“Between the two of us, we’ll root out the Scarlet Guard. We’ll end this rebellion once and for all.”

There’s no schedule for today, as everyone is too busy leaving to teach or train. Fleeing might be a better word, because that’s certainly what this looks like from my vantage point in the entrance hall. I used to think the Silvers were untouchable gods who were never threatened, never scared. Now I know the opposite is true. They’ve spent so long at the top, protected and isolated, that they’ve forgotten they can fall. Their strength has become their weakness.

Once, I was afraid of these walls, frightened by such beauty. But I see the cracks now. It’s like the day of the bombing, when I realized Silvers were not invincible. Then it was an explosion—now a few bullets have shattered diamondglass, revealing fear and paranoia beneath. Silvers fleeing from Reds—lions running from mice. The king and queen oppose each other, the court has their own alliances, and Cal—the perfect prince, the good soldier—is a torturous, terrible enemy. Anyone can betray anyone.

Cal and Maven bid everyone good-bye, doing their duty despite the organized chaos. The airships wait not far off, the whir of their engines audible even inside. I want to see the great machines up close, but moving would mean braving the crowd and I can’t stomach the stares of the grief-stricken. All together, twelve died last night, but I refuse to learn their names. I can’t have them weighing on me, not when I need my wits more than ever.

When I can’t watch any longer, my feet take me where they will, wandering through now familiar passages. Chambers close as I pass, being shut up for the season, until the court returns. I won’t, I know. Servants pull white sheets over the furniture and paintings and statues, until the whole place looks haunted by ghosts.

It’s not long before I find myself standing in the doorway of Julian’s old classroom and the sight shocks me. The stacks of books, the desk, even the maps are gone. The room looks larger, but feels smaller. It once held whole worlds, but now holds only dust and crumpled paper. My eyes linger on the wall where the huge map used to be. Once I couldn’t understand it; now I remember it like an old friend.

Norta, the Lakelands, Piedmont, the Prairie, Tiraxes, Montfort, Ciron, and all the disputed lands in between. Other countries, other peoples, all torn along the lines of blood just like us. If we change, will they? Or will they try to destroy us too?

“I hope you’ll remember your lessons.” Julian’s voice draws me out of my thoughts, back to the empty room. He stands behind me, following my gaze to the map wall. “I’m sorry I couldn’t teach you more.”

“We’ll have plenty of time for Lessons in Archeon.”

His smile is bittersweet and almost painful to look at. With a jolt I realize I can feel cameras watching us for the very first time. “Julian?”

“The archivists in Delphie have offered me a position restoring some old texts.” The lie is as plain as the nose on his face. “Seems they’ve been digging through the Wash and came on some storage bunkers. Mountains to go through, apparently.”

“You’ll like that very much.” My voice catches in my throat. You knew he would have to leave. You forced him into this last night, when you put his life in danger for Kilorn’s. “Will you visit, when you can?”

“Yes, of course.” Another lie. Elara will figure out his role soon enough and then he’ll be on the run. It only makes sense to get a head start. “I’ve gotten you something.”

I’d rather have Julian than any gift, but I try to look thankful anyways. “Is it good advice?”

He shakes his head, smiling. “You’ll see when you get to the capital.” Then he stretches out his arms, beckoning to me. “I have to go, so send me off properly.”

Hugging him is like hugging my father or the brothers I’ll never see again. I don’t want to let him go but the danger is too great for him to stay and we both know it.

“Thank you, Mare,” he whispers in my ear. “You remind me so much of her.” I don’t need to ask to know he’s talking about Coriane, about the sister he lost so long ago. “I’ll miss you, little lightning girl.”

Right now, the nickname doesn’t sound so bad.

I don’t have the strength to marvel at the boat, driven through the water by electric engines. Black, silver, and red flags flap from every pole, marking this as the king’s ship. When I was a girl, I use to wonder why the king laid claim to our color. It was just so beneath him. Now I realize the flags are red like his flame, like the destruction—and the people—he controls.