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Ryn nodded. A second later, she lifted her hand, studying her palm where she’d briefly held Xerxes’s heartbeat.

Per-Siana was brighter in the evening than Ryn remembered. She sat on the rail in the lookout tower with her back against a stone beam, her emerald skirts draping down toward the glass roofs and dancing in the cool breeze. She watched lanterns flicker on down the Navy Road as the sour red sunset faded to chalky gray, watched as the small beads of silvery magic in the air began to glow and illuminate the palace. She watched carriages glide down streets with live torches clipped to their sides, noble women’s gowns sparkling as they walked. She studied the Folke marching around the walls in pairs, some inside the garden, some beyond the outer wall.

It was hard to believe a war had even happened when she watched it all. It was as if she’d fallen into a different realm, and everything from the caves to the desert had all been a dream. In some ways, it felt like she’d never left the palace at all.

Ryn sighed, lifting the gold flute from her chest and twirling it in her fingers as she studied the small holes and rimming on the edges. Then she glanced out at Per-Siana again, this time spotting shadows crawling down the sides of houses, slithering through alleys, rising up over unsuspecting people. She brought the flute to her lips, and with just the few notes she knew, she played the tune of Dolem’s song, the anthem of Burn Division Twelve, the song of the Adriels. The song the Per-Siana people didn’t know was for them. The music sailed out from the tower, creeping over the palace roofs, tumbling across the garden and bursting out into the street. Ryn watched the shadows shiver and look around. She watched one abandon the road completely and flee across the sky.

She dropped the flute from her lips, her brows twitching in as she imagined charging into the street with her sword drawn and freeing the city of its shadows. But she didn’t know how many of the blind Mother City citizens wanted to be free, if they would even let her cast the shadows out. She’d once tried to rid Damon of his gods, and he’d attacked her for it. It was how she knew people couldn’t be set free unless they were willing to be. Some of those shadows had likely been invited into homes and hearts by the fooled.

She hadn’t returned to slay the shadows anyway. She wasn’t here to win a queen’s seat either. And she definitely wasn’t here to win Xerxes’s heart. She only came as General Reza’s spy.

The nighttime breeze sang in her ears. “El, I’m too angry at this kingdom to want to save it,” she admitted quietly. “But even if the rulers of Per-Siana are liars, even if they make people poor to control them better, and even if them running the kingdom through fearmongering makes it difficult to be here, maybe you still love this kingdom even on the days I don’t.” She dragged her legs up and crossed her arms over her knees. “Maybe Per-Siana isn’t the problem. Maybe I am. Maybe it’s just that no one has been willing to take it back for so long.”

Several seconds passed and El didn’t reply.

An hour later, the sun set and the moon shone bright over the Mother City. Ryn climbed over the rail back into the tower, tiptoeing down the stairs and through the torchlit hallways to her room where Bastone blinked at her in surprise from where he stood guard outside the door. He didn’t scold her even though she’d snuck out; he just shot her a tight-lipped look and swung the door open for her to go inside.

Heva’s light snoring filled the chambers. Ryn listened to it for a while, staring up at the ivies and curtains of her bed, her mind racing with thoughts of the burn division she’d left at the border. When she finally fell asleep, she dreamt of revival in the streets of the Mother City. The truth about El being told, people’s shadows being lifted, their bodies being healed, their troubled minds being restored. It was a dream of the impossible.

Morning light spilled across the room, patching the floor in pools of heat. Ryn woke when Heva stirred beside her. She flung the floral-patterned quilt aside and slipped out of bed, padding over to the window. The lever squeaked as she turned it, the window cracking open and bringing a warm breeze and the fragrance of flowers and fruit trees into the room. She leaned to glance down the side of the palace wall.

What she wouldn’t give for a walk through the gardens. She sighed and pulled herself back in. What a terrible idea.

Servants came with breakfast on a silver cart. Ryn stared at it for a while without touching it. The thought of food turned her stomach. The thought of B’rei Mira attacking her division at the border without her there turned it even more.

Heva slipped out to go casually question the Folke, to see how many had turned against the King and left him in this state where he’d been forced to call upon the army for help, but Bastone stayed right at Ryn’s side.

