In the floor of Riszev's room, she fills bottles with honey and some liquor Aster rallied quietly from among the servants. The Ladies' drink of choice wouldn't have been strong enough. I stuff a bottle with a paper wick and a rag. It's quick work, much easier than trying to make black powder and less likely to explode on you.

"Where did you learn to do this?" Riszev asks.

"Year-two science," I answer distractedly.

"What?"

I look up at her paused hands and berate myself. My fingers roll up another piece of paper for a wick. "My home. It's something we all learn there."

Glass clinks. "I thought you said your home was peaceful. Why do you all learn how to make weapons?"

I drop the wick in and seal the bottle with cloth. "It's not a weapon there." It's an alkemi lesson. My heart pangs. I forgot how much I used to love science for its own sake. How strange for that to be a foreign concept here.

"All my life, I have never met a woman who never thought of war." The honey oozes into a bottle. She sets the jar down and passes me the next container. "You have changed with surprising ease."

I break her gaze. "I learned when I left home that it doesn't do any good to hold onto the past."

She hums thoughtfully. By the time we finish, thirty bottles of incendiary nestle into carefully packed bags.

"Do you think that will be enough?" Riszev asks.

"It will have to be." I push up. "That's all the alcohol we have."

She rises as well. "Thank you, Leavi."

I shake my head. "I just hope it's enough to see you all home safe." Worry rises like a wave, and in my mind, I see all the ways this could go wrong.

Riszev and her guards surrounded by the blistering fire they set themselves—

Morineause soldiers cut down and beat back until they're the ones that scatter—

Aster's eyes, staring silent at the stars, blood soaking into the flowerless field—

"Leavi?"

My eyes snap up to hers. "Yes?"

"What is it?" She takes my hands, concern creasing her face.

I swallow, overcome with a fevered impulse that scares me almost as much as the dark daydreams. "Let me come with you."

Her grip tightens. "You are not a warrior, Leavi."

"No, but I bet I can light these cocktails faster than any of your women."

"Then show us how."

"Riszev, please."

Her lips tighten.

"I can't stand here and wonder. I can't hide here while everyone else risks their lives. I may not be a warrior, but I am a good sneak. Please. This was my plan."

Pain flickers across her face. "Do you know what you are offering?"

"Nothing more and nothing less than anyone else has today."

"We cannot look out for you."

"I'm not asking you to."

She shakes my hands, grip almost too tight. "You do not understand. My women will not put themselves or their sisters at risk to help an outsider. And neither can I. I have to make it back home. To fight here, this is our honor. To survive—this is my duty. I cannot leave either for your sake."

The fervor in her words makes my nerves jitter, but my voice holds steady. "I know."

"This will not be something you can look away from, like in the Tower."

I flinch but say, "Riszev, I know."

Her expression pinches, and she looks off, murmuring, "At least you are afraid." She says something else in Retran, but then turns back to lock eyes with me. "It would be better for you to stay." I hold her gaze, dreading and anticipating her response. She squeezes my hands. "But I cannot deny what you ask with honor. Come. Help me ready, and then I will ready you."

I expected the decision to settle me, but instead, it sets thistles in my stomach. This didn't have to be my fight. Riszev's right; I'm no warrior.

But neither is Aster, not really. And Riszev might carry a sword, but she also wears a crown. I doubt she's much more battle-hardened than I am.

We're all taking a risk. If I'm to die, then at least it will be with my friends and for this country.

We pull Riszev's armor out of her bag. As I move behind her to help strap the thick, supple leather on, my hands start to shake. This feels like preparing the Queen for her funeral did. I fumble with a clasp. Stop it. Riszev is equipped for this; we have a plan; this isn't a suicide strike. Hands stilling, I buckle her last strap.

She belts her sword on over, then turns to me, considering. "Even if I had another set, it would not fit you. But you can take my coat." My brows draw together, and she smiles softly. "Why do you think it folds the way it does? It is not great protection, but it is thick enough to be some. Here."

