Do something, Shrike. But what? Kidnap her? Kill her guards? I’m supposed to secure a treaty, not start a war.

Bleeding, burning hells. I told Livia to send a diplomat. Avitas Harper would have been perfect. She could have dispatched him to Marinn and let me stay in Delphinium. I’d have been able to focus on Grímarr and the Karkauns. And I’d have been free of Harper and the maddening desire that muddles my mind and tangles my words whenever he’s near.

But no. The Mariner royal family needs to speak with someone who fought in Antium, Livia said. Someone who knows what Grímarr is doing there.

Just thinking of it makes my blood boil. Four weeks ago, Grímarr ambushed a supply caravan headed for Delphinium. He replaced the food with Martial and Scholar limbs—those hacked off during his violent blood rites. One of his men hid in the caravan and tried to ambush me, shouting, “Ik tachk mort fid iniqant fi!” I gutted him before I got a translation.

When the Paters of Delphinium learned of the incident, they were horrified. Their support wanes, even as the Karkauns wreak havoc on my capital. We need this alliance.

So here I am, standing three yards from the crown princess of Marinn, bold as a Navium dock whore. I have no battle armor. No mask. Just a stolen uniform and my scarred face.

The princess doesn’t enter the room. Instead she stares at the fish and shells and ferns carved in the door as if she’s never seen them before. For an instant, she looks panicked.

The idea of lording over the Martials as an empress—and being subject to the politics and expectations of such a position—makes me ill. Perhaps Nikla feels the same.

One of Nikla’s guards clears her throat. Half of the sentries I’ve seen here are women—something the Empire could use a bit more of. This guard is also female, tall and hawk-faced, with dark skin and a firm voice.

“Your Highness. It has been a long day. Perhaps your steward can make your excuses.”

“You overstep, Lieutenant Eleiba.” Nikla’s shoulders stiffen. “I reinstated you into the guard at my father’s request. Do not—”

Nikla turns as she speaks—and spots me. “You,” she says. “I don’t recognize—”

Don’t kill the bleeding guards, Shrike. Treaty, not war. I rush the princess and she stumbles back, her feet caught in the hem of her dress. Before her defenders can call out, my dagger is in my hand. I ram it, hilt first, into the temple of the first guard, dropping him.

As he falls, I snatch his spear away and spin the butt of it into the face of the guard behind me. A satisfying thump tells me I’ve hit my mark. I jam the spear between the dining room door handles so that the guards and courtiers within cannot get out.

One of the soldiers, Eleiba, rushes away with the princess, screaming for aid. The third guard is on me now, but I disarm her and bash her with the flat of her scim. Before she hits the floor, I have flung a knife at the fleeing Eleiba.

It sinks into her shoulder and she jerks, nearly falling.

“Run, Princess!” she shouts. But I am too fast for them both. I spot a door. According to the map Musa had me memorize, it leads to a small meeting chamber. I herd Nikla and Eleiba toward it.

“In.” I nod to the door. Eleiba growls at me, but I fix my gaze on the princess.

“Do you know who I am?”

She narrows her eyes and nods.

“Then you know that if I’d wanted to kill you, I could have. I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to talk. Tell your guard to stand down.”

“Death first,” Eleiba rasps. “Princess—go—”

I feint letting the scim fall, and in the instant that Eleiba’s gaze drops to it, I punch her square in the face. She drops like a stone.

“In.” I point the scim at Nikla’s throat. Already, soldiers thunder down the hall toward us. “Now, princess.”

She bares her teeth but backs into the chamber. I bar the door and ignore the shouts getting closer.

I flip my scim around and hand it to the princess. “A token of goodwill. As I said, I just want to talk.”

Nikla takes the weapon with the swiftness of someone practiced with a blade—and puts the point to my throat. Distantly, alarm bells clang. Her guards will be breaking down the door soon enough.

“Well, girl,” she says. “What could the Blood Shrike of a pretender possibly have to say to me?”

“I know Keris is here for an alliance, but you can’t trust her,” I say. “She betrayed an entire city of her own civilians to become Empress. Tens of thousands left to the mercies of the Karkauns because of her lust for power.”

“I was not born yesterday. I’d be a fool to trust your empress.”

My vision goes red at that word. “She is not,” I hiss, “my empress. She is a snake, and allying with her is a grave error.”

“Keris is offering me a treaty that would end the jinn attacks on Mariner villages,” Nikla says. “Can you do the same?”

“I—” I need a moment to think. Just a moment. But the blade makes it hard to breathe, let alone come up with a solution to Nikla’s problem. Every trick I learned in rhetoric class flees my mind. I wish, suddenly, for Elias. He could sweet-talk a stone into giving him water.

“It’s Keris’s men who are carrying out those raids,” I say. “She’s allied with the jinn. We could fight them together.”

“You and what army?” Nikla laughs and lowers the scim. Not because she’s tired. But because she’s no longer afraid. “Do you even have enough food to get your people through the winter? You’re a fool, Blood Shrike. I can’t fight Keris and her supernatural allies. I can only make a deal. I suggest you do the same.”

“I’d die first.”

“Then you’ll die.” Nikla’s guards bang on the door, shouting her name. “In a few seconds, at the hands of my soldiers. Or later, at the hands of your empress.”

She’s not my empress! “Keris is evil,” I say. “But I know her. I can defeat her. I just need—”

The door splinters. Nikla observes me pensively. My words won’t convince her. But perhaps threats—

At that moment, a shrill scream punctures the air. It is so deafening that I cringe and cover my ears, hardly noticing as Nikla drops the scim and does the same. The banging on the door stops as cries sound from outside it. With a great crash, the windows of the chamber shatter and glass plunges to the floor. Still, the scream continues.

My skin prickles, and deep within my body, my healing magic stirs, restless as a pup in a thunderstorm.

Laia. Something is wrong. I can feel it.