When the woman is finally gone, Livvy sits up, and I am surprised to see a knife clutched in her hands. “Have her killed,” she whispers.

I raise an eyebrow. “The midwife? What—”

“Goldrose petals,” Livvy says, “are used when a woman is past her due date. They’re meant to make a baby come more quickly. I’m still a few weeks away. It wouldn’t be safe for him to come now.”

I call Dex in immediately. When he leaves, weapons in hand, Livia shakes her head. “This is Keris, isn’t it? All of it. The Karkaun attack. The midwives leaving. This midwife.”

“I’ll stop her,” I vow to my sister. “I don’t expect you to believe it, because all I’ve done is fail, but—”

“No.” Livia takes my hand. “We don’t turn on each other, Hel—Shrike. No matter what happens. And yes, we must stop her. But we must also keep the support of the Plebeians. If they support Keris now, you cannot speak against her publicly. You must walk that line, sister. We cannot put this child on the throne if the Plebeians don’t see him as one of their own. And they won’t—not if you cross Keris.”

* * *

Evening sees me in Marcus’s war room, locked in an argument with the Paters, wanting nothing more than to beat all of them into silence before doing what I wish.

General Sissellius, who is turning out to be as irritating as his twisted uncle, the Warden, paces before the large map laid out on the table, stabbing at it occasionally.

“If we send a small force to stop Grímarr,” he says, “we are wasting good men on a lost cause. It’s a suicide mission. How can five hundred—even a thousand—men stand against a force a hundred times that?”

Avitas, who has joined me in the war room, gives me a look. Don’t lose your temper, the look says.

“If we send a large force,” I say for the thousandth time, “we leave Antium vulnerable. Without the legions from Estium and Silas, we have only six legions to hold the city. Reinforcements from the Tribal lands or Navium or Tiborum would take more than a month to reach here. We must send a smaller attack force to cause as much damage as possible.”

It’s such a basic tactic that at first I am stunned that Sissellius and a few of the other Paters resist so much. Until I realize, of course, that they are using this opportunity to undermine me—and, by extension, Marcus. They might not trust the Commandant anymore, but that doesn’t mean they want Marcus on the throne.

For his part, the Emperor’s attention is fixed on Keris Veturia. When he does finally look at me, I can read his expression as clearly as if he shouted the words.

Why is she here, Shrike? Why is she still alive? Those hyena eyes of his flare, promising pain for my sister, and I look away.

“Why is the Shrike leading the force?” Pater Rufius demands of me. “Would not Keris Veturia be a better choice? I do not know if you understand this, my Lord Emperor, but it is highly—” His sentence ends in a yelp as Marcus casually flings a throwing knife at him, missing him by a hair. The sound of Rufius’s squeal is deeply satisfying.

“Speak to me like that again,” Marcus says, “and you’ll find yourself without a head. Keris was barely able to hold Navium’s harbor against the Barbarian fleet.”

Avitas and I exchange a glance. This is the first time the Emperor has dared to say a word against the Commandant.

“The Shrike,” Marcus goes on, “took back the harbor and saved thousands of Plebeian lives. The decision is made. The Shrike will lead the force against the Karkauns.”

“But my lord—”

Marcus’s giant hand is around Rufius’s throat so fast that I almost didn’t see him move.

“Go on,” the Emperor says softly. “I’m listening.”

Rufius gasps his apology, and Marcus drops him. The Pater scurries away, a rooster who has escaped the stewpot. The Emperor turns to me.

“A small force, Shrike. Strike and run. Take no prisoners. And do not waste our forces if you don’t have to. We’ll need every last man for the assault on the city.”

From the corner of my eye, I notice Keris watching me. She nods a greeting—the first time she has acknowledged me since returning to Antium with my sister. My spine tingles in warning. That look on her face—cunning, calculated. I saw it as a student at Blackcliff. And I saw it months ago, here in Antium, before Marcus killed my family.

I know that look now. It is the look she gets when she’s about to spring a trap.

* * *

Avitas arrives in my office just after the sun has set. “All is prepared, Shrike,” he says. “The men will be ready to leave at dawn.”

“Good.” I pause and clear my throat. “Harper—”

“Perhaps, Blood Shrike,” Avitas says, “you are considering telling me that I should not go. That I should remain here to keep an eye on our enemies and to remain close to the Emperor, should he need it.”

I open and close my mouth, taken aback. That was exactly what I was going to suggest.

“Forgive me.” Avitas looks tired, I notice. I’ve been leaning on him too much. “But that is exactly what the Commandant would expect. She is, perhaps, counting on it. Whatever she has planned, you surviving isn’t a part of it. And you have a much better chance of surviving if you have someone who knows her watching your back.”