—tomorrow. That's what everyone keeps whispering.

A day passes. Her younger cousin Lukas whines about not being able to join the front with the other men.

"They didn't even give me a real sword."

"Tough!" she snaps. "Fight with a stick if you have to. If the Drakonians come—"

*

"What does it mean?" Valerie asked in the carriage on their way back. "Being summoned to the Senate?"

"It's the Patriarch's weapon against me," Lord Avon answered. "He knows he can't directly accuse me of murdering his son, so he's going to use the Senate to question my conduct in Maskamere instead. Just as Father predicted."

"But what can the Senate do? Who are they?"

Avon sighed. "A bunch of fusty old men in robes. The pillar of our republic."

He explained: the Senate was designed to balance the distribution of power in Drakon by acting as an executive body overseeing the Emperor's Council. It had no legislative power as such; only the Council could change the law, but it elected the Council members and could remove any of them except for the Emperor himself. That included the governors of Drakon's vassal states.

"Like you?"

"Yes," said Avon. "My father appointed me Chancellor of Maskamere, and that appointment was ratified by the Senate. However, if they believe me unfit to continue holding that post..."

Her stomach dropped. She thought back to the confrontation with Reinard, all the mistakes he had accused his son of making. Defying the Emperor's orders to destroy the silvertree in Bolebund, declaring his support for magic, openly consorting with a Maskamery witch...

To the Senate, it would appear that their Chancellor had gone rogue.

"They could remove you," she whispered.

"Then you could finally be rid of me," he joked. "Just like you wanted."

"Don't say that. Right now, you're Maskamere's only hope."

He looked at her then, his expression flickering. She'd spent the entire morning hanging on his arm, pretending to be his good obedient witch. Letting him hold her hand. Letting him speak on her behalf. But here, in the quiet of the carriage, they had a brief respite from the never ending performance.

Valerie felt the sincerity of her own words and looked away, her cheeks hot.

After a moment, Avon said, "I don't expect any support from my father. We'll face the Senate alone."

She frowned. "But you were right. You have to stand together."

"My father isn't known for being easily persuaded. He'll come around when he sees the tide of opinion turning." Avon leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his eyes alight with a familiar fervour. "The Senate will hear my vision for the Empire's future. The Patriarch seeks to humiliate me; he couldn't have given me a better voice if I'd asked him myself."

"He said I have to be there with you."

"Yes. He'll question you too."

Oh, Maska, she thought. I'm not ready for this.

"What do I do? What do I say? Do I tell them the truth?"

"Tell them the truth," said Avon, "but our version of it."

They spent the afternoon rehearsing their story in his chambers. Avon wanted her pitch perfect; he warned her that the Patriarch would try to trip her up. As the hours wore on, she felt quite ill: sick with worry, sick of her ignorance, sick of having to rely on Avon for her very survival.

Finally, when she thought she couldn't bear a second more, Lady Juliana knocked at their door.

"My lord. The Emperor wishes to see you."

Avon rose. Valerie began to stand up too, but Juliana shook her head.

"Alone," she said.

Avon briefly clasped her shoulder before departing. The gesture, though welcome, gave her little comfort. Juliana retreated without so much as a word, and Valerie slumped forward with her head resting on the desk. She was tired, bone-tired. A small spell would have picked her up, but...

Stop it, she thought. You're not utterly useless. You survived eighteen years before the blessing. Can't give up now.

She thought of Markus lying dead in the dungeon, Shikra's last gambit to force her to carry out the queen's mission. If things went badly here, she would flee back to the goldentree and undo it all. But with the way things were going so far, in all likelihood she'd be dead before she had a chance to reverse anything.

Come on.

She forced herself up. Her first two days in the capital had made one thing clear: she needed allies. She couldn't assume that Avon's protection would see her through.

Well, then. Valerie slipped out of the chamber and closed the door behind her, already formulating a plan.

*

"You missed dinner," said Ophelia, looking up when Valerie entered their quarters. "Did my brother keep you?"

"Yeah." Valerie scanned the chamber, distracted. "Oh—Priska, can you run me a bath?"

The other girl had been lurking in a corner. She sprang up and nodded. "Yes, my lady."

"You must have been busy," Ophelia teased.

