“I was looking for a friend,” Valery says, her eyes darting to the ground as she speaks.

She’s lying, but why?

“You could try going in,” I say, reaching to push open the door.

Valery shifts to block me. “I’m not playing a game with you, Adelice.”

“Then stop pretending that you aren’t up to something. Stop pretending we’re friends, and tell me who you are and what you’re doing.”

“I’m surviving,” Valery says, spitting the words at me. “No thanks to you, Adelice. Judge me all you want, but you might want to look in a mirror.”

She dashes away before I can recover from her stinging rebuke. She might be right about me, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t lying. I slip through the door instead of going to the powder room. Something drew Valery back here, and I’m going to find out what.

There are plenty of corners to hide in, shadows cast by pulleys and bits of the set. Here is where the spell of the play gives way to props and costumes. The story fades to flat, choreographed illusion. But it’s not the wooden trees or the series of curtains separating the world of the stage from the audience that chills my blood. A woman rubs black-and-blue marks developing on her neck, and an actor dressed in a soldier’s uniform moans on a table. Jax is there, attending to the actors. He spots me hiding among the shadows and gives me a quick smile. I try to smile back, but the scene before me is more horrifying than anything that occurred in the play.

The violence was realistic because it was real.

“What about my face?” the woman who played Ophelia asks. “Can you change it back?”

“I suppose,” Jax says, examining the marks from where Kincaid nearly strangled her during the show. “If you want to go through the alterations again.”

She winces at the suggestion. “I think … I think I do. I don’t like looking like someone else.”

“I’ll let them know.” Jax pats her arm and hands her a pack of ice for her bruises. He turns to me, but he closes his mouth as quickly as he opened it, turning hastily back to his work. Jax is the only other Sunrunner who’s been friendly to us since our arrival. The rest keep their distance, but he seems interested in us.

I roll up the program filled with old film stars. These people are Kincaid’s homage to the past—his past. Whatever he offers his actors must be substantial for them to endure so much pain. It can’t be a simple process to have your entire face altered to look like someone else.

This is the benefit of Tailoring that Kincaid wanted to show me.

“Shame, shame,” Kincaid’s high voice says, startling me. “Spying on us, eh?”

I start to defend myself, but he continues before I can think of a good excuse for being back here.

“She was quite good,” he says. He smears a rag across his forehead, wiping off some of his elaborate stage cosmetics. “Got a bit carried away. I hate to leave marks on them, but it’s part of the play.”

“She wants her face back,” I say.

“Pity, but the boys can fix her.”

“How would they do that?” I ask. I try to keep my voice steady, hoping he doesn’t hear the tremble in it that betrays my true feelings. If there is a way to reverse alterations, I could save my mother and help Amie remember. But maybe it’s easier to change a face than to undo the kind of damage the Guild inflicts.

But Kincaid is still glowing from his great theatrical accomplishment and doesn’t seem to notice. “‘All the world’s a stage,’ Adelice,” he says. “‘And all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts.’”

“I’m not interested in being pseudo-intellectual,” I say. “Can they fix her?”

Kincaid glowers, but his tone stays even as he answers. “They’ll have her original measurements on file. It’s a shame, considering how lovely she is as Veronica, but I did promise them they could be altered back. If she wants to continue in my employment, she’ll get used to a bit of alteration for the good of the performance.”

I force a small smile, but bile rises in my throat. I can’t imagine being so far indebted to Kincaid.

As we watch, the stage crew emerges from the shadows, leading the injured actors away. I bite my lip to keep the accusations from tumbling out. When I turn back to Kincaid, anger blurs my vision, bringing his strands into harsh relief, as Deniel’s had been when he attacked me. Kincaid’s central time strand glimmers. It’s not like the golden strand I witnessed being pulled from the young Tailor. It’s tarnished with age, although there’s a thin, bright fiber braided through the central portion. I blink, trying to dismiss the sight, unsure of what I’m seeing.

“Sir,” Jax says, appearing beside us, “we’ve assessed the injuries and cleared most of the cast for release.”

“Very well,” Kincaid says. “There’s an issue with the voltage drop near the pavilion. No one can get it to dim properly.”

“Probably the variable resistor. I’ll take a look at it and check the estate’s grid for any faulty circuits,” Jax says. He seems giddy at the possibility.

“Please do it quickly. We mustn’t keep the party guests waiting,” Kincaid says in a low voice.

“Are all the Sunrunners also Tailors?” I ask after Jax leaves.

“A very small portion of them are Tailors. Sunrunning takes up plenty of my workforce,” he answers, “but Jax is one of the few that’s gifted at both. He and your father.”