COFFEE HAS BEEN SET UP at one of the wrought-iron tables on the public sun pavilion. Striped violet and white silk awnings hang over the large veranda, flapping in the wind, while gold candles lend warmth to each table, aided by the Fire Gems studding the holders. Though winter is fast approaching and the sun is becoming a rarer and rarer sight, the space is still alive with court activity. If anything, the Kaiserin’s death has reanimated the courtiers. They are bursting with fresh gossip now about who the Kaiser will marry next, and each great family has a daughter they are eager to sacrifice for an extra helping of favor.

I count twelve of them now, some younger than me, and each in a dress far too revealing for the weather. Everyone but me, it seems, has already moved on from mourning gray though there are three weeks left of the traditional Kalovaxian mourning period. They all shiver in their silks and sip coffee with shaking hands, surrounded by circles of fussing family members as they wait, just in case the Kaiser decides to make an appearance.

Across from me, Cress studies a book of poems, rarely looking up even though she invited me today. We still haven’t spoken of our conversation in the garden, but I can feel it wedging between us and casting a shadow over every word we speak. I want to bring it up again now, to push her the way I didn’t have the chance to then, but every time I try, the words die in my throat.

“Poor girls,” Cress murmurs, barely looking up from her book of Lyrian poems, quill in hand. “All that work for nothing. My father says the Kaiser already has his bride picked out. He thinks the betrothal will be official by the time my father leaves for Elcourt in four days.”

I freeze, cup to my mouth, dread pooling in the pit of my stomach.

“I don’t suppose you heard who?” I ask casually, setting the coffee cup down on the saucer.

She shakes her head with a huff and scribbles something out. “He wouldn’t tell me, as usual. He seems to think I can’t be trusted with his secrets.”

I force a laugh. “Well, he’s right, isn’t he?” I tease.

I expect her to laugh as well, but when she looks up at me, her eyes are somber. “I can keep secrets, Thora.”

The words are innocuous enough, but they feel heavy. What I said in the garden was treason, and she could have used that to secure herself a crown. But she didn’t and that means something, doesn’t it?

“Of course you can,” I tell her quietly. “You’re my heart’s sister, Cress. I’d trust you with my life.”

The vial of poison is warm against my skin.

She nods once and goes back to her poem. “Ch’bur,” she says, twisting the feather of her quill as she thinks. “Do you suppose that’s related to the Oriamic word chabor? Clawed?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “Try it out loud.”

She bites her bottom lip for a moment. “In the valley of Gredane—that’s their term for the underworld—my love waits for me, still wrapped in Death’s clawed embrace. No. That can’t be right, can it?”

I try to answer, but all I can see is Cress’s limp, gray body held in a giant bird’s claw.

“Besides, I don’t see what it matters,” she says, dragging me out of my thoughts and scribbling something else in her book. “It isn’t as though the girl—whoever she is—will say no, is it?”

It takes me a moment to realize she isn’t talking about the poem anymore, or alluding to my treason. We’ve circled back to the Kaiser now, and she seems awfully cavalier about it, considering she’s as eligible for the role as any other girl. But it won’t be her and I suppose she knows it. Her father wouldn’t let that happen. He might be the Kaiser’s attack dog, but even he has a line and that line has always been Cress.

“It isn’t as though she can say no,” I point out, earning me a warning look from Cress.

“Don’t pity her too much, Thora,” she says. “I think I could put up with the Kaiser if the crown came with it.”

Kaiserin Anke might disagree with you, I want to say, but I manage to hold myself back. Cress and I have a silent agreement not to mention what we saw that night, and I’m not about to break it. She knows the Kaiser pushed the Kaiserin out that window as well as I do, but neither of us has the courage to say it out loud, as if not speaking the words is enough to quell the danger of what we saw. After all, if the Kaiser murdered his wife because she was an inconvenience, what’s to stop him from doing the same to us?

Still, I want to confide in someone about the things the Kaiserin said before she died—before she was killed. I want to tell someone about my feelings for Søren and how that complicates the plan I hatched with my Shadows. I want to talk about that plan and how fragile it feels sometimes.

But I can hear her voice whisper through my mind. “That’s treason. Stop it, Thora.” And I can’t even bear to think what her reaction would be if she knew about Søren and me.

But I don’t know if I can even be angry at her for her reaction in the garden. I asked her to choose between me and her country—not to mention her father. I should have known what she would choose. I know what I’m choosing, after all.

The poison weighs heavier than ever in my pocket.

“And,” Cress continues without looking up from her poem, “it’ll be a better match than you could have hoped for otherwise.”

I freeze, my cup halfway to my lips. With shaking hands, I place it back in its saucer.

“What did you say?” I ask.

She lifts one shoulder in a blasé shrug. “No one had to tell me the Kaiser’s plans, Thora. It just makes sense. I heard a few whispers about the riots, how there are still countries who refuse to acknowledge the Kaiser’s claim on Astrea. His marriage to you would solve that problem nicely. Also, he had no use for the Kaiserin anymore—she gave him his heir, served her purpose. And I always wondered, I suppose, why he kept you alive.”

She says it all so calmly, her eyes still fixed on her book. But it’s not because she doesn’t care. I can hear it in her voice. It’s because she’s afraid to look at me.

“So when you saw him push her out that window, it must have confirmed your suspicions,” I reply, matching her easy tone, as if we were talking about dinner plans instead of murder.

She flinches at that, but it’s so slight I nearly miss it. After a breath, she finally looks up at me, placing her quill down on the table.

“It’ll be for the best, Thora,” she says firmly. “You’ll be the Kaiserin. You’ll have power.”

“Like Kaiserin Anke had power?” I ask her. “You say I am your heart’s sister and that’s what you want for me? To end up like her?”