I USED to dream about visiting the palace when I was a child. I’d fantasize that I’d be chosen somehow, stopped in the street and told that Queen Madra had noticed me, a common street rat from the Third, and had decided she wanted me as a lady’s maid. I’d be given beautiful dresses to wear and exotic flowers for my hair, and I’d have hundreds of bottles of perfume to choose between. Every day, I would dine with the queen, and chefs from the north would treat us to feasts‚ our plates overflowing with mouthwatering food. Never once would we have to eat the same meal twice. I’d drink only the best wine from Madra’s stores, because I would have been the Queen’s favorite, naturally, and she would want only the finest, nicest things for her favorite lady’s maid.

As I’d grown older, the daydreaming had evolved. I was still chosen to be Madra’s lady’s maid, but I’d cared less about the dresses and the food. I’d wanted the position, needed to be Madra’s favorite, but not so I’d be lifted out of poverty to be kept like a novel pet. I’d suffered too much by then. Known too much injustice. Seen such unspeakable acts of violence that all of my innocence had been washed away. I’d needed to be chosen by the queen so that I could get close enough to kill her. I fantasized about how I would do it each night when I closed my eyes. When my mother was slain in the streets and left to rot, those fantasies were all that kept me sane.

I’d plotted a million different ways to secure myself an audience with the eternal virgin, our lady of Zilvaren, most revered Queen on high. From applying for a job in the kitchens to learning how to perform in the traveling theater that visited the city during Evenlight to scaling the walls

and breaking into the palace, I’d planned every minute possibility and eventuality and decided that it could be done, and it would be done. By me.

I never thought I’d find myself within the palace confines under these circumstances, with my hands bound tightly behind my back, ribs bruised and cracked, and a violet bruise blossoming like a death flower beneath my right eye. I wasn’t supposed to be gasping for air in a tiny, windowless box, with a river of sweat running down my back for six hours straight. This had not been the plan at all.

Captain Harron—I’d learned this was the bastard’s name—had tossed me unceremoniously into the tiny cell to await the Queen, and I’d been pacing up and down the length of the six-foot-long cell ever since, counting the minutes that passed by until they turned into hours. I was counting for counting’s sake now, purely so I could shut out the dark thoughts that had been assailing me since my arrival. I wouldn’t be any use to anybody if I let fear take root and panic to set in.

The city bells were ringing, signaling day’s end, when Captain Harron finally came back for me. My mouth felt like it was full of sand, and I was almost delirious from the heat, but I kept my back straight and my chin raised high as he entered the cell. His gleaming, beautiful armor was gone, replaced by a well-oiled leather chest plate, but the menacing sword with the cloth-wrapped grip still sat at his hip, his short sword sheathed at the other side. Adopting a casual lean up against the wall, he tucked his thumbs into his belt, and he looked me up and down; he didn’t seem all that impressed by what he saw. “Where did you learn to fight like that?” he demanded.

“Just hang me already and be done with it,” I snapped. “If you don’t hurry up and get on with it, you’re gonna miss your opportunity.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t bother trying to escape.”

I rolled my eyes. “I meant that I was dying of boredom in here.”

Captain Harron let out a mirthless laugh. “Apologies for the delay. Don’t worry. The Queen has plenty of ways of entertaining her guests. She just had some matters to attend to, and she wanted to make sure she could give you her full attention.”

“Oooh, lucky me. I’m honored.”

The Captain pouted, nodding. “You should be. Do you know how many people Queen Madra deigns to see in person these days?”

“Not many? I can’t imagine she has that many friends.”

Harron rubbed the pad of his thumb over the pommel of his sword. “Leave the sharp tongue at the door when we exit this cell. It won’t serve you well where I’m taking you.”

“You might be surprised, Captain. Most people think I’m pretty funny.” “Madra’s sense of humor runs a little darker than even you’re used to,

Saeris Fane. You don’t want to provoke her into using you for sport. But by all means, do as you wish. These are your last hours in the Silver City.” He shrugged. “Are you ready to meet your Queen?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” It was a relief to hear that my voice didn’t shake. My insides were a quivering, knotted mess as Harron took me by the arm and guided me through the lower levels of the palace, though. I breathed in through my nose and out through my nose, the pull and push of air level and drawn out, but the normally steadying technique did nothing to quiet my nerves.

