“I would ask you to dance,” I murmur back to him, my eyes still on the barracks. Will they be ours tomorrow?

Maven doesn’t answer, shifting in his seat as we coast to a stop. He will always choose you.

“I feel nothing for Cal,” I whisper in his ear as we clamber out of the transport.

He smiles, his hand closing around mine, and I tell myself it’s not a lie.

When the doors to the palace open to us, a wretched scream twists through the long marbled passages. Maven and I exchange glances, startled. Our guards bristle, hands straying to their guns, but they aren’t enough to stop me from bolting. Maven keeps up as best he can, trying to match my pace. The scream sounds again, accompanied by a dozen marching feet and the familiar clank of armor.

I break into a dead sprint, Maven right behind me. We burst into a round chamber, a council hall of polished marble and dark wood. There’s already a crowd and I almost collide with Lord Samos himself, but my feet stop me just in time. Maven slams into my back, nearly knocking us over.

Samos sneers at both of us, his black eyes cold and hard.

“My lady, Prince Maven,” he says, barely inclining his head to either of us. “Have you come to see the show?”

The show. There are other lords and ladies around us, along with the king and queen, all staring straight ahead. I push through them, not knowing what I’ll find on the other side, but I know it won’t be good. Maven follows, his hand never leaving my elbow. When we reach the front of the crowd, I’m glad for his warm hand, a comfort to keep me quiet—and to pull me back.

No less than sixteen soldiers stand in the center of the chamber, their booted feet tracking dirt over the great crown seal. Their armor is the same, scaled black metal, except for one with a reddish glint. Cal.

Evangeline stands with him, her hair pulled back into a braid. She breathes heavily, winded, but looks proud of herself. And where there’s Evangeline, her brother cannot be far behind.

Ptolemus appears from the back of the pack, dragging a screaming body by her hair. Cal turns away and meets my eyes the moment I recognize her. I can see regret there, but he does nothing to save her.

Ptolemus tosses Walsh to the polished floor, her face smashing against the rock. She barely spares a glance at me before turning her pained eyes on the king. I remember the playful, smiling servant who first introduced me to this world; that person is gone.

“The rats crawl in the old tunnels,” Ptolemus snarls, turning her over with his foot. She scrambles away from his touch, surprisingly quick for her many injuries. “We found this one trailing us near the river holes.”

Trailing them? How could she be so stupid? But Walsh isn’t stupid. No, this was an order, I realize with growing horror. She was watching the train tunnels, making sure the way was clear for us to get back from Naercey. And while we made it through safely, she did not.

Maven’s grip on my arm tightens, pulling me into him until his chest lies flush to my back. He knows I want to run to her, to save her, to help her. And I know we can’t do anything at all.

“We went as far as the radiation detectors would allow,” Cal adds, trying his best to ignore Walsh coughing up blood. “The tunnel system is huge, much larger than we originally thought. There must be dozens of miles in the area and the Scarlet Guard know them better than any of us.”

King Tiberias scowls beneath his beard. He gestures at Walsh, waving her forward. Cal seizes her by the arm, pulling her toward the king. A thousand different tortures fill my head, each one worse than the last. Fire, metal, water, even my own lightning, could be used to make her talk.

“I will not make the same mistake again,” the king growls into her face. “Elara, make her sing. Right now.”

“With pleasure,” the queen replies, freeing her hands from her trailing sleeves.

This is worse. Walsh will talk, she’ll implicate us all, she’ll ruin us. And then they’ll kill her slowly. They’ll kill us all slowly.

An Eagrie in the crowd of soldiers, an eye with the ability of foresight, suddenly jumps forward. “Stop her! Hold her arms!”

But Walsh is faster than his vision. “For Tristan,” she says, before slamming a hand to her mouth. She bites down on something and swallows, knocking her head back.

“A healer!” Cal snaps, grabbing her throat, trying to stop her. But her mouth foams white and her limbs twitch—she’s choking. “A healer, now!”

She seizes violently, twisting out of his grip with the last of her strength. When she hits the floor, her eyes are wide open, staring but not seeing. Dead.

For Tristan.

I can’t even mourn her.

“A suicide pill.”

Cal’s voice is gentle, like he’s explaining this to a child. But I suppose I am a child when it comes to war and death. “We give them to officers on the line, and our spies. If they’re captured—”

“They won’t talk,” I spit back at him.

Careful, I warn myself. As much as his presence makes my skin crawl, I have to endure it. After all, I let him find me here on the balcony. I must give him hope. I must let him think he has a chance with me. That part was Maven’s idea, as much as it hurt him to say so. As for me, it’s hard to walk the narrow line between a lie and the truth, especially with Cal. I hate him, I know that, but something in his eyes and his voice reminds me that my feelings aren’t so simple.

He keeps his distance, standing an arm’s length away. “It’s a better death than she would get from us.”

“Would she be frozen? Or maybe burned for a change of pace?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “She would go to the Bowl of Bones.” He raises his eyes from the barracks, looking across the river. On the far side, nestled among the high-rises, is a massive oval arena with spikes around the rim in a violent crown. The Bowl of Bones. “She’d be executed in a broadcast, as a message to all the rest.”

“I thought you didn’t do that anymore. I haven’t seen one in over a decade.” I barely remember those broadcasts from when I was a little girl, years ago.

“Exceptions can be made. The arena fights haven’t stopped the Guard from taking hold, maybe something else will.”

“You knew her,” I whisper, trying to find just one shred of regret in him. “You sent her to me after we first met.”

He crosses his arms, like that can somehow protect him from the memory. “I knew she came from your village. I thought that might help you adjust a little.”

“I still don’t know why you cared. You didn’t even know I was different.”

A moment passes in silence, broken only by the bark of lieutenants far below, still drilling even as the sun sets.

“You were different to me,” he finally murmurs.

“I wonder what could have been, if all this”—I gesture to the palace and the Square beyond—“wasn’t between us.”

Let him chew on that.

He puts a hand on my arm, his fingers hot through the fabric of my sleeve.

“But that can never be, Cal.”

I force as much longing as I can into my eyes, relying on the memory of my family, Maven, Kilorn, all the things we’re trying to do. Maybe Cal will mistake my feelings. Give him hope where none should be. It’s the cruelest thing I can do, but for the cause, for my friends, for my life, I will.