To that, Artemisia says nothing, which is almost worse. I press forward, writing something I know she’ll have to approve of.

 Please, tell me about your days and what occupies them. Mine are as simple and dull as they usually are, often spent reading in my rooms or listening to idle gossip. The most interesting thing that happened was when the late Lord Gibraltr left his fortune to his bastard instead of his wife and daughters. Please tell me something more engrossing than that, I beg of you.

 I count the days to the new moon eagerly and look forward to having you in my arms again.

    Yours,

  Thora

AN HOUR BEFORE THE MASKENTANZ, there’s a knock at my door. It isn’t a knock I recognize, but when I open the door I find one of Crescentia’s family’s attendants on the other side—an older Astrean man with weathered skin and clouded eyes. He passes me the large box he holds without a word before dipping his head in acknowledgment. He’s gone before I can thank him.

I bring it inside and set it on my small dining table. When I open the lid, my heart clutches painfully in my chest, though I hope my Shadows don’t notice.

Inside is a gown of layered turquoise chiffon, and when I lift it out and hold it up, the material is as light as a breath against my skin. It would be completely weightless if the outer layer of the skirt weren’t covered in thin gold disks shaped like fish scales. Or, more accurately, siren scales.

Cress and I have always loved sirens. As children, we read every book on them we could find in her father’s library, doodled pictures of them instead of taking notes during lessons—Cress even agreed to a few nausea-inducing boat rides in the hope of finding one. It didn’t matter that they were dangerous, or that sailors never managed to survive seeing them. We didn’t want to see them, anyway; we wanted to be them.

Give me fins instead of legs and I could swim to depths where the Kaiser’s men would never be able to find me. I could sing a song to drown anyone who tried to hurt me. I could be safe. For Crescentia, who had been raised to be soft and quiet and sweet, sirens were something ferocious and loud and still irresistibly lovable. That’s the difference between us, I suppose: Crescentia yearns for love, and I prefer destruction.

On chilly winter days, when Cress’s nanny would take us down to the heated pools below the palace, we spent the bulk of our time splashing in the water, pretending our legs were turning into fins. In years stained with blood and pain, those were the moments that made the rest bearable. Crescentia reminding me of them now feels like an apology for her behavior over Søren. She must think that’s why I’ve been avoiding her. If only it were that simple.

Moments after the dress arrives, Hoa enters to help me into it, her nimble fingers dancing over the minuscule hook-and-eye closures that line the back, starting below my shoulder blades and working their way down my spine. The tops of my scars will be visible above the bodice, but for the first time I refuse to be ashamed of them. They are ugly, yes, but they mean I’ve survived.

You’re a lamb in the lion’s den, child, the Kaiserin said to me. You’re surviving.

But surviving isn’t enough. Not anymore.

Hoa wraps my neck and wrists with strands of pearls, weaving a few more into my hair. The gold half-mask Crescentia sent with the dress is studded with them as well, in ornate curlicues that wrap around the eyes.

Hoa gives a hum of approval as she looks me over before turning me to face the mirror.

The ensemble is perfect, so lovely I almost feel like I’m just another courtier going to a party instead of the way I feel when the Kaiser dresses me—like a trophy on display.

Of course, I’ll still have to wear the ash crown, which will ruin the dress in a matter of moments, but just now I feel beautiful.

Another knock at the door sounds, but this time I know who it is. Hoa does as well and she bustles over to answer it. One of the Kaiser’s attendants is standing there with another box. The ash crown.

Hoa gingerly takes the box, sets it down on my vanity, and starts to open it. While her back is turned, I scramble for the dagger hidden in the secret pocket of my cloak. As Hoa takes great pains to carefully lift the crown from the box, I wedge the dagger into the bodice of my dress. I can’t imagine needing it, but keeping it close gives me the illusion of safety, at least.

“Careful,” Blaise whispers, so quietly I barely hear him.

“I know what I’m doing,” I hiss back, which might be the biggest lie I’ve ever told.

* * *

—

As my Shadows follow me down the hall, I’m more aware than ever of the ash crown shedding flakes with each step I take. I can’t count the number of times the Kaiser has made me wear one of these awful things, but this time is worse because I know they’re watching. I know it’s an insult to them as much as me. More than ever, I want to rip it from my head and crumble it to dust in my hands, but that won’t help anyone.

Footsteps fall in next to me. When I turn, only two Shadows are behind me.

“Heron,” I warn. I’m careful to move my mouth as little as possible. The hall is deserted, but the Kaiser is always watching, waiting for me to slip.

“I’ll be careful,” he replies, voice soft as ever. “I’m sorry about Art earlier, really. She has friends in the mines.”

“You must as well,” I point out.

For a moment, he’s quiet. If it weren’t for the rustle of his cloak, I would think he’d fallen back in line with the others.

“No,” he says finally. “They’ve already taken everyone I loved. My parents, my sister, my friends. My love. His name was Leonidas. You would have liked him, he had a sharp mind.” He pauses again and I know this must be difficult for him to talk about. I’m suddenly struck by the fact that I don’t know much about Heron at all. He rarely speaks up, and usually only about practical things. I thought he kept to himself because he didn’t care as much as Blaise and me, and even Art, but that isn’t true, I realize now. It’s because he’s cared too much in the past and paid for it. I open my mouth to tell him I’m sorry, to promise vengeance the same way I promised it to Blaise when he told me about his parents, but nothing comes out.

After a moment, he continues and I do the only thing I can. I listen.

“I watched while the guards killed them or took them away when they went mad. I saw it all, and I can only imagine how it could get worse now. But you’ve seen horrors, too.”

I can’t think of anything to say at first. “I’ve been thinking more and more that Artemisia has a point,” I say finally. “The gods from my mother’s stories wouldn’t let these things keep happening. They wouldn’t let the Kalovaxians win.”