She retrieves the garment, but as I move to take it, she pulls back. "Let me." Her dark eyes search my face as though imprinting it into memory. "Please."

Swallowing, I nod. Her careful hands wrap the many layers tight around me. It's not hard like the Morineause armor or thick like Riszev's, but its closeness makes me feel safe all the same. Some of the thistles in my stomach harden into resolve.

She steps back. "And last, any warrior needs a weapon."

"I thought we said I wasn't a warrior."

She turns away, going through her things. "You will be after tonight." She pulls something out, holding it close to her chest, and turns back around. She extends her arms to me.

Lying across her forearms is a short, smooth blade. Dark leather wraps its hilt, and a small red gem rests in its pommel. I've never seen such a dangerous work of art before. "For you."

"Riszev—"

"Take it. Test its feel."

Gingerly, I reach for the dagger. It feels like air. I marvel, twisting it in front of my eyes. "How is it so light?"

"Retran secret." She smiles. "Here. That is not how you hold it." She adjusts my grip, spending the next few minutes showing me the basics of wielding the blade. "Hopefully you will not need to use it. But if you do, do not wait. A second's pause is just as deadly in battle as a sword."

My lips press together, but I nod. "Thank you."

"Let us thank each other when we make it back." She nods somberly, and I'm struck wondering how many soldiers made similar statements before falling on Kadranian blades.

She hands me a belt to strap on, a loop left in it for the dagger. I slide it through.

"Come. You're going to need a bag as well." She nods toward the cocktails.

"And my flicker."

"Flicker?"

"What I'll use to light these. Wait here; I'll be right back."

After hurrying to the infirmary, I pour out my backpack. My lab coat, books, and scientific instruments splay over the bed, and as I search for my flicker, realization hits me.

I never unpacked.

I still. In all my travels, I never unpacked. Got out what I needed, sure. Sometimes stray things lay around the room. But eventually, my clothes found their way to the top of the bag, my brush slipped into the pocket, and even the papers Aster gave me here found a home among my things. The trip from the High Valleys ended a long time ago, but I don't think I ever stopped traveling.

I snatch my flicker from among the pile, tug on my boots, and scoop up my empty bag. If we make it back, I can unpack then.

I hurry downstairs and pause in the exit. Illesiarr is asleep at the hearth, Elénna working in one of the back rooms. Neither will notice me leave. I think of leaving a note, but if we fail, I don't know how much it will matter. My hand clasps my charm. "Goodbye," I whisper. "And may your skies stay bright."

I leave and let the door drift closed behind me. Back in her suite, Riszev and I rearrange the bottles into bags of five apiece before sweeping into the hallway. I feel like my heart is pumping electricity instead of blood. We collect Shava and their three guards and slip down toward the entrance to the tunnel. They're shockingly quiet—the soldiers of the castle jingle and stomp, but the Retran women walk with light, lithe strides. We are whispers among the murmuring glow crystals.

Aster and Idyne are already there. They both look like they stepped out of the Kitten's doors again—gone are the clothes of courtiers, replaced with Idyne's leggings and tunic and Aster's travel-worn cloak.

His gaze lands on my dagger before flicking up to Riszev. "What is the servant doing here?"

"She asked to come. I will not dishonor her wish."

"She's not a fighter."

"She is among my party. Are we ready to leave?"

His face goes dark, and he steps toward us. "We don't need to bring any unnecessary lives, Rizsev." He pauses. "She'll just get in the way."

She stands straighter, sweeping her hand at the group. "Are we so many we can refuse hands that offer themselves? She comes."

His jaw clenches, and he stares at her for a long moment. A strange instinct wishes it were me he was glaring at instead, and regret blooms on the thistles in my stomach. Don't let them hurt you. His only request of me, and I've paid it no mind. But I can't. I simply can't. The torches highlight the sharp lines of his jaw, but all I see is fear. You wouldn't, Aster, I beg him to understand. If our places were switched, you wouldn't stay.

Riszev stands her ground, and finally, he turns toward the tunnel. He opens the door without a word, and we leave the crackling torchlight for the embrace of the dark.