“Lower,” I tell Hoa.

Her forehead creases in confusion, so I move the pin down myself. It’s only a couple of inches, but it causes the neckline to dip low and expose more of my chest. I’ve seen courtesans show far more skin—even Dagmær routinely wears much more scandalous things. Still, Hoa’s eyes are disapproving. If she knew what I was doing, she would applaud me, wouldn’t she? Or maybe she would tattle to the Kaiser before I could so much as draw a breath.

As soon as Hoa finishes arranging my hair and painting my face, there’s a knock at the door, and without waiting for an answer, Crescentia glides in wearing a dress of sky-blue silk. A small leather-bound book is clasped in her hand. Like my dress, hers is draped in the Astrean style. Though I’d missed the loose flowing chitons for years while I was forced to sweat in fitted Kalovaxian velvets, it always turns my stomach to see anyone, even Cress, wear Astrean dresses. It feels like another thing that’s been taken from me. I wonder if she knows that it’s loose to facilitate movement, that it’s made for dancing and riding and running. Now it’s merely ornamental, just as we’re supposed to be.

“Hello, darling,” she chirps, eyes darting briefly to my lowered neckline. I wait for a pointed comment, a barb like she throws when Dagmær wears something outrageous, but she only smiles. “I thought we could take a walk outside today, maybe down to the beach? I know how you love the sea, and I could use some help with these poems. Lyrian is more challenging than I anticipated.”

I was six when I first met Crescentia, and lonely. No one spoke to me, and I wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone. I was, however, required to attend meals in the banquet hall and lessons with the noble children.

Not that the lessons actually mattered, since my Kalovaxian was rough at best and the teacher spoke too quickly for me to keep up with her. I all but disappeared into my own mind; fantasies of being rescued and finding my mother alive played over and over in my head. Anyone who wanted to pull me out of my fantasies had a hard time of it, though the Kaiser had given permission for any person of Kalovaxian blood to strike me.

The other children were the most vicious. They pinched and slapped and kicked me until I was black and blue and bloody, and no one stopped them. Even the teacher only watched with a wary eye, ready to step in if it looked like any irreparable damage was being done. That was where the Kaiser drew the line. I wasn’t of any use to him if I was dead.

The worst was Nilsen, who was two years older and looked like a block of pale wood, yellow and hard-edged and just as wide as tall. Even his face reminded me of the swirls and rings in the wood grain. He had a fascination with water that wasn’t unusual for Kalovaxians, but it took on a sadistic twist that I’m not sure even the Theyn was capable of.

The first time, he shoved my head in a water basin and held me there, thick fingers digging into the back of my neck as I thrashed against him. I had the good sense—or maybe it was foolishness—to kick him between the legs and break away when he doubled over, both of us gasping for breath.

Luckily, I caught mine first and ran.

Unluckily, he learned from his mistake.

The next day, his two friends held me in place, and no matter how much I struggled and tried to kick, I couldn’t get free. My lungs burned and the edges of my mind began to blur. I was almost looking forward to passing out—maybe even seeing my mother again in the After—when suddenly the hands were gone and I was pulled out by a much gentler grip.

My dazed mind thought that she was a goddess at first. The Astrean fire god, Houzzah, had a daughter named Evavia, who was the goddess of safety. She sometimes took the guise of a child to do her work, and I certainly could have used her help. I only caught a glimpse of Nilsen and his friends as they fled the room as fast as their stubby legs could carry them.

“Are you all right?” She spoke Kalovaxian slowly so I could understand her.

I couldn’t form words, only cough, but she rubbed circles on my back reassuringly—a maternal gesture I recognized later as strange, considering that her mother had died when she was an infant.

“They won’t come after you,” she continued. “I told them my father would burn the skin from their bones if they ever laid a finger on you again.” She had to mime for me as she spoke, but I understood well enough.

Houzzah was more than capable of such a feat, but as the spots cleared from my vision and my mind came back to earth, I realized this girl was no goddess. Evavia might take the guise of a child, but none of my gods would ever look like a Kalovaxian, and this girl was the epitome of them, from her pale skin and flaxen hair to her small, delicate features.

As I caught my breath, she told me her name and proclaimed that we were friends, as if it were as simple as that. To Crescentia, it was. She makes friends as easily as she breathes, and for reasons I still don’t understand, I became her favorite. There are moments when I wonder if it’s something her father pushed her into in order to better keep an eye on me, but I also know that she cares for me in a way I’ll never be able to match. I love her, but today I can’t look at her without seeing her father dragging his dagger across my mother’s throat.

In a strange way, I think part of what drew us together was our shared loss—we’re both girls with dead mothers.

I glance at her dress, which has been sewn with small pieces of aquamarine around the hem and neckline that match her eyes perfectly.

“Oh no, Cress,” I say with a sly smile. “You’re far too pretty to only go down to the beach today.” I pause as if the idea is just coming to me, though I’ve been putting together a plan since last night. “Do you know what the Prinz is doing? We could just happen to wander by….” I lift my eyebrows meaningfully.

Cress’s cheeks turn pink and she bites her bottom lip. “Oh, I wouldn’t dare.”

“Plenty of other girls would dare,” I tell her. “He’s grown up handsome, don’t you think? Even Dagmær might decide he’s a better prize than that ancient duke she’s been angling for.”

She chews harder on her lip and smiles. “He is awfully handsome, isn’t he? Taller than I thought he would be. Last time I saw him, I had a few inches on him, but now he towers over me. My father says he’s an excellent warrior as well, the best he’s seen in years.”

“How long will he be here, do you know?” I ask.

“My father says he’s back for good,” she says, cheeks dimpling as her smile widens. “He’ll still go off when he’s needed in battle, but this will be his home now. The Kaiser is insisting he join the court. A marriage likely won’t be far off, now that he’s seventeen.”

“And I’m sure every other girl in court has gotten that same idea in her head, Cress. You’d be wise to get ahead of them quickly. So where is the Prinz today?” I ask again.