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“My son,” he says, nodding meekly. “Though he doesn’t know it. And I would appreciate it if you would keep that particular piece of information to yourself.” He sighs, deeply. Pain seems to pang off him. “It was, in many ways, a mistake. Sal raised him well in my absence⁠—”

“Your absence?” I accuse. “Or your abandonment?”

Dezeeves shakes his head. “There are some duties that must come before anything else – you should, very soon, understand that better than most. Now, as I was saying – I had hoped he would look after you, be a friend to you, when I offered the Queen my home as your safe house. I did not realise it would get to the point it did.”

The point it did. Of course. Dezeeves, even being Cosmer’s father, won’t condone the union. Not when it would go against The Soulmates fortune. The wishes of the Queen.

Dezeeves isn’t the mild, harmless man he acts. He’s the opponent, with his ability to change people with his words. Play both sides of battles. Gain people’s trust, and the loyalty of queens.

D. D for Danessa.

The Rhavnan Queen. The Queen of Hubris. Drake’s mother. They share a first initial. He must have been named after her.

I have no words.

“Now you know who I am.” His pale, tired eyes linger on me. They are wise beyond his fifty or so years. They have seen things people probably don’t even know they have seen. Know things about people they do not even know about themselves. “It is time,” he continues, in a commanding voice so unlike his usual airy one, “to show me who you are, Ara Merran. Make your choice.”

He motions again with his long, bony hand, to the mask, and the gun.

The Card of the Choice.

How many other Rhavnans have been presented with this choice? The chance to choose Rhavna, even knowing – as corrective instruction would have shown them – that they’ve been lied to, and that the Queen’s reign is no better than Hevalla’s Assembly, or to choose war-hungry, Provision-system Hevalla – maybe having actually become converted – just to lose their lives?

Dezeeves may be on my country’s side, but he isn’t a hero. He’s the supporter – enabler – of a tyrant, and the cold-blooded murderer of many.

In my dream, I chose the mask. Now that I think of it, Old Mother must have instilled that dream in me. Her way of warning me of what was to come, through her own premonition. Choose it and save yourself. Live.

But I’m stronger than I’ve ever been.

I can face consequences.

I can do what’s right.

I can choose my country, and not choose him. This. The same way I can choose Cosmer, and not Hevalla.

The cold metal fills my hand. It’s like it belongs there.

Dezeeves is incredulous.

When he speaks, each word is stunted. “You wish to make an enemy of me. Of the Queen.”

I shrug, looking up at him. “What did you expect, Dezeeves?” I ask. “When the both of you have yet to make a friend of me?”

My hand is steady as I aim the gun at his chest.

And I fire it.

PART THREE

Fire

CHAPTER 32

The Quiet Rebellion

The gun clicks.

But no bullet releases.