My heart knocked out a sickening thump like a hammer on a rotten log. I staggered back a step, kicking over a lantern, and an array of shadows convulsed across the wall in a twitchy jig. When the lantern clattered against the wall and stopped, my eyes adjusted, and I registered the sight before me.

Makandi stretched out across the floor, clothing half-askew and half-discarded and slender limbs intertwined with someone else.

Roki?

The servant detangled himself from Makandi and scuttled away on his hands and knees. Then he tugged up his pants and popped to his feet. His Adam's apple bobbed with noisy swallows.

"Epsa, I was just... we were just..."

"Fucking," said Makandi with a lazy grin. He planted his palms on the floor beneath him and slowly pushed himself up to sitting, lifting his bottom to slip his trousers up over his hips. Even from several feet away, the prak seeping from his skin stung my nostrils and pricked my eyes. "But what were you out doing, oh sweet Epsa? I am most curious about that."

My gaze stuck on Makandi for a moment and then swung to Roki, who was tugging on a tunic with one hand and fumbling to button his pants with the other.

"Roki, could you leave us, please?"

His head bobbed in several fast nods. "Yes, of course. I'll just, uh... I'll just..."

Roki shot another quick glance at Makandi, but Makandi's eyes remained fastened to me, his smile unwavering. Roki swiveled on his heel and scampered toward the staircase, and my gaze returned to Makandi.

The footsteps pattered up the stairs. The door opened. Shut.

Makandi tilted his head, still grinning. "Well?"

I scoffed, fingers flinching over my hips. "A servant, Makandi? Really?"

His smile faded a little as he shrugged. "Admittedly not my finest moment, but also far from my worst. But I want to hear about you! What Royal Guard mission could require you to use our family's secret exit in the middle of the night?"

I drew in an uneven breath, catching over each false start at a plausible answer. Finding none, I launched a stiff, feeble counterattack.

"You are not in any place to be asking me questions."

The grin returned, and his eyes rolled toward the ceiling. "Oh, the perfect Epsa has a secret! I hope it's a lover, and I hope you have been fucking for hours." He hiccupped and pressed a hand over his gut. "Goddess knows you need it."

My brow furrowed. "You're drunk."

"I'm always drunk."

"You're drunker than usual."

He cocked his head to the side, and his shoulder sank with his head, slumping back against the wall. A grating chuckle disintegrated into a wheezing snort.

"Perhaps."

"Makandi, did you... did you want this? Did you really want Roki?"

He lifted one finger and stared at the wall ahead, tongue flitting between his lips as though composing his thoughts. Then he belched and sank down a bit further against the wall.

"Those" — he stopped to hiccup once more — "Are two very different questions. I absolutely wanted this. I absolutely did not care whether it was Roki."

"Makandi, what would Paranila think?"

He spread his arms wide in an elaborate shrug. "Don't know. Don't care."

I huffed a breath of disbelief, thoughts of my own predicament overshadowed by a swell of indignance — on the behalf of Princess Paranila, but even more so on Makari's behalf.

"You have a son together."

Makandi flashed me another grin, white teeth elongated in the light of the tipped lantern and eyes dancing with more malice than mirth.

"No, we don't."

I blinked at him. "What — what do you mean?"

"With Paranila, what happened was..." He hiccupped. "Well, it was more about what didn't happen."

I ground out a hoarse reply. "What are you saying, Makandi?"

He raised one finger of his left hand and slapped his right against the wall, propping himself to press up to his feet. Then he swayed forward and clapped a hand over my shoulder. I flinched back an inch, more from the fume of alcohol and sinister smile than from the touch.

Makandi spoke in a stage whisper. "When I couldn't do the deed, someone else did it for me."

I shook my head and attempted to roll my shoulder out of his grasp, but his hand only clamped tighter. "Someone else? Paranila hardly leaves the palace."

His head tipped back with a wet snort, and the smile that graced his lips quivered with venom and angst. A dreadful suspicion twisted around my chest before he even said the words.

"Makari is my brother."

I stared at Makandi, but I no longer registered his face. I saw Paranila's tart smile, heard the King's indulgent sigh, felt Makari's forehead press into my collarbone as he listened to the King scolding Makandi.

You refuse to act like a father for Makari.

I realized Makandi was still speaking, and I pulled the distant, tinny words into focus.

"...seems you do not want to tell me what you are doing here, so why don't we forget this happened? I don't care if you tell Paranila, actually, but just don't tell my father. Especially that bit about Makari, because that's... just let's not mention that ever again. Alright?" He squeezed my shoulder, gentler this time, almost tentative. "Alright, Epsa?"

I took one step back, toe sinking down to heel, and Makandi's hand flopped back to his side. A sheen of sweat glimmered over his dark face, and his teeth trapped one corner of his lip.

"Are you afraid of what might happen to Roki?"

"Roki?" His lips quirked, and he shook his head. "Goddess, you always try to see the best in people, don't you? No, I don't care about Roki."

