing at all had happened. Once, she lost her temper and upended Lira's stew on the floor, shouting that Lira was being selfish. Lira ignored it all.

She had done her best to mop up the stew with an old shirt, but the floor was still sticky where it had been and it was beginning to smell.

Lira had spent most of the last few days alternating her time between keeping watch at the window, hoping to spot Owen or one of the others, and sitting on the floor plucking at her violin and trying to come up with a plan.

She wondered what the others knew of Zabaria's impending arrival. Would Bebinn force them to fight against the spirits? Or would she keep them locked up and out of the way so they could continue their work once the carnival reopened?

Owen wouldn't stay locked up, she thought with a wane smile. He would find a way to be there. But thinking of him in the midst of battling spirits, most with claw and tooth and whatever other deadly body parts they had, made her smile fade and her stomach clench. It would be better if he wasn't there.

Shame crept hot up her neck at her next thought. She didn't want him to see her fighting for the other side either, regardless of whether he knew she had no choice. A shudder went down her spine and she turned away from the window.

Reaching for the pitcher of water on her desk, she took long deep pulls, feeling her empty stomach expand. Next to the pitcher, a single sheet of clumsily scrawled music lay. She used a finger to retrace the notes, feeling the marks where her pencil tip had punctured it. She had spent most of the previous night awake, trying to see the music in the writing, but it was hard to tell if she was getting it right when she had never done it before. Most of it was crossed out and what little she had kept was barely coherent. It floated disjointed in her mind like the sparks of light in the air, flaring bright and hopeful one second and fading the next.

She was just finishing the last of the water when there was a sharp rap at the door and Bebinn entered. She was dressed as she always was, in a long dress, this time a deep charcoal grey, trimmed with lace. A sapphire sparkled at her throat and her deep auburn hair was pulled back into a braided bun. She was not dressed for battle because she would not be fighting; there were others to do that for her. Lira too was dressed in her usual garb: black leggings, a long white tunic, and barefoot.

"Come," said Bebinn in a brusque tone. "It is time." Bebinn did not seem nervous in the slightest. Instead, she seemed almost impatient, as if this whole thing was nothing but a nuisance she would like to be done with quickly.

Lira, on the other hand, could barely breathe for how tight her chest was. She wished she hadn't drunk quite so much water. Her grip on the violin had become sweaty and a lump was rising hard in her throat.

Bebinn led the way down the staircase, her shoes making a soft pat-pat on the worn wood. Lira reflected that the last time she and Bebinn had traversed these stairs together was the night she had been taken: going on five years ago. Lira realized with a jolt that she might be seventeen by now.

At first, she had tried desperately to keep track of the passing days, scratching tick marks on the back of old sheet music. But, as her days and nights became reversed and time passed in an indistinct shading of color, Lira lost count. She didn't even know where that paper had ended up, but now she suspected Atlas had taken it at some point. The last birthday she had marked had been fifteen. When Owen had arrived, he had told her the day and year and she had tried to hide the icy wave of surprise when she realized her sixteenth birthday had come and gone, but she hadn't gone back to keeping track. It was too depressing to see all those tick marks and wonder if the number of events and would-be moments would match up.

"I think I may be seventeen," she said aloud, just to see how it felt. It seemed weightier than sixteen. Bebinn paused and turned to regard her, stopped two steps above the floor. She was only slightly taller than Bebinn at this vantage point.

"Seventeen?" asked Bebinn. Lira wasn't sure what her inflection intended.

"I think so," she replied.

"Well," said Bebinn. "Happy birthday." With that she continued down the last two steps and into the hall of mirrors, walking through the tall gilded one that marked the point of access to the carnival. Lira passed through behind her, the hair on her arms raising slightly at the brief cooling sensation of the liquified glass.

The goosebumps remained as they set off into the heart of the fairground. Usually everything appeared slightly hazy to Lira, with the thick atmosphere and passing flashes of light, but now it was all crisp in her fear-induced clarity, so sharp it hurt her eyes. Tents scratched the purple sky, so white they seemed to burn at the edges. The dirt track had taken on a burnished copper hue, smoldering against the yellow grass that flanked it. She was glad the carnival was empty; she didn't want to know how much more terrifying the spirits would seem in this cold hyper-vision. Her silent thanks was short-lived.

When they broke into the inner circle of tents, where the carousel stood sentinel, it was all Lira could do to keep the violin from slipping through her hands. Before her, arranged in circles surrounding the carousel, were hundreds of sleeping spirits.

Lira covered her mouth as she gazed on their slumbering forms. Each was spaced about three feet from the next, a ripple of spikes and scales and fur spreading from the carousel. Some were curled into tight balls, the legs and arms crossed over one another, sometimes with the addition of a tail, while others were sprawled with their limbs flung wide. All bore the blank, slack expressions of deep, dreamless sleep.