Trumpet blasts announcing the Introduction Ceremony boomed through the palace from the Hall of Stars in the evening. The organizers glided down the hall ahead of Ryn, taking their time, sweeping along the floors in some cringeworthy display of ‘what a queen is supposed to walk like’ or something. Ryn passed them, forcing them to scramble to catch up. She didn’t wait for the organizers outside the silver archway to announce her either. To their sputtering horror, she entered the Hall of Stars, instantly turning to a golden flame beneath the hundreds of burning lanterns around the room and from the setting sun piercing through the courtyard doors. Bastone waited for her by the entrance with the other guards, just a few feet from where the Intelligentsia sat on plush chairs. Most of the sages wore smiles, but Damon’s face was indecipherable as he observed the Gold Maiden with everyone else.

Xerxes had just walked in—late. A near-black coat with silver buttons hugged him handsomely, and it might have made him look royal except that he twirled his crown in his fingers instead of wearing it. He blinked in amazement from the dais when an organizer at the archway shouted over the room, “I present Commander Adassah! Your Majesty.” Xerxes’s blue gaze sailed to Ryn positioning herself a full step away from the other three maidens. A brief smirk tugged at his face as he walked to his big, gaudy chair and plunked down into it. He waved a hand through the air in some ‘let’s get this over with’ fashion. But his gaze travelled to the window and stayed on the mountains in the distance instead of greeting the noble guests, maidens, and Intelligentsia.

The same organizer who’d announced Ryn went to a pulpit and opened a scroll. He cleared his throat, smoothed down his tuft of white hair, then called, “Your Majesty, allow these maidens who wish to steal your heart the opportunity to introduce themselves.”

Ryn folded her arms as the first maiden’s name was called. Her stomach growled in protest from all her skipped meals, and she wondered if there’d still be bread left on the cart in her room or if Heva had returned and scarfed it all down by now, and how long it would be before she could go back and check. She wondered if the soldiers at the border were still receiving food. She wondered if General Reza would be able to send word if they were under attack.

The first girl tiptoed across the floor with trembling hands, stopped before the King, then dropped into a deep curtsey, her fluorescent blue skirts bubbling around her.

Xerxes yawned.

“I’m Lady Vanilla Mordenous, Your Majesty. I’m very much looking forward to trying to impress you at the—”

“Next,” Xerxes said over the Hall with a wave of his hand.

The girl stood straight, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. She turned left then right as she tried to figure out which way to leave the King’s presence. The organizers shuffled, the one at the pulpit gasping as he dropped his eyes back to the scroll and called the next name. None of the Intelligentsia were smiling anymore.

Ryn shot Xerxes a look even though he couldn’t see it. He didn’t have to be so mean. She didn’t want to be here either, but at least she wasn’t hurting anyone’s feelings. Her gaze sailed over to the organizers she’d ditched in the hallway on her walk to the Hall of Stars as she thought about that.

The maiden beside Ryn glided over the floors. A long red braid cascaded down her back, a clip holding it all together with tiny gemstones that looked like a diamond painting. “I’m Lady—” the maiden cut a look toward Ryn, bringing Ryn’s attention back, “—Winnow Force.” She turned back to the King in a catlike way, flicking a strand of her red hair away from her neck, and Ryn raised an eyebrow. “I’m of true Weylin blood,” she added, and Ryn saw Xerxes’s mouth twitch. “You have nothing to worry about with me, Your Majesty.”

A few throats cleared around the room, noble gazes redirecting to the floor. Ryn smirked beneath her mask. The redhead turned from the King, clutching a modest bunch of her skirt with her fingertips as she sailed down the carpet.

Ryn marched toward the dais, deciding to be next. The redhead girl looked up in surprise as Ryn passed, the edge of her cape brushing the tulle of the Weylin girl’s gown, her metal boots clapping over the carpet before the organizer could announce her name. She didn’t curtesy like the other two when she reached the foot of the dais. Adriels didn’t do nonsense like that.

“You already know who I am,” she said to Xerxes as he tapped a finger against the crown in his hand and studied her. “Let’s skip this introduction.”

Ryn turned, ready to stride for the silver arch at the back of the room when footsteps on the glass dais echoed through the Hall. She sighed, waiting as Xerxes stepped around her with folded arms. He squinted at the eye slits of her mask.

“Do I?” he asked. “Do I know who you are, Adassah?”