She looked very comfortable, lounging on the sofa in a long flowery robe with her hair loose and a book in hand. Valerie sat down on the opposite couch, glancing over at the doorway where Priska had disappeared into the bath chamber.

"Sorry," she said. "I don't know if you heard it at the funeral, but... Lord Avon and I have to go to the Senate tomorrow."

Ophelia put her book down, sitting up. "The Senate? But why?"

By the time Valerie had finished explaining, Ophelia's eyes were wide as saucers and she had entirely ruined the cosy vibe.

Valerie shrugged. "If you have any advice..."

"I've never been to the Senate," Ophelia confessed. "I didn't think they ever invited ladies to speak."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"I'm sorry, Val." A tear tangled in Ophelia's eyelash; she blinked it away. "We've made such a terrible first impression, haven't we? That awful dinner with Father, and the funeral today..."

She trailed off. Valerie couldn't disagree. Not that she expected the seat of the Empire to be some wonderful utopia. But even Avon had been taken aback by the hostility they'd faced.

"I've survived worse," she assured Ophelia. "Was your father at dinner?"

"No. Just Mother."

"Did she say anything?"

"About what?"

"About what happened at the funeral."

"She wouldn't talk about it. I didn't want to bring it up either. The funeral must have been so trying for the Empress, and..."

"What?"

The other girl hesitated, then slumped back in her seat. "She did ask why we were sharing a room."

Alarm shot through her. "She noticed that already?"

"I said that I was teaching you how to be a Drakonian lady, and Lord Avon thought it best for us to share quarters so that you could see how a lady behaved. So if she asks you..."

"I'll say the same," said Valerie quickly. "Is this a bad thing, Ophelia? If the rest of the Gideon family finds out, could they use it against us somehow?"

She wasn't sure herself. Courtesans were expected to serve their lords, but no one had ever questioned her accommodations in the queen's quarters in the royal palace.

Ophelia's brow creased. "I don't know..."

"Ma'am?"

Priska poked her head around the door. Her bath was ready. Thankful for the distraction, Valerie made her excuses.

Stick to the plan. Avon hadn't worried about their living arrangements, so she would have to trust in his judgement. She had more important things to focus on.

When the door to the bath chamber had closed, steam filling the air, she and Priska could finally talk.

"Have you had a chance to look for your family?"

The other girl's hands were full of soap lather. Valerie sank blissfully into the hot water, stretching out her limbs. Her headache had retreated. This, at last, was something she could appreciate about life in the capital.

"Yes, ma'am." Priska trembled with contained excitement. "I met my brother."

"That's wonderful! How is he?"

"He's doing good. I found him in the Embassy..."

With Valerie's encouragement, Priska described how she'd pretended that she had an errand to run in order to sneak out and search for her family in the city. She'd never seen the girl so animated, her face flushed, her eyes shining.

"When we met, it was like..." Her voice caught. "It was like I remembered who I was. Before the Drakonians. I'd forgotten what it was like to have a family..."

Inevitably, the faces of her own family flashed through Valerie's mind. Her mother's face, fuzzy. Her grandmother. Aunts, uncles, cousins. Aster, who kept reappearing in her dreams, variations upon variations, like a fractured reflection in a mirror.

How many times had they died screaming?

"My lady?"

She blinked at Priska's concerned face. "Go on. Your brother's name is Titus, right? You said he was a Messenger? What about your mother?"

But Priska shook her head. "It was just Titus."

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right." Priska sat back, kneeling on the tiled floor. "I've spent all this time alone, so even finding Titus was... I don't know, more than I could have hoped for."

"I'd feel the same way. What's his situation now? Was he a prisoner of war, or did he surrender to the Empire, or...?"

"A prisoner of war. We both thought we were the only Stewards left."

But they'd found each other. She wondered how many Maskamery had scattered beyond the border, how many families had been separated. Were there others in Drakardia? It wouldn't hurt to ask around, but in the meantime Titus offered a clear lead. He might know something about the war. He might even have met the queen.

"Is he...?" She cleared her throat. "Is he on our side?"

Priska didn't hesitate. "Yes. Should I pass on a message?"

"I'd like to meet him," she decided. "Do you think you could arrange that?"

"Of course, my lady."