Even at a brief glance, Lira could see that Bebinn had gone for the cruelest-looking of spirits. Those with rows of sharp teeth jutting from between their fleshy lips, wicked claws protruding from paws or hands or something in between, tails with barbs that glistened a dark black-red and were perhaps poisonous. A few had the giant leathery wings of bats while others were the thick, corded coils of serpents. Some looked innocent enough, with no discernable threat, but that make Lira fear them all the more. Where had Bebinn gotten them all?

"Atlas and Misti have been quite the help these last few days," said Bebinn as though she had read Lira's mind. They began the slow progression of walking through the spiral of spirits, Lira taking great care not to trod on anything. "It was easy enough to convince a fair few that had had run-ins with Zabaria in the past and come away badly, but a few others had needed persuading, which Atlas was more than happy to do. Poor Mitsi barely slept trying too cook enough food to get them all sedated. Sleep syrup is a tricky ingredient to work with, but he's done well and he'll be rewarded when all this is over." Bebinn cast a look at Lira. "As you will be, dear, as long as you play your part."

Has Mitsi been a part of it all along? wondered Lira sadly. No, she couldn't believe that. Mitsi had always been hard-pressed to stand up to Bebinn or Atlas, as Lira herself was, but she did not believe that the quiet, gentle cook was a traitor. He simply had not been given a choice. None of us were, thought Lira savagely.

"If you convinced them to fight," began Lira. "Why do you need me?"

"Agreement is not the same as loyalty," replied Bebinn crisply. "They will run if they do not think we will win, and once one deserts the rest will follow. An army united, better yet, an army with a solitary purpose and a single song in their hearts—" she glanced at Lira with a half-smile, "—is an army to be feared."

They had reached the carousel; Lira squinted in the light thrown from the ride. It stood empty with the loose harness chains hanging from the ceiling. Lira supposed Bebinn did not want any damage to come to her horses.

The witch offered Lira a hand up onto the ride; her hand was smooth and cool when she took it. "You will play from here," said Bebinn. "I have placed an enchantment around the ride so that you will be safe from harm."

And so I can't run, added Lira silently. Although, by now she knew there was nothing to run to. "What happens if we lose?" she asked instead.

Bebinn held her gaze coolly but did not deign to answer. Over the witch's shoulder, Lira spotted Atlas emerging from between a set of tents, nimbly dancing her way through the sleeping spirits. She arrived at Bebinn's side slightly flushed but not winded. Her red eyes danced in the golden light.

"They are half a mile away," she reported.

"Then we best take our places," said Bebinn. She began to walk away without a further word to Lira, but Atlas remained behind for a moment longer looking up at her.

"Atlas, please" said Lira softly. "Don't do this."

"You'll see," the little girl replied. "One day, you'll understand."

"Atlas, come!" Bebinn called. "Lira take your place, dear."

Lira and Atlas turned from each other at the same time. Lira walked to where Maelana usually stood, the harness clinking as it bumped gently into her shoulder. She looked out over the carnival, at the sea of spirits that, from up here, looked like a wave of shadows, black against the white tents. Then, she glanced towards the rise, where Zebaria's army was still steadily approaching, an unbroken line of equally indiscernible shadows. Digging her bare toes into the smooth, dusty floor, feeling the tiny imperfections invisible to the naked eye, she took a deep breath and tried to steady herself. Her mind was strangely blank and she reached deep to try and pull up a shred of the courage that had been so fleeting since her return from Zabaria's forest.

She raised her instrument and drew the bow slowly across the strings so a melancholy note poured into the night. All around her, slumbering spirits began to stir.

A small part of Lira hoped that it wouldn't work; that the power to control the spirits through music would sputter out like a candle. But she had always known it wouldn't. Fear swelled in her at the mere thought of the two spirit armies clashing in a whirling mass of claws and teeth just beneath her feet, and short of making her incapable of playing, it would ensure that this strange power she was cultivating would work. Fear had always been the strongest of motivators when it came to the experiments Bebinn had made her participate in because it was linked to survival. This was no different.

Lira did not want to die, did not want her soul condemned to this awful place, forever at the mercy of Bebinn. Did that make her an awful person? she wondered as her fingers moved slow and deliberate over the strings, coaxing the spirits from sleep. Would she too have a dark stain on her soul? Didn't she already from the awful things she had done, stealing children from their beds? Her old fear of not being strong enough to stand up for herself and for others was playing out before her in the worst way possible and the taste on her tongue was bitter.

Fanning out before her, monstrous spirits rose to their feet, stretching wings and limbs, tongues flicking out to taste the unyielding air. She glanced sideways to those who stood on her right and left. Their eyes, if they had any to speak of, burned with a removed desire; ready for a fight they had no choice in. Lira swallowed hard and began to pick up her tempo. The sound swelled in the strange silence that still cushioned the carnival, washing over them like a wave or wind, lapping at the edges until everyone and thing was bathed in music: battle music. Soft growls rose around her like small quakes as those spirits that had animal forms crouched on coiled haunches.

As the first of Zabaria's army broke over the hill, Lira tipped the music into a pulsing melody that made her heart pound. She braced herself.

This, right here, was her chance. Perhaps her last.