M'yu spent the rest of the day in the library at the house, alternating between writing down everything he knew about the Nightsale and watching more of Peitros's videos. They felt like disconnected snippets of history, and he wished Aevryn were here so he could ask more about them. Tonight, he kept telling himself, and then remembering that he also had to get this testimony done by tonight.

Aevryn had agreed to let him go back to school tomorrow if he was still feeling up to it. M'yu, of course, planned on feeling up to it. Him and Karsya had spent their lives dreaming of what it would be like to step into the noble's shoes. This chance was everything he wanted to give his people. If he couldn't—wouldn't—take it, then what was the point in fighting to give it to them?

M'yu could be the representative. He could be part of setting things right, of changing their mind. Of changing everything.

Throughout the day, flashes of Karsya haunted his mind, though. Sellout, she would say. But he hadn't abandoned the mission; he had just changed objectives. Get Aevryn on the throne. They didn't have to destroy everything if they could build it back up right. Put Aevryn in the place he deserved, in the place of the Tsar, and M'yu could give his people everything he'd ever wanted them to have.

Biting his lip, M'yu snagged another piece of paper and scribbled down some extra instructions. Don't bother the old man at the door; he's just a beggar. Don't arrest any of the minors; they'll scatter when you come in. Don't punish people for fighting back; you're breaking into their home as far as they see it. Don't... don't hurt them.

M'yu's hand dropped, and the pen clattered to the table. This was right. This was good. But like witchcandy running through his veins, nothing felt quite right anymore.

His eyes snuck to the console for the thousandth time that day. He wondered how easy it would be to practice on it, if maybe there was even a way to connect to the central linkcard system from here, since Aevryn was the minister and all.

He tore his eyes away again and finished compiling his list. He'd give it to Aevryn tonight. And then they could talk about what it was that Aevryn needed him for, he would do it, and they could put this whole thing behind them.

That simple.

M'yu rose, collected his notes, and sat in the foyer to wait for Aevryn.

Not five minutes later, the door flew open. "Mykta," Aevryn shouted toward the stairs. M'yu stood, and Aevryn's gaze landed on him. "Good, you're here." Evriss moved to take Aevryn's coat, and the man shook him off. "Not now. Boy, go get dressed."

M'yu looked down.

"For dinner. Go. The blue suit. And comb your hair."

"I thought we were going to—"

"We don't have time to argue today. Now!"

M'yu ran off, legs a little wobbly but still enjoying the exercise. He pumped up the three flights of stairs, caught his breath, then burst into his room. Aevryn's daughter lay on his bed, feet kicking in the air, a fairytale book spread out beneath her hands. "Shhh!" she hissed. "I'm reading."

"Ghostie, I need to change."

She giggled. "My name's not Ghostie."

"Seriously, Ashya," he said, flinging his wardrobe open. "Aevryn's waiting."

She flipped a page in her book, rolled over on her back, and held it above her head. In a dramatic voice, she read aloud, "And here the charming prince ate of the cursed fruit, choked, and fell into a dreamless sleep!"

"Could you get out of here?" Hanger in hand, chased her from the bed. She shrieked, running out of his reach.

"Where are you going to dinner?"

"Who says I'm going anywhere?"

She pouts. "Those are dinner clothes. And you never dress up for daddy."

"You watch me?"

"What else am I going to do?"

"Go on, get out of here." He herded her out of the room, and she left in fits of laughter.

"Don't eat any cursed fruit!" she called back.

Lips twisting, M'yu shut the door and stripped. Red scabs marred his skin where Ruslan had stabbed him. He yanked on his undershirt to cover them.

When he hurried down into the foyer, coat flapping, Aevryn left the mirror he was checking himself in and started inspecting M'yu.

"Why do we only ever get these invites last minute?" M'yu asked as Aevryn straightened M'yu's collar.

"The first one wasn't last minute; I was just busy."

"And this one?"

"They want to throw us off." Aevryn stepped back. "That will have to be perfect enough. Come along." Aevryn swept out the door, calling over his shoulder, "Evriss, keep the lights on for us! If we're not back by midnight..." Aevryn paused in the door, eyes roaming over his home. "Send someone knocking. One way or another."

"Of course, sir. Be careful."

Aevryn just hummed and strode to the hover. M'yu entered behind him, and the door closed with a hiss.

"Where are we going?" M'yu asked.

Aevryn flicked a piece of lint off his leg, licked his nail and scraped at something invisible on his pants. "To the Prav'sudja."