I frowned and released a labored breath through my nose, struggling to process through the dim haze clouding my mind. "Then why don't you want the King to know?"

"Because he'll give me that..." He flicked his fingers and tipped his head once to each side. "That look he likes to give me."

"What look?"

"Revulsion."

A pinprick of pain touched my chest. Was Makandi as desperate for the King's approval as I had been? As a boy, he had eagerly promised the King to do anything he was asked, even if he consistently failed to keep his promises.

Then I imagined Makandi's feet on the dining table, his mocking sneer, his insolent bow. Even now, he flaunted an almost belligerent smile. He certainly did not look like someone who feared rejection.

I shook my head. "You always act like you don't care."

He snorted a laugh and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "I can't believe you've lived with this family so long and never realized it."

"Realized what?"

His eyes gleamed with humor, challenge, and something much darker.

"That everyone is always acting."

* * *

I awoke early and headed straight to the courtyard for physical training and sword practice. With each pushup and pullup, with each thrust and swing, my heart hammered with anticipation. Any moment, a servant would summon me to the King's office so he could deliver the news of whatever had transpired during the night. Of Izra's fate.

But no one came.

Instead, I hung my sword and trotted back to the servants' quarters to bathe and change to a clean set of clothing. My body performed the ritual tasks mindlessly, hands somehow steady despite the quivering in my gut.

Though I had no appetite, I paced toward the dining hall. Bright lantern light danced over statues and bounced off the marble floor. Over the bright, clean sweep of marble, I imagined the imprint of my toes from the night before.

Queen Romalda perched on a chair in the otherwise empty dining room, spooning porridge into her mouth with a slow, trembling hand. Her eyes remained on the porridge even as I sank into the chair across the table, face expressionless. Moments later, a servant swept into the room and planted a bowl of steaming porridge in front of me.

"Thank —" I started, but my voice strangled off when my eyes lifted to Roki's face.

Roki sniffled and shifted his feet, his eyes flitting to the Queen. Queen Romalda glanced up from her porridge, first at Roki and then at me.

I coughed into my shoulder and then nodded at Roki. "Thank you."

The Queen returned to her porridge.

Roki shuffled out of the dining room, and I started on my porridge. My hand and mouth moved with practiced certainty, but my throat had trouble keeping up with the unwelcome invasion. For a moment, I imagined the Queen's gaze analyzing me, and I wondered if she saw past all of the charades. If she knew about Makari. If she guessed what I had done.

I darted a glance in her direction, but her eyes remained on her food.

By the time lunch approached, my stomach writhed in knots. Had Izra succeeded, or had she joined the prisoners? Even if Izra had backed out, the King should have updated me on the attack — or lack thereof — on the Holy Shrine of Rashika.

Could he suspect me already?

Finally, a young female servant approached me and bobbed into a curtsy. "Epsa, the King requires your presence in his study."

On the walk to the study, my heartbeat filled my ears, a pressurized thump just out of sync with my footsteps and jumping ahead a little further with each beat. I reached the door and paused for a bare second, hand hovering over the handle.

Then I slapped on a smile.

And opened the door.

"You wanted to see me, Your Majesty?"

King Makapu lowered his quill into the ink bottle and folded his hands on the table in front of him. "Thank you for coming, Epsa. Do take a seat." He nodded at the chair across the desk. "I apologize for keeping you waiting so long for this update."

My legs obeyed the command, slinking forward to dip down onto the chair. "Were the guards successful in defending the Holy Shrine of Rashika, Your Majesty?"

"It seems Rashika's Resistance learned the Royal Guard awaited their attack on the shrine, and they decided to redirect their efforts to the prisons."

I furrowed my brow, hoping to imitate the confusion I should have felt — and hoping the King could not hear my pounding heart. "They targeted the prisons?"

His lips twisted to the side, and the first two fingers of his right hand tapped the table the same way he normally tapped his quill. "They freed all of the Lesser God worshippers we had captured... with no bloodshed."

A quick breath of relief escaped my lips — the correct response for the wrong reason. "Well, at least we can thank the Goddess that no Royal Guards were harmed."

He tilted his head, and his fingers strummed on the desk once more. "Actually, the lack of bloodshed concerns me. It seems the prison guards imbibed enough prak to incapacitate their defenses, and the resistance movement acquired a key. Suspicious, don't you agree?"

"What do you mean, Your Majesty?"

His fingers stilled, and his voice dropped quiet. "Epsa, tell no one I said this, but... I believe there is a traitor on the Royal Guard."

I stiffened. "A traitor, Your Majesty? Who would do such a thing?"

His shoulders lifted with a slow intake of breath and then deflated with a sigh. "That is what I am hoping you will help me uncover. You see, you are the only member of the Royal Guard I trust completely."

