M'yu threw open the door, used his lockpicks to secure it behind them, and gestured Aevryn along. They snuck through the halls as M'yu blocked cameras and checked routes with an eerie sense of deja vu.

The abandoned sector of the Prav'sudja was closer this time, and all the guards swarming the courtroom left fewer for them to dodge. Still, the balcony door burned a hole in the back of his mind. It was a small entry, but if the Tsaright heard about the commotion and made it back to the throne before they did—

He would have complete control.

M'yu doubled his pace, and they burst into the bridge's antechamber. M'yu tapped out the unlock, and Peitros's face sprang to life, asking them to identify themselves. M'yu jerked his chin at Aevryn.

The man stepped forward. "Prince Aevryn z'Daras, rightful heir of the Tsar."

A light flared out, running over Aevryn's body, and M'yu jumped back. That hadn't happened last time. M'yu's fist clenched. Rot. Last time, the AI had warned M'yu about being denied access if he were charged guilty. What if that was some sort of camera, some security system to alert the guards to collect their escaped convict?

M'yu moved to drag Aevryn back to safety when it clicked off. "The ship recognizes you, Prince Aevryn z'Daras."

The door hissed open, and M'yu just stared. Aevryn strode through, and M'yu hurried to catch up. "Wait. It let you..." The door clicked shut, and M'yu's eyes widened. "The trial isn't in the system. Because the Tsaright didn't use the AI. Your Right to Stand's not in the system."

Aevryn didn't answer, frozen in the middle of the bridge. He panned over the windows, the blinking consoles. His voice dropped to a murmur. "Peitros spoke about this place, but I'd always thought something had happened to it—destroyed, remodeled. To think, all this time..."

"This is the seat," he said, taking Aevryn's wrist and pulling him to the master console.

While Aevryn worked at the screen, M'yu kept an eye on his linkcard map. The paths out of the area were still clear, but that didn't ease the nerves running up and down his spine. He had barely fit through the vents; there was no way Aevryn would. If they got trapped here again—

M'yu swallowed and kept watch.

"Throne permissions updated, Prince Aevryn," the AI said. "The throne control now recognizes you, although deference will still be given to Tsaright Xten, in accordance with the results of the last Washfall Trial."

The holodisplay disappeared, and so did they, running back in double-time. On M'yu's screen, the halls shone thicker with guards now. They all poured toward the courtroom. "We're not going to hit a clear spot," he said to Aevryn.

"Then take us the least crowded way," the prince panted.

M'yu swerved down another hallway, twining through the path that only held one stray guard. He signaled to Aevryn, then stopped at the corner and peered around.

He froze. Red hair knitted with jewels streamed down Karsya's back, and her blood-red dress tied her up with a stiff bow. His jaw clenched, and his hands went slack, buzzing with a strange, helpless, red-hot energy.

The linkcard tumbled from his fingers. It hit the ground with a slap, and Karsya twisted. Her eyes widened, lips parting.

She reached for a jeweled dagger at her waist, and M'yu stepped out to the hallway in full. "Don't you dare," he bit out.

"Why?" The blade sang free of its sheath. "Scared I'll stab you in the back, like you did me?"

M'yu's face contorted, muscles bunching, head shaking.

A scrape sounded near the ground, and they both twisted. Crawling low, Aevryn snatched his linkcard up.

"You." Karsya dashed forward. M'yu reached out, but she twisted, slipping past by a breath of air. "You stole him!" she howled.

Aevryn tried to scramble up but slipped as he put weight on his bad hand. Her raised dagger gleamed, then struck down into the Prince.

M'yu snagged her around the waist. He tugged backward, and they both tumbled to the ground. Aevryn clutched his shoulder as Karsya flailed, her skirts flying.

"Go!" M'yu yelled at Aevryn. A sharp kick rammed into M'yu shin. She slipped from his grasp, aiming another kick back. He caught her foot and tugged. A crack rang as she bit the metal ground. "For rot's sake," he called, "get back to the throne!"

With blood leaking between his fingers, Aevryn clambered to his feet and took off. Rearing up, Karsya yanked back her dagger to throw.

M'yu tackled her, knocking her arm wide. She rammed back her other elbow. Sparks danced across M'yu's eyes, and his nose streamed.

Shoving up, she scrambled away, and M'yu grabbed out blindly. A fistful of cloth met his fingers, and he yanked. She fell to the floor again, on her back, and M'yu lunged, pinning her to the ground. He fought to grab her wrist, then banged her dagger hand to the ground one time, two, three, until the blade clattered to the floor.