"For dinner?"

"Where else would the Tsaright eat?" Aevryn muttered.

M'yu drew back. "This... sounds like a bad plan."

"We don't always make the plans, M'yu."

M'yu tugged out the papers he'd been working on. "Here are these, at least."

Aevryn's eyes flicked over the details. He flipped to the next page. "Good. This will help quite a bit." He shook his head. "I can't believe we never knew about this market before."

"They kind of make it their job not to get found out."

"Yes. I suppose so." Aevryn pulled one of the drawers at his feet out and laid the papers inside. "Now, listen carefully. You eat as little as possible. Don't eat too much of any one thing. Drink only water. If anything tastes off to you at all, claim illness. It will be well known soon enough that you got out of the hospital this morning. They can't blame you too much for it."

"I thought we didn't lie."

"We never lie when it hurts people, and you are ill. You should be in bed right now, but the Tsaright would hear nothing of it, and I couldn't exactly contradict him when you were going to be returning to school and to fighting soon."

M'yu bit his lip. "You think he's going to poison us."

"I think that the only thing I trust about him is that he'll do whatever benefits him the most. Keep your tongue in your head. He might try to rile you, but whatever you do, be respectful. You hear me? This isn't the Magnate's house. This man doesn't answer to me. We answer to him."

M'yu scoffed. "Even though we're trying to overthrow him?"

"What we're trying to do is entirely legal. If anything he's done is illegal, then he has lost his right to rule. But so long as we can't prove that"—Aevryn locked eyes with M'yu—"then he is still the official, rightful, chosen ruler of the city."

"Chosen by who?" M'yu scoffed.

"By the Washfall Trial. And by proxy, the first Tsar, who invented the AI that governs it."

M'yu bit his lip.

"You did well enough the first night," Aevryn said. "Can I trust you tonight?"

M'yu took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. He nodded.

Aevryn relaxed. "Good."

With a tap, he unclouded the glass. The mountain rose above them, slowly giving way to the Prav'sudja. It astounded him that people had once flown in that metal behemoth. It had been among the stars. He stared at the giant wings, realizing now why they had reminded him at first of a bird. "Is the Prav'sudja really going to fly again one day?" M'yu asked.

Aevryn's lips pressed together. "If the Tsar ever returns."

"But that was hundreds of years ago. Why hasn't he come back? How could he come back? People don't live forever, Aevryn."

"No, they don't. But time slows the faster you travel, and his ship would have been traveling very fast indeed. There's every chance he's still alive. As for the other..." Aevryn sighed. "I don't know yet. But I do plan on finding out." He tapped on the window. "Still, that is neither here nor there. You need to focus, alright? All the rest can be saved for another day, and I better not hear a word of it at dinner."

"I'm poor, not dumb."

Aevryn fiddled with his coat hem. "You're neither now, boy. You're not just an apprentice, you know."

M'yu squinted.

"Do you not realize what you signed? The day I collected you from the jailhouse?"

M'yu stared at him.

"We signed those papers to legally place you into my family. You and Ashya are my heirs. So, you're neither dumb nor poor."

"Oh." M'yu blinked. On some level, he'd known that—Aevryn had let him borrow his last name, after all. But that's all it had felt like. Borrowing.

Aevryn shook his head, then shook out his hands. "Again, neither here nor there. Let's just focus on this dinner, shall we?"

M'yu nodded, and the hover climbed the mountain in silence. The gates at the top of the mountain opened as they neared, and the hover rolled across the plateau, through winding paths of topiaries, and into the open mouth of the Prav'sudja. When Aevryn opened the doors, they stepped out into a grand hall, big enough to hold another thousand hovers like theirs. Thick rugs and rich tapestries covered otherwise plain metal walls. M'yu's mouth dropped as they moved through the space—he had never seen a building made of pure metal before. Lights were inset to the walls, not in alcoves like at Scrollschool but flush with the surface, like they'd been built there. Servants took their coats, showed them into the dining hall, and announced them without even asking for their linkcards.

A gleaming silver table filled the room. There was no fireplace, but it was warm somehow anyway. M'yu looked for the heat source and surmised that, like the lights, it must have been built into the structure itself. He held in a whistle.

At the head of the table sat a small, elderly man with salt-and-pepper hair combed back beneath a small stone crown. M'yu drew short. He didn't know what he'd expected, but a wrinkled grandfather wasn't it. Other than the crown and the rich purple clothes hiding the peeking button of an LMS, the Tsaright could have been a retired mushroom farmer for all he looked, a neighbor of M'yu's mother's.