Twenty-four years.

That’s all the time I’d been given in this cursed existence.

Despite how hard, and miserable, and hot, and frustrating it had all proven to be, I’d bizarrely hoped for more of it.

We hiked up endless staircases, Harron prodding me in the small of my back when I stumbled or tripped on a step. Once we were above ground, the palace proper sprawled out before us, all vaulted ceilings, arched alcoves, and disturbingly lifelike paintings depicting the dour faces of men and women whom I presumed were Madra’s predecessors. I’d never seen anything so grandiose before, but my head was swimming, black spots dancing in my vision, and I couldn’t muster up the energy to appreciate any of it. And I was being marched to my death. Funny how your own impending demise will rob a girl of her desire to take in the scenery.

Our trek through the palace seemed to take forever, but in truth, I was moving so slowly that Harron threatened to toss me over his shoulder and carry me three separate times. When I staggered, the cavernous hallway spinning around me in a blur of light and color, Harron dragged me roughly to my feet but then surprised me by shoving a water canteen into my stomach.

I took it, unscrewing the top as fast as my trembling fingers could manage. “I’m shocked. Wasting water on the dead?”

“You’re right. Give it back,” he growled.

But I was already drinking. I was so thirsty, so desperately dehydrated, that the water felt like liquid fire as it went down, but I paid no heed to the burn. I swallowed, swallowed, swallowed, panting down my nose as I fought to breathe around the flow.

“All right, all right. That’s enough. You’re gonna drown yourself,” Harron warned. When I didn’t return the canteen, he tried to rip it out of my hands, but I stepped back out of his reach. “You’re gonna drink the damn thing dry,” he groused.

This comment was the thing that finally made me lower the canteen. “Oh? Let me guess. You’ll have to walk all the way to a tap somewhere to refill it now, will you, Harron? My heart bleeds for you. Tell me, have you ever had to try and survive a day on the water ration Madra issues?”

“Queen Madra’s water allowances are more than generous—”

“I’m not talking about in the Hub or any of the fancy inner wards. D’you even know how much she gives us to drink every day? In the Third?”

“I’m sure it’s enough—”

“Six ounces.” I shoved the water canteen into his stomach so hard that his breath made an “ooof” sound as it rushed out of his body. “Six. Ounces. And our water doesn’t come from a tap. It comes from a standing reservoir that fills from your run-off. Do you understand what that means?”

“There’s a filtration process—”

“There’s a grate,” I snarled. “It catches the solids.”

Harron’s features remained impassive, but I thought I caught a flicker of something close to disgust in his eyes. He rolled out his shoulders, then shook his head, looping the canteen’s strap across his chest. “If the Queen’s advisors think that system works for the Third, then I’m sure it does. And look at you. You seem pretty healthy to me.”

The confession was right there, on the tip of my tongue. ‘If I seem healthy to you, then that’s because I’ve been stealing from the Hub’s water reservoirs my entire life.’

I caged the words behind my teeth. I was already neck-deep in shit, and I didn’t need to add water theft to my charges. And there was Hayden and Elroy to think about. They’d still need to siphon water to survive, and they wouldn’t be able to do that if the guardians suspected for even a second that such a crime was possible.

Harron shoved me forward again, but this time when I walked, the stone floor was a little steadier beneath the soles of my boots. “You people walk

around with those plague bags hooked on your belts,” I said. “You say our ward’s locked down so tight because we’re quarantined. You say we’re afflicted with a sickness. That we’re contagious. But we aren’t, Captain. We’re being slowly and methodically poisoned because we don’t matter. Because we ask questions. Because we say no. Because Madra sees us as a burden on the city. She feeds us foul, dirty water, and we die in droves because of it. Meanwhile, you and yours turn the handle, and fresh, clean water flows into your canisters. No one standing over you, looking over your shoulder, beating you and telling you enough. Have you ever asked yourself why—”

“I’m not paid to ask anything,” Harron interrupted in a clipped tone. “No, of course not. Like I said. Ask a question, and you’ll get sent to the

Third. It isn’t disease that’s contagious in my ward, Captain. It’s dissent. Anarchy and rebellion spread like a wildfire. And what do you do with a fire? You blockade it. Trap it behind a wall. Give it nowhere else to go until it burns itself out and dies a quiet death. That’s what Madra’s doing with my people. Except our fire hasn’t burned out the way she’d hoped it would. We’ve been reduced to embers, yes, but the coals that lie beneath the ash of my ward are still hot enough to burn. Do you know much about metalwork, Captain? I do. It’s under the most unbearable conditions that the sharpest, most dangerous weapons are forged. And we are dangerous, Captain. She’s turned us all into weapons. That is why she won’t suffer my people to live.”