Priska rinsed out her hair, then Valerie stepped out of the bath and let the maid wrap a towel around her. She was conscious not of her bare flesh nor the water dripping from her hair, but rather of how easy it had been to take Priska for granted. She couldn't remember the last time she had asked Priska about her family back in the palace.

But the Stewards were powerful and respected. Or they had been, before the war.

"Priska..." She paused, biting her lip. "Can you... can you call me Valerie? At least when it's the two of us."

Priska blinked. "Of course, m—Sorry."

"You're a Steward. I'm a Crescent. I don't want us to forget that. We're in this together."

"I..." The girl ducked her head. "I'd given up before you arrived. Then I saw you fighting... You never stopped trying to escape. And when you came back to life, like St. Morta, I thought... maybe there's hope. Do you think so?"

"I know so." Valerie smiled. "I'll make a rebel of you yet."

Rebelling wasn't always about grand battle strategies or high profile assassinations. Those like Priska who worked quietly in their Drakonian masters' homes could still help in their own ways.

And judging by Priska's embarrassed smile, she had the girl's loyalty.

*

Later, when darkness had fallen and the oil lamps had been snuffed out, Valerie lay in her makeshift bed in Ophelia's room and tried not to fret about facing the Senate. She wasn't the one being held to account. And no one had dragged her to a bonfire yet...

Ophelia spoke. "Valerie?"

She shifted onto her back. "Mmm?"

"Do you really think Rufus is untrustworthy?"

Ophelia's voice sounded small and uncertain.

Valerie clasped her hands over the bed covers. What bubbles they all lived in, she thought. While Valerie had spent the day preoccupied by the Patriarch and her own machinations, Ophelia must have been worrying about something else altogether.

"No," she answered. "I said that because I thought I couldn't trust him, but that doesn't mean you can't. Honestly, I hated all of your suitors before you even met. They were Maskamery men who had accepted Drakonian titles and converted to your church. To me, they were all traitors."

"Traitors?"

"To the cause. If you're not fighting the Empire, you're supporting them. That's what the resistance taught us."

"I thought you gave up on that. You saved my life from the rebels."

That lie again. "I know. It's just... hard, sometimes, to accept that we lost the war. I've been dreaming about it."

"The war?"

"Yeah. I'm caught up in the invasion again, or waiting for it to happen, and then I die."

It felt good to tell someone. A small weight off her chest.

"Val, I..." Ophelia sounded on the verge of tears. "I don't know what to say."

Valerie stared up at the vague grey of the ceiling. With nothing to focus on, nothing bright or distinct, her awareness turned inward. The air in her lungs. Her back and limbs resting on the bed. The pillow against her head. This living body of hers, the most precious thing in the world, could so easily be extinguished. She knew that better than most.

"Well," she said, "if you want my advice on Rufus, I'd say get to know him. You don't have to rush these things. Take the time to find out who he is. And if you don't like him... don't marry him."

"He's already asked my father for his blessing..."

"Do you think your father will agree?"

"I think so... but Father was so mad at us. I disobeyed him. I... I've never done that before."

"How do you feel?"

"I don't know," Ophelia whispered. "Scared, I think. He loves us, truly, but..."

"I get it. That's how I felt about your brother too. You know your family is terrifying, right?"

That got a small laugh. "Not me. I'm scared of everything." She paused. "Sorry. I'm being silly, complaining like this when Father's support is so much more important for you. Worrying about Rufus must seem so trivial."

"No, it's not trivial. It's your life, Ophelia. Your future. You don't want to be stuck with a man who'll make you miserable for the rest of your life."

The other girl didn't reply. Valerie turned on her side, trying to make out Ophelia's face tucked in bed across from her.

"Hey," she said softly, "even if your father makes the final decision, it's your opinion that matters. If you don't feel it's right, I'll find a way to get you out. I'm good at that."

"Really?"

"You stood up for me. I'll stand up for you."

"Thank you," Ophelia whispered.

The words were soft, but tinged with gratitude. She felt a rush of love for the other girl, whom she had known for such a short time, but who always spoke with sincere feeling. People like that were rare in this world.

"Ophelia?"

"Mmm?"

"Rufus is Maskamery. He should know how to treat you. If he ever makes you feel nervous or uncomfortable, tell him to stop, all right? And tell me if he doesn't. I'll make sure he regrets it."

There was a muffled laugh from the other bed. "I bet you will."