“—very knowledgeable and can assist you,” Musa says. “When can you start?”

A long pause. “Now. But it will take me a bit to get the formula right. There is much I don’t remember.” Darin sounds stronger than he has in weeks. Rest and a bath must have done him good.

“Then I’ll introduce you to the smiths here. They make pots, pans, horseshoes—enough household items to justify the amount of ore and coal we’ll need.”

Someone clears her throat loudly behind me. The sounds of smithing have stopped, I realize, and I turn to find the silver-haired, brown-skinned Scholar woman from the courtyard. She wears a burn-scarred leather smock, and her face is wide and pretty. Beside her, a young woman who is clearly her daughter watches me with dark green eyes that sparkle in curiosity.

“Laia of Serra,” the older woman says. “I am Smith Zella, and this is my daughter, Taure. It is an honor to meet the heir of the Lioness.” Zella clasps my hands between her own. “Do not believe the lies the Mariners spread about your mother, child,” she says. “They are threatened by you. They wish to hurt you.”

“What lies?”

“We’ve heard all about what you did in the Empire.” Taure speaks up breathlessly, and the admiration in her tone alarms me.

“It was luck, mostly. You—you mentioned my mother—”

“Not luck.” Musa strolls out of the drawing room, Darin in tow. “Laia clearly has her mother’s courage—and her father’s sense of strategy. Zella, show Darin where he’ll be making weapons, and get him what he needs. Laia, come inside, if you please. Lunch awaits.”

The two smiths leave with my brother, Taure with one last reverent glance over her shoulder, and I fidget as Musa waves me into the drawing room.

“What skies-forsaken stories did you tell them about me?” I hiss at him.

“I said nothing.” He piles a plate with fruit, bread, and butter and hands it to me. “Your reputation precedes you. The fact that you nobly sacrificed yourself for the good of the refugee camp helped.”

My skin tingles warningly at the smugness on his face. Why, exactly, would he look so pleased about it?

“Did you plan for Darin and me to be captured?”

“I had to test you somehow, and I knew I could spring you from prison. I made sure Captain Eleiba knew you were coming into the city. Anonymously, of course. I knew if you were the leader I hoped you were, you’d never let your people suffer while you cowered. And if you weren’t, I’d have dragged you out of hiding and turned you over myself.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What do you mean, ‘leader’?”

“It’s just a word, Laia. It won’t bite. In any case, I was right—”

“How dare you make those poor people suffer! They lost their homes, their belongings. The Mariners ripped that camp apart!”

“Calm down.” Musa rolls his eyes. “No one died. The Mariners are too civilized for such tactics. Captain Eleiba and I have our . . . differences. But she’s an honorable woman. She has already replaced their tents. By now she will know it was me who gave up your whereabouts, of course. She’ll be hopping mad about it too. But I can deal with her later. First we—”

“We?”

“First”—Musa clears his throat pointedly—“you need to eat. You’re irritable. I don’t like talking to irritable people.”

How can he take all of this so lightly? I take a step toward him, my hands curling into fists, temper rising.

Almost immediately, a force shoves me back. It feels like a hundred sets of tiny hands. I try to squirm away, but the hands hold me tight. On instinct, I try to disappear, and I even flicker out of sight for a moment. But to my shock, Musa grabs my arm, unaffected by my magic, and I flicker back into view.

“I have my own magic, Laia of Serra,” he says, and the mirth has left his face. “Yours doesn’t work on me. I know what Shaeva said—you discussed it with your brother on your way here. Your answers lie in Adisa. With the Beekeeper. But beware, for he is cloaked in lies and shadow, like you. The magic is my lie, Laia, as it is yours. I can be your ally, or I can be your enemy. But either way, I will hold you to your promise to help resurrect the Resistance.”

He releases me, and I scramble away, straightening my dress, trying not to show how much his revelation has rattled me.

“It just seems as if this is a game to you,” I whisper. “I don’t have time to help you with the Resistance. I need to stop the Nightbringer. Shaeva told me to look for the Beekeeper. Here you are. But I thought—”

“You thought I would be a wise old man ready to tell you exactly what you must do to stop the jinn? Life is rarely so simple, Laia. But be assured that this is no game. It is the survival of our people. If you work with me, you can succeed in your mission to bring down the Nightbringer while also helping the Scholars. For instance, if we work with the king of Marinn—”

I snort. “You mean the king who has a price on my head?” I say. “The one who ordered men and women and children who have seen genocide to be put in camps outside the city instead of treated like humans? That king?”

I push my plate away, frustrated now, food half-eaten. “How can you help me? Why would Shaeva send me to you?”