Harron was silent for a long time. Then he said, “Just walk.”

The air danced with heat as we crossed an internal courtyard. I breathed a sigh of relief when we reentered the building through a crenelated archway, glad to be back in the shade. Harron refused to speak again as he ushered me toward our destination. We passed endless alcoves and hallways, but he didn’t stop driving the hilt of his sword into my back until we came upon a set of tall, dark wood doors, three times my height and at least eight times as wide. The captain produced a heavy, rusted iron key from his pocket and inserted it into the keyhole.

Why would a room within Madra’s own fortress need such an imposing door, and why would it need to be kept locked? I wanted to know but didn’t

ask. Harron was unlikely to give me an answer, and I’d find out soon enough, anyway. I was probably about to be fed to a pack of hell cats. An uneasy prickle bit at the tips of my ears as Harron shoved me through the doors. The air in the large, vaulted room beyond was no cooler than anywhere else in the palace, but there was a strange quality to it, as if it were thicker than normal and hadn’t been disturbed in a very long time. My feet felt like they were wading through shifting sand as I proceeded through the darkness toward a lone burning torch that hung on the wall.

In rows, huge sandstone columns filled the cavernous space, at least thirty of them propping up the buttressed ceiling high above. Our footsteps echoed around the hall, Harron guiding me by the shoulder now. I thought the hall must be completely empty, but as we drew closer to the flickering flame throwing shadows up the wall, I saw that there was a series of stone steps that led up to a dusty, raised platform.

Something long and narrow protruded from the platform. From a distance, it looked like some sort of lever. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it. My attention seemed to be snared by the shadowy shape, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t rip my gaze away. The closer we drew, the more focused I became. It was as if the platform were drawing me to it, beckoning me forward…

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” Harron tugged me away from the platform, back toward the flaring torch; I hadn’t even realized I’d altered course and was heading right for the stone steps. For a moment there, I’d lost myself, but the sound of the captain’s low, quiet voice brought reality rushing back into sharp relief.

I was suddenly feeling rather nauseous. The water I’d drained from Harron’s canteen rolled in my stomach, my mouth sweating unpleasantly, but I swallowed down the sensation, determined not to give the asshole the satisfaction of knowing he’d been right when he’d told me not to drink so fast. “What is this place?” I whispered.

“It used to be a hall of mirrors,” the captain answered. “But that was a long time ago. Stand still. And don’t think about trying to escape. This place is packed full of guards. You won’t get five feet beyond that door now.” He moved behind me and grabbed my wrists, binding them tight with rough hands. “There. Do not move.” He took the torch from the wall and gave me a stern look, half of his proud features cast into darkness by the flame.

He went about lighting other torches along the wall, then. Soon there were at least ten of them casting off circles of golden light that revealed the dour faces of long-forgotten gods chiseled into the stonework of the walls. Amongst them, the only two I recognized were Balea and Min, the physical embodiment of Zilvaren’s suns—twin sisters, identical in appearance, beautiful and cruel. The sisters stared down at me with regal indifference as Harron finished his task. Even with the additional burning torches, the hall was so vast that the darkness still licked up the walls and crept close across stonework as if testing the boundaries of the light, trying to push it back.

I did my best not to look at the steps, the platform, or the lever. I tracked the edgeless, blurred shape that was Harron as he returned, but even so, my eyes kept drifting, drawn back to the steps.

The silence vibrated in my ears—an uncanny, unsettling feeling, like the moments after a scream, when the terrible sound tears the air in two, and for a split second afterward, the memory of it hangs there, determined to still be heard. I found myself straining, listening as hard as I could, searching for a voice that wasn’t there.

