Blaise’s breath hitches and a part of me feels guilty. As honest as the words might be, I know my motivations for saying them here and now are tangled. I’m telling him what he needs to hear in order to give me what I want.

I push my guilt aside and focus on Blaise, standing in front of me. Blaise who needs to keep fighting, no matter what. Blaise, who I don’t know how to survive without. I don’t want to learn how to. I just want him, healthy and happy at my side, ready to reclaim our home, save our people, and avenge our parents.

“I love you, too, Theo,” he says, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

Though I already knew that, his words still send a flutter through my chest. I pull back slightly to look at him.

“Then don’t you dare leave me. I don’t care if Glaidi herself tries to usher you to the After. You say, ‘Not today.’ Do you hear me?”

Blaise swallows, the lump in his throat bobbing. “I hear you,” he says.

The words don’t mean much; we both know that people don’t have a choice in when death comes for them—we’ve lost far too many people before their time. But it’s nice to pretend for a moment that we do have some control over it.

ONCE WE’VE EATEN BREAKFAST AND dressed, the four of us go to meet Erik and Hoa by the palace entrance. The sunlight is so bright it’s blinding, and I have to shade my eyes as I step out the front door of the palace. Artemisia reported that the damage from the earthquake was, thankfully, minimal—mostly just cosmetic damage to the palace tower. Nothing more than some broken knickknacks and baubles, a few wall sconces that fell, some cracked tile floors. Nothing that King Etristo won’t be able to have repaired quickly.

Nothing this time, I think, though I force the thought aside.

“Queen Theodosia,” a voice calls out. When my eyes adjust to the brightness, I realize that it’s only Coltania, dressed in a red silk dress that wraps tightly around her figure, highlighting the curve of her waist and the swell of her hips and chest.

Though I’m relieved it’s her and not a Sta’Criveran courtier, annoyance still sparks. Why is she out and about when S?ren is locked away in a dank dungeon? She should be working on the truth serum so he can prove his innocence. I can’t imagine she’s doing any work in that dress.

“Salla Coltania,” I say, forcing a smile.

She holds her hands out to take mine before leaning in to kiss each of my cheeks twice. She laughs when she sees my surprise.

“An Orianic custom for greeting friends,” she explains. “An old habit, I’m sorry.”

“Not at all,” I say, though I can feel traces of her sticky red lip varnish left behind on my cheeks. I resist the urge to wipe them away—I know it’s not the same, but it reminds me of the Kaiser marking me with an ash handprint at banquets.

“Did you feel that earthquake earlier? Quite frightful. But it’s a lovely day out now. Marzen and I were going to have another picnic—you should join us.” She glances at my Shadows, gathered behind me. “Your…companions are welcome to come, too, of course.”

I force a smile. “It was a frightful earthquake, but I understand they’re common in the area,” I say, though I don’t know if that’s true. Coltania frowns, but before she can question it, I continue. “That is a very kind invitation, but I’m afraid with Prinz S?ren imprisoned, I’ve decided not to meet with any suitors. He is my diplomatic liaison, after all, and I require his guidance in these matters. Surely you understand—this is a decision that should not be made lightly.”

Coltania’s eyebrows lift. “I didn’t realize his guidance was so necessary to you, Your Majesty,” she says.

I laugh. “Why else would I keep him on my council?” I fake a look of surprise. “Oh, Salla Coltania, you didn’t believe those rumors, did you?” I ask.

She looks torn for a moment before her expression softens. “What rumors?” she asks with a wink.

I change the subject. “I understand that you’re the one helping King Etristo’s apothecaries with the truth serum?”

“Yes, it seems the least I can do to get to the bottom of this mess. After what happened to the poor Archduke—and what nearly happened to you!”

“Tragic,” I agree. “I am glad that you’re helping. With all your scientific skills, I’m sure S?ren’s name will be cleared in no time and we can get back to business.”

She inclines her head. “Of course, Your Majesty. I will do my best, though it could take as long as a week, depending on the availability of some of the rarer ingredients.”

I reach out to squeeze her arm. “I believe in your talents. Please enjoy your picnic and tell your brother I say hello. Hopefully, I will be able to spend time with you and Chancellor Marzen again soon.”

