The stone walls feel fragile, like they might crumble at any moment. I hurry down the halls and up the stairs. The great windows leak cold air, and I hold my arms tight against my chest. Yesterday it rained, but today it snows, big white flakes floating over the Kadranian army. The air shimmers at the wall, and where the snow touches the shimmering, the flakes melt. The Park the army encamps on is dusted white, but the castle grounds are bare.

Amazement fills me all over again. Riszev told me Aster put the field up, last night when she and her guards dragged him up to the room. I turn away from the window, quickening my pace.

She sent me away in the early hours of the morning when the courtiers, wizards, and soldiers finally stopped knocking at our door. Everyone wanted to see him and know what was happening, and for hours, I played go between. No, he hasn't woken up yet. Yes, he called the order to abandon the wall. No, you cannot see him. Yes, the defense really will only last for three days. No, I don't know anything else, thank you for your concern.

And then I'd signal to Riszev's guards, and they'd close the door again.

They nod and step aside as I approach, and I unlock the door. Inside, the air feels too still for the number of people there. Shava sits silent against a wall with her eyes closed and veiled hands performing ashva. Ollem hovers in Aster's open doorway. At his bedside, Riszev watches in an armchair displaced from the living room. Underneath the unnatural quiet, the staff throbs its constant chants. It feels like an extra heart beating under my skin.

Ollem murmurs a quiet apology as he moves out of the door, and I slip past him. The covers tucked around Aster can't hide the pallor of his skin or the deep hollows of his eyes. At least the blood has been cleaned from around his nose. His finger twitches, and I wonder if he's missing his staff, leaned against the bedside table. Illesiarr had to pry it from his hand last night.

"No change?"

Riszev fists and unfists a black cloth in her lap. "His breaths are more even, I think."

"Good."

We stare.

"Did I say, last night," she asks, "that the doctor thinks he will wake?"

My head shakes. I thought I heard Illesiarr say that as I was coming back from talking to Ladies Riletta and Osennia, but I wasn't sure. "What do you need?"

She shakes her head, still watching the bed. "Ollem already brought breakfast."

"Did you sleep last night?"

"Enough."

"So no."

She flashes me a frown, hands tightening on the fabric in her lap. "Enough, Leavi."

I don't know if she's referring to the sleep or telling me to keep my mouth shut. "Riszev, please. Let me keep watch for you, or Shava. Like you said, there's been little change for hours. I'll let you know if he wakes."

Her lips press together.

"Please. You need sleep."

She relaxes her grip on the cloth. "Fine." She leaves it in the chair and moves to her adjoined room.

It's not until I pick up the cloth to settle into the chair myself that I realize it's Aster's cloak she's been holding the whole time. My heart pangs. I should hang it up. Instead, my fingers slide back and forth over its corner as I think.

Assassination. Idyne's plan is drenched in blood, just like everything else. There is no prettying it up, there is no pretending. We have been dropped in the snake pit, and we will taste blood, or we will choke on our own.

My stomach sours, and I fill my mind with Aster's breathing. His chest rises and falls in a soft, steady rhythm. For now, he rests in peace. When he wakes, peace is something we'll have to pay for.

The sand rising in Aster's clock reminds me that we only have so much time. But everything in this room feels muted, frozen. It can wait until Riszev wakes; it must wait until Aster wakes.

We all shift restlessly as the hours go on. People return for updates, and this time it's Ollem who politely turns them away. Shava comes in to check on Aster occasionally, and each time, her piercing eyes make me feel like a school girl whose teacher is searching for signs of trouble. One time, she dots some shining oil on his forehead and mutters something in the magic tongue.

"What is that?"

"A blessing." Her eyes search me up and down again, and I wish I could see more of her face. She doesn't say anything else, though. A little before lunch, she leaves the suite and doesn't return.

In all that time, Aster never stirs.

Worry builds in me, an insistent itch to do something. I fidget with his cloak. This isn't the first time I've sat beside his bed and wondered if he would get out of it. My wandering fingers hit something thick, and I pause. For the first time, I recognize another voice thrumming under the staff's. It hides well—the same grandfather whisper, except this one speaks alone, a long, thick chant. I never heard it like this in Draó, but I know without a doubt what it is.

My eyes wander back to Aster's face. He looks so sick. War has thinned him out, aged him.

All but killed him.

I steal a glance at the door. Ollem stands halfway out, voice muffled under the hum of the staff. It's a dumb idea—they might have saved his life in the Meadow, but they took his uncle's. And the doctor said he would wake.

But he hasn't.

My lips press together. I don't have to do what they say, but I at least need to know. Quickly, my hand works into the pocket and peels back a corner of the wrapping. When my finger presses against the cover of the Book, its Voices slither like a horde of eels. "Hello..."

"Hi," I mutter, trying to keep my voice down.