Karsya bucked beneath him, tossing him tail-over-head into the wall behind. He crashed down. Karsya leapt atop him, whaling at his head with quick, furious blows that landed like fire. "You left," she screamed. A cut broke on his cheek with another punch. "You left me!"

"I never—"

A blow to his mouth shattered the words, and another to his throat left him breathless.

His hand scrabbled against the ground. Fingers finding the dagger's hilt, he swiped up and across.

Blood sprayed from her cheek and landed hot and sticky against his skin. Karsya gaped at him, just like the Vulture had the night M'yu had struck and struck again, desperate to keep this leering man away from his mother, to keep him from hurting him, to keep him from hurting anyone ever again.

M'yu shoved Karsya off, but she grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him on top of her. Blood dripped down her cheek and into her hair.

"M'yu," she breathed, and he was back there again—in the dark, with a body bleeding beneath him, hands sticky, brow slick with sweat, breaths fast and hard and hateful. "M'yu," she'd whispered from the door as his mother sobbed and the children screamed. Karsya had taken him by the shoulders; she had stood him up as he shook; she had looked him in the eye and nodded once, as if to say if to say it was alright.

She whimpered beneath him; he stared down at her now, searching for the same kinship he'd felt in that moment, for the girl he'd survived next to through the long winters, the one he'd planned the future with, who he'd nursed when she was sick, who he'd stared at one late night after another, failing to get up the nerve to kiss. All he saw was jewels and brocade and blood that matched the same. "M'yu," she begged, and he felt nothing. She was no one. No one but a traitor, a liar, a would-be murderer.

Like him. A traitor. A liar. A murderer.

His teeth gritted, eyes frosting up. "I never left you."

She trembled beneath him, her chest heaving with held-back tears. M'yu's throat closed up. Blood and tears mingled on her skin. She had never been fragile, but in that moment, she looked like she might burst into a million pieces. "M'yu," she whispered again, and his heart lurched.

He leaned closer. Softer than snow, his lips pressed once against her temple. She blinked up at him as he pulled away and pushed to his feet.

"I never left you, Karsya," M'yu said. "But I think—" His voice broke, and he tried again. "I think you left me a long time ago."

Her body quivered on the metal floor, all the brocade in the world unable to keep her warm. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Why would I do anything to you?" M'yu's lips pressed together bitterly as he stood over her, dagger trembling in his hand. "Why would I ever have done anything to you?" His eyes misted again, and he looked away. Shoving his hand down his shirt, he pulled his necklace out and tore it from his neck. It clattered to the ground next to her. 

"Karsya, none of us are innocent." His hand shook as he stepped away, sliding the dagger into his belt. "And if someone were, the two of us certainly wouldn't be good judges of it."

With that, he turned and left her behind.

* * *

The guard's banging lasted for hours, but with Aevryn in full control of the throne, the metal doors stayed locked, and the champions held out the night. M'yu bandaged Aevryn's shoulder like he'd bandaged so many of the gang kids before. The Prince didn't ask him what had happened, and M'yu didn't say. Once the guards' onslaught stopped, the whole room was deathly quiet, like the moments before a funeral.

"You should say something to them," M'yu murmured in the early morning hours, sitting at the foot of Aevryn's throne.

"You're the one that rallied them." Aevryn looked at him, brow raised. "They'll stand behind me, but they listen to you, M'yu."

A lump formed in the boy's throat. With jerky movements, he pushed to his feet. 

The susurration of the crowd stilled as he surveyed them from the balcony. Words dried in his mouth as dozens and dozens of hopeful, fearful, tired eyes looked to him, waiting. He'd always won the world with a laugh, with a careful bit of manipulation, with a white lie. That's how he'd gotten Lania to make the charge on the Magnate's House the night of her death: he'd downplayed the danger. He acted like he had the world under control because he thought that's what she needed to see.

"I don't know what's about to happen," he called out, and his words rang with a clarity that made him flinch. His voice lowered. "The Trial starts soon, and we'll have to open the doors we've kept desperately shut all night. The Trial starts soon, and we can't control what anyone else will do. The Trial starts soon, and we can't control its outcome."

He backed up from the balcony and stepped onto the stands closer to the champions. A breath caught in his throat, and as he pushed it out, a weight slipped from his shoulders. A tired smile tipped one side of his mouth, and he nodded at them, the words gaining solidity in his mind. "We can't control what happens next, but we can control what we will do. We can control what kind of people we want to be. We can control who we want to follow. We can control who we hurt."