When we walk away from Coltania and down the palace steps, Artemisia comes to walk beside me, leaving Heron and Blaise trailing by a few feet.

“I honestly can’t tell if you like her or not,” she remarks.

“I don’t think I know myself,” I admit. “I respect her, at least.”

As we come down the steps, I search the bustling crowd for Erik and Hoa. In their Gorakian brocade, they should stand out, but I see no sign of them. When we reach the bottom step, two figures approach, covered from head to toe in ecru robes. With their hoods drawn up over their heads, their faces are cast in shadow. At first, I think they must be two of the Manadolian priests, who always wear dour, conservative clothes, even in the sweltering heat, but when one draws his hood back slightly, giving me a look at his face, I realize it’s Erik. Which means that the smaller figure beside him must be Hoa.

“That is quite a disguise,” I say to him in Kalovaxian. “Though it seems a bit unnecessary.”

“Easy for you to say,” he mutters. “The Sta’Criverans don’t spit at your back and call you enta crusten.”

I frown. “Enta crusten?” I repeat.

His face reddens. “From what I gather, it’s Sta’Criveran for ‘the cursed.’ A bit of a blanket term for Gorakians. It seems our presence is being blamed for that earthquake. Apparently, Sta’Crivero has not had an earthquake in centuries.”

I struggle to keep my expression even. “Is that so?” I ask before I remember something. “S?ren said the Sta’Criverans thought of the refugees as cursed, that they locked them up behind that wall to keep their curse from spreading.”

As if being conquered by the Kaiser and ravaged by his Kalovaxian armies were a disease that can be passed from person to person, country to country. As if it were that simple.

“You should keep your hood up then,” Heron tells Erik, glancing around to see if anyone’s noticed him. “At least until we’re out of the city.”

Erik sighs but draws his hood back up, though not before winking at Heron. “Seems a pity to hide this face from the world, but I suppose you’re right.”

As the group of us files through the city streets, I glance over to see that Heron’s face is the color of strawberry jam.

* * *

—

Erik, Hoa, and I fall back so that Blaise, Heron, and Artemisia can barter for horses without worrying about us being recognized. The unfortunate side of it is that we can only take three horses. I’m all right with the arrangement, since I can’t ride anyway, but Erik seems a bit miffed at the idea of sharing a horse with another rider.

“I haven’t ridden as a passenger since I was a child,” he says.

“If you’d rather lead the horse, it doesn’t matter to me,” Heron tells him, though he’s having trouble looking Erik in the eye as he says it. “I mean…if you want to ride with me. You could ride with Blaise, too, or Art, I suppose, though I doubt either of them would let you take the reins.”

Erik is surprised for a moment, looking at Heron like he’s not quite sure what to make of him. “All right,” he says finally. “Thank you.”

Heron shrugs and looks away again.

“I’ll take Theo, then,” Artemisia says in Astrean before Blaise can offer. “Blaise, you’ll take Hoa.”

Hoa looks confused, having understood only her name. I quickly translate for her.

Hoa considers this for a moment, sizing up Blaise before giving a decisive nod. “He will do,” she tells me.

“As much of a pain as it is, I think we’ll have to speak Kalovaxian so that everyone understands each other,” I say. “Otherwise we’ll have to keep translating for Erik and Hoa.”

Artemisia rolls her eyes. “I hate speaking in this language,” she says in harshly accented Kalovaxian, mispronouncing a few words. “It feels like yet another violation.”

Hoa looks at her like it’s the first time she’s seen her. “I’m sorry,” she says. Her Kalovaxian is more fluid but still uneven.

Artemisia is surprised at the apology and gets a bit flustered—a new look for her but one that I can’t help but take some pleasure in.

“It’s all right,” she tells Hoa after a moment. “I just meant…It was nothing against you. I was only complaining.”

“She does that a lot,” I tell Hoa. “You shouldn’t take it personally.”

Artemisia glowers at me but doesn’t protest, just pinches my arm.

“And for that,” she tells me, “I’m going to ride extra fast.”

My stomach churns in anticipation.