Some faded remnants of loyalty glowed in my chest, smoldering ashes memorializing an extinguished fire, and guilt sloshed in my stomach. I had wanted so badly to serve him, to make him proud, to demonstrate my unwavering devotion. The Goddess blesses those who obey without question. But no Goddess I worshipped would support a man who ordered innocent citizens tortured. Who tormented his Claimed. Who impregnated his son's wife.

I pinched my thigh to refocus. "I would love to help, Your Majesty, but I only talk much with Pim and Pamil, and I am certain they are loyal to you."

He dipped his head in a slow nod. "They do seem loyal, but they may know more than they realize. You will invite them for drinks to discreetly find out what they have seen. Then you can compare notes with whatever Izra tells you at the next Coupling."

My head swam with the complexity of it all. First lying to Izra, then to the King and Queen, and now to my only friends. Izra had already stopped trusting me. How long until the others followed? And what would I do then?

Somehow, the correct response slipped from my lips. "Yes, Your Majesty. It is an honor to serve you."

The King smiled. "I am grateful to have such a loyal guard."

* * *

Three days later, evening light played over lush green vines and bushes of the courtyard, and the ever spouting fountain sprayed over Rashika's hands and pattered the water below like chimes. Remembering the wind stripping dry dirt from the ground over the rest of Rakim, the beautiful sound and sight now filled me with unease.

I glanced up to see Pim striding toward the patio table. "No Pamil tonight?"

"No." Pim sidled into the seat beside me and reached for the open bottle of prak. "He said he had a stomachache."

"Didn't he train with you today?"

"He did."

A silence followed, broken only by a few evening bird calls and the glug, glug, glug of prak from the bottle to Pim's mug. Then Pim lifted the mug to his lips, though he barely tipped the mug before his throat convulsed in an unnecessarily pronounced swallow.

"Epsa, I am leaving in two weeks for my annual trip to Busk to celebrate the Day of Acrad — I mean, my mother's birthday."

I wrapped my fingers around the mostly full mug of prak in front of me and tipped just a splash into my mouth as I nodded. "Right, your mother's birthday. How old is she now?"

He set the still-full mug in his hand on the table with a tink. "Epsa, what are we going to do with Rona? When will we tell the King?"

My hand clasping the mug froze, hovering several inches above the table. "I... I don't think we should tell the King, Pim. Especially after what has just happened."

He puffed out a sigh and dragged fingers through his fine blonde hair. "Then what are we going to do? Am I supposed to never see my family again?"

My own hand drifted down to rest the mug on the table. "No, we can... we can find somewhere else to send Rona."

"Somewhere else?" His tone flattened, and his spindly eyebrows jerked up his wide forehead.

"Maybe..." I shot a glance around the courtyard and then leaned closer to Pim. "Maybe I can bring her to Izra."

An almost comically high squeak slipped from Pim's mouth as he gaped at me. "To Izra? Epsa, what are you saying? Izra is... she's pure evil."

I tipped the mug in a slow circle on the table, watching the amber liquid swirl. "Evil why?"

He huffed a snort and leaned back on his chair, fast enough that the front legs lifted off the ground and then clapped back down.

"She is not just a normal rebel, Epsa. She inspired every act of violence and fueled every fire. Did you know we have found nothing about her background? According to some, she murdered her own parents. Others say she materialized from thin air... or maybe from one of the seven hells."

"But none of the prison guards died."

Pim fingered the handle of his mug but did not lift it. "What are you saying?"

"If Rashika's Resistance is so evil, why did they leave every prison guard unharmed?"

Pim fell into silence, but his hand curled over the handle tight enough to swell into a beefy fist. I lifted the mug to my lips but barely let the spicy liquid touch my tongue before replacing it on the table. Pim uncurled his fist to lay both hands flat on the table.

"Can I tell you a story?"

I had heard the question so many times, but never did it sound like this. No anticipation or delight — just slow contemplation.

As my eyes met Pim's distant gaze, a sharp pain pricked my chest. In our eight years of friendship, I had never felt this disconnected. But then, I had never hidden anything from Pim before. And I had never wondered what he hid from me.

"Go ahead," I said.

His hands dropped down to squeeze both knees. "So, there once was a talking fish who could never find another fish to talk to."

"I think you told me this one."

"This is part two."

"Alright, continue."

"The talking fish befriends a talking frog, and for a while, they are very happy together. Then one day, the fish realizes the frog has been spitting poison onto the fish eggs. He considers warning the other fish, but he is afraid they may kill the talking frog."

Cold wormed through my gut, but I neutralized my voice. "I hope you didn't tell Rona this part."

Pim released a weary chuckle as he picked up his mug. "No, I only tell her stories that end in 'happy forever more.'"

"And how does this one end?"

He set the mug down again. "That is where I need your advice. Should the talking fish stay loyal to his team of fish or protect his friend?"

Panicked questions pelted me, but I barricaded my mind and forced a shaky smile. "Well, I suppose the talking fish will have to decide which matters to him more."

Pim nodded. "Yes. I suppose he will."