“May I speak Astrean?” I ask the Kaiser. “He might feel more at ease….”

The Kaiser waves a hand and slumps back into his chair. “So long as it gets me answers.”

I hesitate before dropping to my knees in front of Ampelio, taking his shredded hands in mine. Even though the Astrean language is forbidden, some of the courtiers here must understand it. I doubt the Kaiser would let me speak it otherwise.

“Are there others?” I ask him. The words sound unnatural in my mouth, though Astrean was the only language I spoke until the Kalovaxians came. They pried it away from me, made it illegal to speak. I can’t remember the last time an Astrean word passed my lips, but I still know the language somewhere deeper than thought, as if it’s embedded in my very bones. Still, I have to struggle to keep the sounds soft-edged and long, unlike the halting and throaty speech of the Kalovaxians.

He hesitates before nodding. “Are you safe?”

I have to pause a moment before speaking. “Safe as a ship in a cyclone.” The Astrean word for cyclone—signok—is so close to the word for harbor—signak—that only a practiced ear would understand. But one might. The thought is paralyzing, but I push past it. “Where are the others?” I ask him.

He shakes his head and drops his gaze from mine. “Nowhere,” he chokes out, though he draws out the second syllable to sound more like “everywhere” to lazy ears.

That doesn’t make any sense. There are fewer Astreans than Kalovaxians—only a hundred thousand before the siege. Most are slaves now, though there were rumors they were working with some allies in other countries. It’s been too long since I’ve spoken Astrean; I must have mistranslated.

“Who?” I press.

Ampelio sticks his gaze to the hem of my skirt and shakes his head. “Today is done, the time has come for little birds to fly. Tomorrow is near, the time is here for old crows to die.”

My heart recognizes the words before my mind does. They’re part of an old Astrean lullaby. My mother sang it to me, and so did my nanny. Did he ever sing it to me himself?

“Give him something and he’ll let you live,” I say.

Ampelio laughs, but it quickly turns into a wheeze. He coughs and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. It comes away bloody.

“What life would it be at the mercy of a tyrant?”

It would have been easy enough to slur together a pair of consonants and make the Astrean word for tyrant sound like the one for dragon, the symbol of the Kalovaxian royal family, but Ampelio spits out the word with enough emphasis, directing it at the Kaiser, so that even those who don’t speak a word of Astrean can understand his meaning.

The Kaiser leans forward in his chair, fingers gripping the arms of the throne so tightly they turn white. He gestures to one of the guards.

The guard draws his sword and steps toward Ampelio’s prone form. He presses the blade to the back of Ampelio’s neck, drawing blood, before lifting the sword again to ready the killing strike. I’ve seen this done too many times to other rebels or slaves who disrespected their masters. The head never comes off on the first swing. I ball my fists in the material of my dress to keep from reaching out to shield him. There is no saving him now. I know that, but I can’t fathom it. Images swim before my eyes, and I see the knife drawing across my mother’s throat. I see slaves whipped until the life leaves their bodies. I see Guardians’ heads on pikes in the capital square until the crows take them apart. I’ve seen people hanged for going against the Kaiser, for having the courage to do what I haven’t.

Run, I want to tell him. Fight. Beg. Bargain. Survive.

But Ampelio doesn’t flinch from the blade. The only move he makes is to reach out and tether himself to my ankle. The skin of his palm is rough and scarred and sticky with blood.

The time is here for old crows to die. But I can’t let the Kaiser take another person from me. I can’t watch Ampelio die. I can’t.

“No!”

The voice forces its way through the fractured bits of me.

“No?” The Kaiser’s softly spoken word echoes in the silence and raises goose bumps down my spine.

My mouth is dry, and when I speak, my voice rasps. “You offered him mercy if he spoke, Your Highness. He did speak.”

The Kaiser leans forward. “Did he? I may not speak Astrean, but he didn’t seem particularly forthcoming.”

The words flow before I can stop them. “He had only half a dozen comrades left, after all your great efforts to destroy them. He believes the remaining men and women were killed in the earthquake in the Air Mine, but if any survived, they are supposed to meet him just south of the Englmar ruins. There is a cluster of cypress trees there.”

There is at least a fraction of truth in that. I used to play in those trees every summer when my mother took her annual tour of the town that had been leveled by an earthquake the year before I was born. Five hundred people had died that day. Until the siege, it was the greatest tragedy Astrea had ever faced.

The Kaiser tilts his head and watches me too closely, as if he can read my thoughts like words on a page. I want to cower, but I force myself to hold his gaze, to believe my lie.

After what feels like hours, he motions to the guard next to him. “Take your best men. There’s no telling what magic the heathens have.”

The guard nods and hurries from the room. I’m careful to keep my face impassive, even while I want to weep with relief. But when the Kaiser turns his cold eyes back to me, that relief turns hard and sinks to the pit of my stomach.

“Mercy,” he says quietly, “is an Astrean virtue. It is what makes you weak, but I’d hoped we saved you from that. Perhaps blood always wins out in the end.”

He snaps his fingers and the guard forces the hilt of his iron sword into my hands. It’s so heavy that I struggle to lift it. The Earth Gems glint in the light, and their power makes my hands itch. It’s the first time since the siege that I’ve been allowed to handle any kind of gem, or any kind of weapon, for that matter. Once, I would have welcomed it—anything to make me feel like I had a little bit of power—but instead, my stomach lurches as I look at Ampelio lying at my feet and realize what the Kaiser expects me to do.

I shouldn’t have spoken up; I shouldn’t have tried to save him. Because there is something worse than watching the light leave the eyes of the only person I have left in the world—it’s driving the sword into him myself.

My stomach twists at the thought and bile rises into my throat. I grip the sword, struggling to box myself up again and bury Theodosia even deeper before I end up with a sword at my throat as well. But it can’t be done this time. Everything feels too much, hurts too badly, hates too fiercely to be contained now.