At the foot of the table reclined a pudgy boy in golden brocade, who was examining the sparkling rings on his fingers. His hair gleamed like a well-brushed cat's. His skin glowed so brightly there was no way dirt could ever have touched it. M'yu would have thought he was about his age—if it hadn't looked like the boy had eaten a few kids their age.

Dymtrus and Ruslan sat on the left side of the table. Two empty places remained at the Tsaright's right. Ruslan smiled at M'yu, a wicked thing as charming as a snake's fangs, and stood in greeting. Dymtrus rose slowly, the sway in his body language speaking of more irritation than respect. The boy didn't even look up. The Tsaright, still seated, just gestured at the places beside him. "Welcome. I was beginning to fear you wouldn't make it."

"I could never turn down an invitation from you." Aevryn smiled warmly. "Tsaright Xten, may I have the honor of introducing you to my apprentice and heir, Master Mykta z'Daras."

Xten's eyes glittered. "A pleasure, always, to meet another of Aevryn's apprentices," he said to M'yu. "You should count yourself honored to have such a renowned teacher."

They stood there, M'yu's smile and nod tight. Ice clinked as Ruslan drew his glass to his mouth, the only sound in the thick atmosphere.

"Aevryn, you of course know my champion. Oluto, Mykta." The old man gestured introductions between the boy and M'yu. Oluto nodded lazily. Not exactly champion material. "We've both been so looking forward to meeting you." Xten's smile was genuine enough, but if anything, Oluto appeared bored.

"Please." Xten waved. "Sit. You are my guests tonight. Enough with the formalities."

M'yu thought it strange Xten had dispensed with the formalities since no one was being formal in his honor; Dymtrus had been standing, albeit grudgingly, to honor Aevryn, who was of higher rank. Aevryn's reasons for not already having sat down were unclear. Perhaps it had something to do with the silent battle of glares and smiles passing between him and the Tsaright, but now everyone sat and servants came forward to serve.

The food smelled delicious, much finer than the simple fare that Aevryn's house cooked. If M'yu hadn't known better, he would have thought he'd landed in a middle-class house when eating at Aevryn's table, but this. M'yu shook his head, eyeing it all. The red beets glittered like rubies, the truffles—not witchcandy, he quickly assessed—glimmered like gold. Fresh herbs garnished the plate, not even grown to eat, as he'd recently learned, but just to look and smell pretty.

Xten took the first bite, and the meal began. The food was ridiculously fresh, stupidly well-prepared. The beets melted in his mouth like butter. He cut the food into small bites, slowly, so as not to stuff it into his mouth all at once. There could be something in this, he reminded himself, then looked up at Xten, with his small eyes and nose and hands. His proportions looked childish, his face wide with mirth and innocence, and M'yu bit his cheek and forced himself to look away. He couldn't imagine this being the man that had poisoned Ashya. He didn't look... evil enough.

"So," Xten said pleasantly, "tell me, Mykta, how are you settling into Scrollschool? Ruslan here was telling me you have classes together."

"Yes, sir, we do."

"Which is your favorite?"

He almost lied and said Ethics and Etiquette because it was the first class of the day, but that would be fairly easy to disprove. He was pretty sure everyone hated that class. "Maths, sir."

He raised a brow, looking to Aevryn. "Are you raising him up to be an engineer, then?"

Aevryn said, "They don't have any programming classes in his year. And there are plenty enough maths in programming."

"Is there?"

In a flash, M'yu realized another reason that Aevryn chose not to lie. Sometimes, people gave away more about what they knew than they covered about what they didn't. He wished he could peek into the Tsaright's brain and find what it was about coding that was so interesting that he wanted so badly to pretend he didn't know any of it.

"Aevryn would be the one to know," Dymtrus rumbled. "It's the one thing he's good at."

M'yu's fist tightened around his fork, and he took a careful bite.

"Thank you for your confidence, Dymtrus." Aevryn smiled.

"Tell me, Mykta," Xten said. "How exactly did you and Aevryn meet?"

M'yu chewed a bite, trying to remember what side of the story they'd told at the Magnate's dinner. "He freed me from the jail, sir, after I was falsely accused of burning down Magnate Tam's house."

"Oh, yes, Fesryn was telling me about that. A most thrilling story. And quite like our dear Aevryn to pick up... the heroic types."