He stepped down the rest of the stands, coming to stand among them. "We stood together all night long. Let's stand together one day more." Tipping his head back, he raised his voice. "For the Prince!"

"For the Prince!" they called back.

"For the future!" he cried, and they cried back.

"For peace!" he shouted.

This cry came back loudest of all, a roar in his ear that seemed like it might end the world. From the throne, Aevryn caught his eye. Well done, he mouthed, as he pressed the button on the throne to open the main doors, then slipped into the shadows of the private hall.

Guards and spectators alike streamed into the room as the champions took up their positions across the arena floor. Families brought children their forgotten LMS suits and swords. The room was full of huddles of terse whispers, parents and guardians no doubt wondering why their children never returned home on such an auspicious night. 

A hand clapped M'yu's shoulder. "You forgot this," Evriss said, handing M'yu the folded metal suit, a sheath laid atop it.

"I won't need it," M'yu said.

"You never know."

"What I know is that I'm not taking anyone's life today." He pressed the bundle back into Evriss's hands. "Please. Keep it."

Evriss tilted his head at him, but Ashya bounded forward and threw her arms around his neck. "Where's Daddy?" she whispered.

"Safe," he whispered back.

After squeezing him tighter, she let go and dragged Evriss and the equipment up into the stands. The Tsaright entered late, huffing through one of the main doors like a commoner. As he climbed to his throne, the rest of the crowd streamed to their places. M'yu set his stance toward the throne, and Xten's face twisted into a sharp, deadly smile. "Let the Washfall Trial begin!"

The preliminaries passed by in a blur. The Capital Houses named their champions; M'yu barely remembered to name himself. Houseless participants named their desire to compete and, if they succeeded, to work for a willing House. Sviya clipped a nod at M'yu, head held high. M'yu blew a cool breath past his lips, even while his hands turned clammy.

The AI lit to life and began The Right to Speak, presenting different competitors with mock trials. When his turn came, M'yu answered the questions with half of his mind, almost as if watching himself. The Right to Serve was even hazier—a pedestal rose out of the floor before him with a coding problem on a console screen. He solved with quiet, dreamlike strokes while contestants puzzled around him. The ethical challenge in the Right to Stand seemed almost bland after everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. He gave the simulated thief his last dollar and locked in his answer.

And then the crowd murmured with anticipation as Peitros's face flared to life for a fourth time. "Congratulations all. If you stand here still, you are equals among elites. You have proven you possess the tools to uphold the cornerstones of our kingdom: the Right to Speak the law, the Right to Serve the government and its people, and the Right to Stand in the place of another, to show mercy even at cost to yourself. We offer you now the Right to Sheath—"

Xten's fingers drummed against the throne—no, against its control panel. The image of the Tsar buffered just a moment, then picked up abruptly, "You may take your places."

M'yu wondered what part of the Tsaright's speech Xten had skipped and how many people had never noticed. A glitch, he bet people would say if asked. It's always been that way. But glitches could be patched, and the truth could only be hidden for so long.

Circles glowed to life under their feet, and everyone took their place in the ring belonging to their House. A shimmering shield went up around each group of champions. 

Next to M'yu was the whole Mercury House, where Ruslan fidgeted with the hilt of his sword. The other Housed champions ringed the room, expressions flickering. Sviya stood with the other Houseless at a disadvantage in the middle. They looked like prey, their backs to everyone, huddled inside the ring of wolves. If anyone charged, they would be the first to fall.

Sviya glanced back at M'yu, lips tight. They all know the risks, he reminded himself. They all know the reward. He met her eye and managed a nod. A smile trembled at her lips, and she nodded back, turning toward the throne. She won't be Lania. Please don't let her be Lania.

"At your ready!" the AI called. "And"—the shields came down—"fight with honor!"

The AI blinked out, and M'yu dropped to a seat on the floor. "For peace!" he called, even as some contestants rushed from their circle.

Sviya dropped to the ground as well, dragging some of the first-year girls with her. "For peace!" she called back.

The oldest Mercury House boy drew his sword, but Ruslan grabbed his wrist. "For peace," he said, tossing his own sword to the ground. "Unless you want to be the reason someone dies today."

The cry rang out across the room while champions sat and tossed aside their swords. In moments, the whole arena sat like school children, unarmed and waiting.