“No.” The word came out harsher than I’d meant it to, sharpened by the mention of the Theyn and the idea of her reading a book about my people’s history that I myself was no longer allowed to possess and the knowledge that the poison tucked safely away in my mattress was destined for her.

Cress’s eyes went wide as a child’s and her chin warbled. She looked so hurt that I nearly apologized, nearly begged her to stay and keep me company, anything to keep her happy, but I resisted and after a moment she nodded.

“I understand,” she said, though it was clear she didn’t.

I sighed. “I just don’t want to get you sick, Cress. I would never forgive myself. I’ll find you when I’m feeling better.”

She nodded, but I could tell she didn’t believe me. She opened her mouth to say something but quickly shut it again.

“I hope you feel better soon, Thora,” she said softly before leaving me alone.

Two days after that, she sent a letter asking me to join her on a trip to the dressmaker, and I replied that I had a dancing lesson I couldn’t miss. She came to see me again yesterday, but I begged Hoa not to answer the door and to pretend we were out. She gave me a wary look, but acquiesced.

But if there’s anything I know about Crescentia, it’s that she’s stubborn and she always finds a way to get what she wants.

Her next attempt comes today while I’m eating breakfast, in the form of an invitation to a maskentanz—a masked ball—she’s throwing to celebrate her father’s return from the mines. I don’t think I’m allowed to refuse, even though it means wearing that godsforsaken ash crown again, which will render any mask useless.

I show the invitation to Hoa and her dark eyes scan it, the space between her eyebrows pleating. She looks up at me, her expression muddled, before nodding once and hurrying from the room. There’s a lot of preparation for a maskentanz, I’m sure, and not a lot of time to do it. It’s typical of Crescentia to throw something together at the last minute without thinking about who would actually end up doing all the work. But even that show of thoughtlessness doesn’t irritate me the way it usually would. All I can think of is the poison.

“Anything exciting?” Blaise asks when Hoa is gone.

“A maskentanz Cress is throwing tonight to celebrate the return of the Theyn from his inspection of the mines,” I say, folding the letter up again. They don’t reply and I realize that they likely have never heard the word maskentanz before. I doubt they held parties in the mines. “A masquerade, a party,” I explain.

Still they say nothing, but their expectation is suffocating.

“There will be too many people around to use the poison,” I say, before anyone can suggest what I know they’re thinking. “It’ll be too easy to make a mistake and kill the wrong person.”

“They’re all Kalovaxians, there is no wrong person,” Artemisia says, venom in her voice. “And with so many people, no one would know who was the poisoner.”

I understand the bite in her words, even though I’m not sure I really agree with them as much as I used to. If I could poison every Kalovaxian in the palace tonight, would I? I’m almost glad not to have that option, because I don’t know what choice I would make. Yes, it would mean getting rid of the Kaiser and the Theyn and all the other warriors with their bloodstained hands and cold eyes, but there are also children here whose only crime is that they were born to the wrong country.

I know better than to tell Artemisia that.

“An Astrean poison? That alone would cast blame on me, and the Theyn is the Kaiser’s closest friend—he might be distraught enough to kill me for it. And if the poison does reach the wrong Kalovaxian, I doubt you would be able to find more for the Theyn so easily or you would have already poisoned the entire castle,” I reply, which quiets her. I rub my temples; the conversation—and what I know it will lead to—is already making my head ache.

“I’ll do it soon, but we need a plan first and we haven’t been able to form one yet,” I say.

“You haven’t been able to form one yet,” Artemisia says. “And we all know you haven’t actually been trying to, have you?”

I can’t answer. Even through the wall, I can feel her resentment. She’s hotheaded, but this feels like something else.

“We got word from a spy in the Earth Mine,” Heron says after a second. “The Theyn halved their rations and they’ve begun sending children into the mines to work earlier than ever. Some as young as eight. No word from the other mines yet, but it’s hard to imagine it’s only the Earth Mine.”

“Punishments for the riot?” I ask.

“Yes and no,” Blaise says, voice heavy and tired. I wonder when the last time he really slept was. “That didn’t help matters, and it’s certainly the reason for the rations, but the children…The Kalovaxians are running out of slaves to work, and gem turnout isn’t what it used to be. It’s probably another reason for the attack on the Vecturia Islands. They need more slaves.”

I can’t help but think about Goraki and how the Kalovaxians burned the entire country and left when they ran out of resources. I wonder if Blaise is thinking the same thing. We’re running out of time.

My stomach clenches. “And the Theyn gave the order as part of his inspections,” I guess out loud. They don’t contradict me. “Believe me, I would like nothing better than to kill him tonight, but it would be a foolish move and it’ll only make things worse when we fail.”

“Are you sure that’s what makes you hesitate?” Artemisia asks, her acidic voice so quiet I almost don’t hear her.

“Artemisia!” Heron hisses.

“No, it’s fine,” I say, taking a step closer to Artemisia’s wall, matching her tone. I can’t show doubt; I can’t show fear. “If you have something you would like to say, Artemisia, please don’t hide it. I’m very interested in what you think.”

I’m greeted only by silence, but that doesn’t make me feel any better, because I have doubts. Not about my loyalties, exactly, but in myself. These are people who took everything from me—my mother, my country, my mind. Ever since Ampelio died, I’ve been waiting for the moment I’ll be able to take my revenge and bury Thora for good. Now that moment is here and I’m not sure I can really do it.

* * *

—

After a lunch alone—or as alone as I ever am—in my rooms, I hear a quick, soft knock on my door. It isn’t Crescentia’s melodic knock or the forceful rapping of the guards, and I can’t imagine who else it might be. Hoa is clearing my lunch plates, so I go to answer it.