Alex couldn’t speak. His lip trembled.

“Alex!” Simber roared. “Answerrr me!”

“He’s dead!” Alex shouted, more from fear than anything. When the cat reared back in shock, Alex said it again, softer this time. “He’s dead. Most likely from the moment you fell to the bottom of the sea.”

Simber stared at Alex for a long moment, searching the boy’s face. And then he closed his eyes. His head fell. “Tell me,” he whispered.

Alex swallowed hard, his throat still sore and dry as toast. “Meghan and I were thrown from the boat. She almost drowned. We barely made it to shore. When we did, Artimé was gone.”

“Oh, Marrrcus.” Simber, eyes still closed, winced as he imagined it. His beloved creator, his closest friend. The cat held very still for an excruciatingly long moment, as if pulling his thoughts together to make sense, accepting the realization of it, bracing himself for what was to come. And then he opened his eyes. “And you brrrought Arrrtimé back,” he said, not a question.

Alex swallowed hard. “Yeah. Finally. I’m sorry it took me so long. I’m just . . . I’m so glad to see you.”

Simber lowered his head so that his eyes were even with the young mage’s. “I’m verrry prrroud of you,” he said.

“Some people left,” Alex whispered. He dropped his gaze, the lump in his throat too big to allow his voice to come though.

It may have been an accident, but Simber’s muzzle brushed against the side of Alex’s head, which nearly looked like an act of kindness, but no one was around to point it out. In a gentle voice, Simber asked, “Wherrre do things stand now?”

When Alex could speak, he said, “It’s pretty crazy right now. Everyone headed for the mansion because we’ve been, sort of, well, starving to death, I guess. I sent Florence and Ms. Octavia to find Sean and Mr. Appleblossom for answers. I hope they’re settling everyone down. I had to come here. I had to . . . wait for you.”

“Of courrrse,” Simber murmured, but his stony brow furrowed. “Sean and Sigfrrried? Not Clairrre?”

“She’s . . . ,” Alex said, and shook his head. “She’s gone too.”

“No,” Simber said, the word turning into a ferocious growl that hurt Alex’s ears. “Who is rrresponsible forrr this?”

Alex’s face paled. He gazed in the direction of the gate. “The new high priest of Quill. Aaron Stowe.”

“The new . . . ?” Simber’s jaw opened, but for once he was incapable of finishing. Just as he attempted to repeat Alex’s words a second time, Sky came running up at full speed. She seemed surprised at the size of Simber and planted her feet into the sand to stop her momentum just short of her goal, not wanting to get too close to the beast, as she’d never seen him before. She reached out carefully to grab Alex’s arm, tugging at him and gesturing for him to follow.

Her expression worried Alex. “Something’s wrong,” Alex said to Simber. “I’ll tell you everything when I get a chance. Come on.” He followed Sky, who had taken off at a run.

“Indeed,” Simber said, and he loped alongside the two. Several yards before they reached the mansion, Simber stopped. “Something’s shaking,” he said.

Alex held up. “What? I don’t feel anything.”

Sky urged Alex onward.

“Something is shaking,” Simber said again. “The mansion. It’s shaking.” He looked hard at the mansion and then bounded toward it. “Something is terrribly wrrrong inside.”

Behind the Wall

Once the first blocks of Quill’s wall near High Priest Aaron’s palace had been removed, the rest of them came down much more easily. Between meetings about how to distribute the extra food items to those who had earned it, and planning sessions where Aaron gave Eva lists upon lists of fairly useless chores to keep her busy and test her loyalty, the new high priest made his way to his office window to watch the progress. All day, the same something niggled at him: Why would Justine have built the wall in the first place if there was nothing to worry about on the other side? Was it simply her way of controlling the people of Quill through fear? If so, it didn’t sit quite right with Aaron.

Toward the end of the day, all the workers but one had begun to slow down, much to Aaron’s distaste. It was distracting to have to keep checking on them only to see most of them taking short breaks to drink water or rest their tired backs. Even more frustrating was the one who worked solidly, for Aaron would have liked to find fault with him especially.

After one such trip to the window, Aaron had had enough of their slacking. Frowning, he strode out of his office and down to the palace entry, flying out the door with his cloak billowing behind him. There was a strong breeze coming through the opening, which was both delightful and unsettling, for Quill rarely had much more than a tiny hint of wind coming over the walls. Aaron felt so exposed. Putting a hole in the wall alongside the palace—perhaps that was not one of Aaron’s smarter ideas. But look at Artimé, he argued. They’re even more exposed, and nothing ill ever befell them from the outside.

He approached the men, who began working much harder at the sight of him. “You’re slacking off,” he said to them. “If you continue at that pace, I’ll make you stay past dark.”

The one who’d been working hard all along put his shovel down and looked at Aaron. The others who’d noticed did double takes and backed away.