M'yu bristled at the way the man eyed him, sifting for meaning in that shift of tone.

Dymtrus snorted. "Is it heroic to fail out of Scrollschool?"

The Tsaright turned to M'yu with a gentle question in his eyes, head cocked.

"He didn't fail," Aevryn said, taking a sip of his water. He swallowed, then nodded toward M'yu—at M'yu? The water is safe. "There was a misunderstanding. I think perhaps his fencing partner didn't teach him the word for yielding." He smiled at Ruslan. "You wouldn't perhaps have more information about that, would you?"

"He wished to yield?" Ruslan had the gall to look shocked. "I didn't realize. I thought he was training for Washfall. No yielding in the Trial. If you want to win, at least."

"Yielding is part of learning." Aevryn's icy blade eyes scraped over Ruslan. "But I suppose some of us never do quite learn that lesson."

M'yu took a careful sip of his water.

"Well," Xten said, beckoning at the servants, "we all have different styles." New plates were brought out, and Xten turned his pearly, baby-toothed smile on M'yu. "Tell me, what was it like growing up in the Gloam?"

M'yu's breath caught in his throat, and his fingers twisted into the napkin in his lap. This man who had everything while his people had nothing, who set that pig the Magnate over them, who had likely never set foot in the Gloam—this man had no right to know. No right to ask.

"Careful," Ruslan said. "He's very sensitive. He cries easily."

Oluto snorted. M'yu's eyes flicked up, and Dymtrus chuckled. "Does he now?"

"Come now, I'll not have that," Xten said. "I can't imagine how difficult it must be for him to be away from his home. We shall show him our utmost hospitality." He nodded encouragingly at M'yu. "You were saying?"

M'yu stuck the first bite from the new plate in his mouth. It was sweet potato melted with sugar and cinnamon and... M'yu rolled it around with his tongue, testing, before quickly taking his napkin and spitting it out. His mouth tingled and prickled from bits of witchcandy sprinkled throughout the bite.

Ruslan laughed and Oluto joined him, but Xten silenced them both with a raised hand. "Is something the matter, my boy?"

M'yu scanned the plate. The witchcandy was cut so small as to be invisible, but the bite he'd had must have been chocked full. The whole dish must be dusted with it, but he never would have known what it was if he wasn't so familiar with the du'chirep. Aevryn's plate was missing more than one bite; did he not know or was M'yu the only one with a different plate?

"Mykta, the Tsaright asked you a question," Aevryn said.

Ruslan wasn't acting strange, and neither was Dymtrus. He knew how they ate their candy; he'd watched it well enough at the Magnate's. No, this was a test all for him.

He shrugged apologetically at the Tsaright. "We didn't eat our food this way in the Gloam. I suppose I'm just not used to it yet." M'yu hoped he never got used to being drugged.

Aevryn cut a glance over to him, and M'yu knew he'd deviated from the line Aevryn fed him earlier. But M'yu didn't have to lie here, and he didn't want to give anything away by doing so.

"I see," the Tsaright said. "Well, I worried that might happen. I do try to be sensitive to the peculiarities of my guests." He smiled at M'yu and beckoned again to the servants. One slid away the witchcandy-laced plate while another plate was laid before him.

A plate of mushroom cakes.

M'yu's throat closed up. They were arranged beautifully, on a fine plate with little garnishes and a sauce drizzled in swirling patterns. Aevryn glanced between M'yu and Ruslan, but all M'yu could do was stare down.

"You'll have to excuse him," Aevryn said. "He just came out of the hospital this morning; I doubt he has his appetite back yet."

"He was treated for a du'chirep infection, wasn't he?" Xten said.

"Patients are due their privacy," Aevryn replied, voice as light and sharp as a well-balanced knife.

"He ate the first course fine. I thought this would be a nice taste of home for him."

M'yu blinked. "No, you're right. It'll taste just like home."

"Wonderful," the Tsaright said with a pleasant laugh. The room smiled at M'yu as he clenched his knife in his hand, politely cut a bite, and pushed it past his lips.

It still tasted like death, like blood, like bitter snow and cold dark nights, but M'yu swallowed it and took another bite. It tasted like the Gloam. It tasted like everything these pigs had foisted on his people, everything they had made them endure. It tasted like strength, like endurance, like grit. M'yu's people ate this meal every day. M'yu's people didn't get plucked out of their circumstance; M'yu's people didn't get to leave the table. They ate it because that's what it took to survive.