I almost laugh in relief, but I can’t help but feel stung at the same time. Maven’s the last person I should be wary of in this pit of snakes. Just the suggestion makes me bristle. “I am engaged to him,” I reply, trying my best not to snap.

But instead of letting it drop, Julian leans forward. His placid demeanor usually soothes me, but today it’s nothing but frustrating. “I’m just trying to help you. Maven is his mother’s son.”

This time I really do snap. “You don’t know a thing about him.” Maven’s my friend. Maven’s risking more than me. “Judging him by his parents is like judging me for my blood. Just because you hate the king and queen doesn’t mean you can hate him too.”

Julian stares at me, his gaze level and full of fire. When he speaks, his voice sounds more like a growl. “I hate the king because he couldn’t save my sister, because he replaced her with that viper. I hate the queen because she ruined Sara Skonos, because she took the girl I loved and broke her apart. Because she cut Sara’s tongue out.” And then lower, a lament, “She had such a beautiful voice.”

A wave of nausea washes over me. Suddenly Sara’s painful silence, her sunken cheeks make sense. No wonder Julian had her heal me; she couldn’t tell anyone the truth.

“But”—my words are small and hoarse, like it’s my voice being taken away—“she’s a healer.”

“Skin healers can’t heal themselves. And no one would cross the queen’s punishment. So Sara has to live like that, shamed, forever.” His voice echoes with memories, each one worse than the last. “Silvers don’t mind pain, but we are proud. Pride, dignity, honor; those are things no ability can replace.”

As terrible as I feel for Sara, I can’t help but fear for myself. They cut her tongue out for something she said. What will they possibly do to me?

“You forget yourself, little lightning girl.”

The nickname feels like a slap in the face, shocking me back to reality.

“This world is not your own. Learning to curtsy has not changed that. You don’t understand the game we’re playing.”

“Because this isn’t a game, Julian.” I push his book of records toward him, shoving the list of dead names into his lap. “This is life-and-death. I’m not playing for a throne or a crown or a prince. I’m not playing at all. I’m different.”

“You are,” he murmurs, running a finger over the pages. “And that’s why you’re in danger, from everyone. Even Maven. Even me. Anyone can betray anyone.”

His mind drifts and his eyes cloud over. In this light he looks old and gray, a bitter man haunted by a dead sister, in love with a broken woman, doomed to teach a girl who can do nothing but lie. Over his shoulder, I glimpse the map of what was, of before. This whole world is haunted.

And then, the worst thought I’ve ever had comes. Shade is already my ghost. Who else will join him?

“Make no mistake, my girl,” he finally breathes. “You are playing the game as someone’s pawn.”

I don’t have the heart to argue. Think what you want, Julian. I’m no one’s fool.

Ptolemus Samos. Colonel Macanthos. Their faces dance in my head as Cal and I spin across the floor of the sitting room. Tonight the moon is shrinking, fading away, but my hope has never been stronger. The ball is tomorrow, and afterward, well, I’m not sure where that path might go. But it will be a different path, a new road to lead us toward a better future. There will be collateral damage, injuries and deaths we can’t avoid, as Maven put it. But we know the risks. If all goes to plan, the Scarlet Guard will have raised its flag where everyone can see. Farley will broadcast another video after the attack, detailing our demands. Equality, liberty, freedom. Next to all-out rebellion, it sounds like a good deal.

My body dips, moving toward the floor in a slow arc that makes me yelp. Cal’s strong arms close around me, pulling me back up in an easy second.

“Sorry,” he says, half-embarrassed. “Thought you were ready for it.”

I’m not ready. I’m scared. I force myself to laugh, to hide what I can’t show him. “No, my fault. Mind wandered off again.”

He isn’t easy to chase off and dips his head a little, looking me in the eyes. “Still worried about the ball?”

“More than you know.”

“One step at a time, that’s the best you can do.” Then he laughs at himself, moving us back into simpler steps. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I wasn’t always the best dancer either.”