Harron stood in front of me, his dark brown hair painted with strokes of copper beneath the torchlight. He opened his mouth to speak, and—

“I hear rumors,” a cool voice said. It was rich and low, though undeniably feminine. I startled, casting around for its source. I hadn’t heard the door open again, and there had been no echoing footfall against the stone, yet there was someone else in the hall with us now. Queen Madra emerged from the darkness as if she were made of it. People said she was young. Beautiful. Magnificent to look upon. I’d seen her from a distance, but never this close. It was hard to comprehend how someone who had ruled for so long could look like this.

Her skin was fair and flawless, her cheeks flushed pink. Her hair was the color of spun gold, thick and braided into complex knots. Bright, quick, intelligent blue eyes took me in as she approached. She was certainly beautiful. More beautiful than any woman I’d ever seen. Her gown was a deep, rich sapphire blue, made of a stunning, silken fabric that I’d never even laid eyes on before. She was a dainty, graceful thing, but just like everything else in this strange hall, there was something strange about her.

She gave me a coquettish smile as she came closer, absently twisting a golden bracelet around her wrist. Harron averted his eyes, bowing his head when the Queen looked to him. His deference appeared to please her. She

placed a familiar hand on his shoulder, having to reach up to do so, then turned around faced me.

“Rumors are wicked things,” she said. A moment ago, her voice sounded lower, full of reverberations, but it had altered somehow, and was now high and bright, as clear and pleasant as the ringing of one of Elroy’s glass bells. There was no anger on Madra’s face. If anything, her expression was one of curiosity mixed with mild amusement. The corners of her mouth tilted upward again, her eyes shining, bordering on kind. “I’m not fond of rumors, Saeris Fane. Rumors are next-door neighbors to gossip, and gossip always breaks bread with lies. It’s just the way these things go.”

She paced around me in a circle, those quick blue eyes drinking all of me in. “I apologize for the shackles, but I’m not overly fond of low-born rats from the Third, either. You never know where their hands have been. In the very least, they’re always dirty, and it’s so hard to get stains out of satin.”

Low born rats.

Her smile was welcoming, as was the softness of her gaze, but her words told the truth at least. She tipped her head back, exposing the column of her neck as she got a better look at me. Diamonds winked at her ears, and the choker that circled her throat dripped with glittering jewels that I didn’t even have names for. She wore no crown, which seemed odd considering the other finery she was decked out in. “Harron here tells me that you stole from me today. He tells me that you murdered two of my guardians?”

I said nothing. I hadn’t been invited to speak yet, and I knew how these things worked. I’d been dealt enough back-handed blows by the guardians to know that I shouldn’t make a peep until told directly to open my mouth. Madra huffed down her nose, arching a sardonic eyebrow at me as her smile widened. I got the impression that she was disappointed and had wanted me to breach propriety. “Theft of crown property is a serious charge, Saeris, but we’ll get to the armor you took shortly. First, you’ll explain how you managed to best two of my men. You’ll tell me who taught you to wield a sword. You’ll give me details. Names. Meeting locations. Everything you know. And when you’re done, if I feel that you’ve been honest, I will see about commuting a part of your sentence. Go ahead,” she commanded.

Turning her back on me, she started pacing up and down along the length of the wall, looking up at the stonework, at the torches, at the ceiling, waiting for me to speak.

“Get on with it,” Harron hissed between his teeth. “Delaying won’t aid your case, I assure you.”

“It’s all right, Harron. Let her get her falsehoods in order. It doesn’t matter. I’ll untangle her web even as she spins it.”

A bead of sweat streaked over my temple, rolling down my cheek, but I found myself shivering despite the stifling heat. I wanted to look at the raised platform. With every fiber of my being, I was desperate to look. It took every ounce of strength I possessed, but I managed to keep my eyes trained on Madra. “I taught myself,” I said. “I made myself a wooden practice sword, and I trained by myself.”

Queen Madra snorted.

I waited to see if she would say anything—she was clearly thinking

plenty—but she lifted her brows in a silent signal to continue. “That’s all there is to it,” I said. “No one trained me.”

“Liar,” the queen purred. “My guardians are seasoned fighters. Second to none when it comes to swordplay. You have been shown how to use a weapon, and I want to know by who.”

“I already told you—”

The queen’s hand whipped out, fast as lightning. Striking my cheek as hard as she could, the resulting crack echoed around the empty hall as her palm met my skin. Pain exploded in my jaw, traveling up into my temple. Damn, that hurt.