"Not very happy, are we?" Hissing laughter runs through my head.

"No. Aster is sick."

That stills them. My eyes flick to Ollem, but he's still in the door.

"Is that why he does not talk to us anymore?" They sound more worried than angry, and I wonder for the first time about them making Agraund the Meadow's sacrifice rather than Aster. Do these things genuinely care about him?

"I'm not sure."

"He has been gone a long time..."

"If I ask him to come back, will you tell me how to save him?"

"Mmm." They confer in whispers among themselves. Like some guardian proclaiming a riddle, they say loudly, "What is your name, girl?"

'Leavi' almost comes to my tongue, but I stop on instinct. That's a nickname, not my full name, not my real name. Words full and steady, I say, "Eleaviara. Eleaviara Riveirre."

The whispers pitch high, piling on top of each other in ever-increasing volume.

"What? What is it?"

"No." They sound almost excited denying me. "No, Eleaviara Riveirre. We will not let you take him back to the Meadow."

"I didn't want to go back to the Meadow," I hiss.

"That is the only way we know to save him."

"But what if he's dying?"

"We will not show you to the Meadow! We need you both." In the background, the chorus of voices whisper my name in overlap.

The door shuts. Guilty, I jerk my hand away from the book, and the Voices cut off. Ollem turns and wanders back to Aster's doorway. He leans against the jamb, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I wish there was something we could do."

As my heart slows, my fingers rub the cloak's edge. "Yeah. Me too." And we just lost the last way I knew how to intervene.

* * *

As the sun freezes behind the afternoon's snow, Illesiarr comes to check on Aster. He's quiet as he works, and Ollem and I wait in tense anticipation. Finally, he steps back, nodding.

I fidget with my chain. "Is he still well?"

"I still think he's going to wake up, if that's what you're asking, m'dear. Try not to worry too much; the sleep is probably doing him some sorely-needed good." He frowns thoughtfully, but says, "Pass my regards to the Princesse Consort. I should be getting back to my patients."

The guards shut the suite door behind him, and not a minute later, Riszev appears bleary-eyed from her bedroom. "Did I hear the doctor?"

I nod, abandoning her chair as I repeat the good news. I glance over at the boy still hovering in his master's door. Apprehension flutters in my stomach. Maybe I should wait until we're alone to tell Riszev about the plan.

She settles in the chair. The three of us continue to watch his chest rise and fall.

Coward. If I'm looking for an excuse, then I can keep finding one until the Kadranians overtake us. Swallowing my worry and my conscience, I glance over. "Ollem, do you mind grabbing our lunches now that Riszev is awake?"

He dips his head and goes.

"You did not have to wait on me."

"I don't think any of us felt much like eating."

She falls silent.

I reach out to take her hand with both of mine, the way she often does. She looks up at me with serious, concerned eyes. "I have something to say, but it's not easy."

She places her other hand atop mine. "Speak."

My heart thrums in my chest. I can't carry these words to Aster, but his wife can. His honorable, good wife. The thrumming creeps up my throat, and I struggle to speak around it. "I know of a plan that might end the siege."

Her eyes light, and I cringe. "What is hard in that?"

"Because it's hard to call for more spilled blood."

Her grip tightens on mine. "They spilled the blood of their own heads when they came."

Her earnest eyes are a terrifying reassurance. Haltingly, I say, "There is a woman who knows where the Kadranian leaders sleep. If we could sneak into their camp and... remove them, she thinks they would scatter. The shamans are gone now, she says, so there'd be no one to appoint them a new leader."

"Who is this woman who knows so much?"

"Someone who hates the Kadranians as much as we do." The knowledge of all Idyne has done burns me with disgust, yet here I am, advising we kill men in their sleep and do the same as she has. Desperation breeds desperation, and reviling Idyne will do nothing to further our cause.

Riszev sinks back into the chair. "Even if this is so, there is no honor in killing a man with an empty hand."

"We're not looking to increase our name, Riszev. We're looking to survive."

She looks at me sharply.

Pain twists my words. "There is no honor in this fight. There is death and suffering and destruction. When it is over, both sides will have lost."

She watches me for a long time. The weight of her gaze drags at me like stones in a river, and I look away.

Ollem comes back to the same quiet room he left. He passes out trays, and in the stretched-out silence, my stomach wavers like a bird caught in a storm. We sit to eat our meager meal.

"Wisdom is rarely gentle," she murmurs finally, and I train my gaze on my plate. "And honor always comes with pain."

I shove to my feet. "If I may, Consort." I take the plates without permission and push out of the room. Long strides take me to an empty hall, and I sag against the solid, cold walls. My conscience coils itself in bloody knots, and I drag in a long breath.

I was afraid we would die if she didn't accept my plan. Now I fear how many will die because of it.