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She’d never asked him, what he wanted, what he planned. He’d laid his fears before her and she’d run. A lifetime of no choices, and all she’d done was take more from him.

If he hadn’t delivered the message yet, maybe she could still intercept him. Ask him at least, how she could help. Stop him from becoming the person he didn’t want to be.

“Wait!”

The small man had almost made it to a door, but he flattened against the wall at Revni’s shout. Footsteps were pounding towards the room, but they were suddenly interrupted by someone else’s groans and shouts. Revni squeezed between a pillar and the man. He only came up to her chest. He smelled like he’d come from the sewage pits.

“Where would I find the prefect?”

“Please, don’t kill me,” he begged. “He’ll be hiding. In his rooms. Guards.”

No, not the prefect. Eavus.

“If a messenger was waiting to meet with the prefect, where would they put him?”

“I don’t know any messengers!”

Revni bit back her frustration. “Where would they put a messenger? Does the prefect have…chambers? A room where people wait? A place he meets people?”

The small man suddenly stilled. His eyes went bright.

“Oh, you want the prefect? Where he meets with people? Wait, wait, I’ll help you.” He grinned a mouth full of half-rotted teeth.

Revni shrank against his eagerness, but the pillar was in her way. “Wait, why?”

“You Isfolj, you good for us Faenish, yes? I’ll help you, and you help me. Us. I take you there, and you don’t kill me. Deal?”

Though she had started it, Revni didn’t like it. He didn’t seem quite right in the head. But more soldiers were running, and Isfolj warriors, and Faenish, and Eavus might need her. There wasn’t time to question.

“Sa.”

The man nodded sharply, and slipped towards the door he’d been heading towards, but then he stopped abruptly.

“You cannot bring the sword.”

Revni clutched it tighter.

“You cannot.” He shook his head. “I can take you up a back way, dressed like that, but not if a guard sees you. And in the waiting chamber, only soldiers are allowed with weapons. These are his private rooms! I can’t do it. You’re asking too much!” He was growing hysterical.

“Just…wait.” Revni needed a second to think.

He didn’t know what he was asking. She swore to die with a weapon in her hands, and this was the only one she had. She’d lost the little knife she’d taken from Eavus—left it back at the Hall when she’d shown it to the jurls.

The girl behind the vase let out a sudden scream. Revni whirled. An Isfolj man was at the archway, but his arms were full of cups and plates, his ax sheathed. He gave a leering grin, but only cut through the room.

“If you want to go to the prefect, we go now. I’m not staying!” The little man darted for the door.

Revni whirled again. “Wait!”

He paused.

Revni’s heart felt like a rabbit in a snare, racing and desperate. Like the way the girl looked. She was crawling across the floor, sobbing. She looked the same age as Sulvi. As Revni. In a different life, they would have been friends.

“Wait.” Revni dropped to one knee beside her. The girl recoiled. “The building is crawling with soldiers. The Isfolj will kill you.”

“I can’t— I don’t⁠—”

“What’s your favorite color?”