“It was the Fae, wasn’t it?” she hissed. “They’ve found a way through.

They’ve come for me at last?”

She’d hit me hard, but not *that* hard. I shouldn’t have been hearing things. Yet, I could have sworn she just said “the Fae.” “I don’t know what you mean.” I glanced at Harron, searching his face for any sign that this was some kind of twisted joke, but his expression was blank. Completely unreadable.

“What’s not to understand?” The queen’s words were as sharp and cold as ice.

“I’ve heard stories. But…” I hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Was she delusional? Did she also believe in unicorns, ancient lands swallowed by the desert, or forgotten gods? None of that was real.

As if she could read my thoughts, the queen’s lips curled into a slow, mocking smile. “The Fae were warmongers. Cannibals. Beastly creatures without temperance, morality, or mercy. The eldest Immortals unleashed their wrath upon the land with an iron fist, leaving chaos and destruction in their wake. The seven cities celebrated when I banished them. And now they send you to kill me?”

“I assure you, no one has sent me to do anything of the sort.”

Madra dismissed me with a bored tut. “They want this land, I suppose. Tell me, what will they do if I refuse to return these barren, worthless sand dunes to them?” she asked skeptically.

“I’ve already told you—”

“STOP… lying,” the queen snapped. “Just answer the question. The Fae want these lands. What do you think they’ll have to do to take my throne?”

It felt like a trap, but I had to say something. She was clearly unhinged, and denying my involvement wasn’t getting me anywhere. “Kill you,” I answered.

“And how do they plan to do that?” She seemed genuinely curious about my response.

“I—I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

“Hmm.” Madra nodded, pacing thoughtfully. “It strikes me that the Fae haven’t really considered how to destroy an immortal, Saeris. They seem foolhardy and ill-prepared to face someone like me.” Her vivid skirts rustled as she approached. “I will admit, the commotion you caused today *was* a bit exciting. I felt a flicker of…” She looked up at the crenelated archways above, frowning as if searching for the right word. Then she shrugged and looked back at me. “I suppose I’m just bored,” she said. “So long in power. No real threats to my throne. Nothing to do but drink wine and slaughter peasants for amusement. For a moment, you almost made me wonder…” Even with her cold, broad smirk, her beauty was undeniable. Maybe if the women of the Third had enjoyed the same luxuries as Madra, they’d be just as lovely. But as it stood, even spiteful and cold, she was still the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen.

She suddenly spun around, spreading her arms wide and laughing dryly as she gestured to the room around her. “That’s why we’re here, of course. I needed to see for myself if this place remained untouched. The banished Fae can’t return as long as everything here stays the same, you see. I knew nothing would have changed, but I do have a nasty habit of letting paranoia get the better of me.”

Her demeanor grew serious. She was a fine young woman in a fancy gown, spoiled and overindulged—but there was something ancient and malevolent lurking behind her bright blue eyes. “I should know better by now than to indulge the riffraff, Harron.” She addressed the captain, but her gaze drilled into me.

“Riffraff indeed, Majesty,” Harron replied stiffly. “It is a queen’s duty to protect her people. It’s only right that you investigate threats against Zilvaren.”

Bootlicking, flattering, fawning sycophant. The Harron I had met in the streets of the Third was nowhere to be seen, nor was the man who had dragged me up from the dungeons, kicking and screaming. This version of the captain was meek and diminished, fearful for reasons I couldn’t discern.

Madra didn’t seem impressed by his groveling, either. The corners of her mouth twitched upward just a fraction. “Deal with her, Harron. When you’re finished, go back to where you found her and root out the rest of her people.”

My people.

She didn’t mean…

A wave of panic took me. “No. My brother…I told you. He had nothing to do with the gauntlet. I swear—”

The queen’s face was blank as she reached out and ran an index finger down my cheek. I was slick with sweat. The air stank with my fear, yet the woman before me was impervious. Her skin, perfect and so very pale, bore no perspiration whatsoever. “You are a rat,” she said simply. “Rats are an eternal bane upon a city, it’s true. You can kill one, but it will already be too late. It will have spurned ten more before it found its way to you. Ten more grotesque, fat rats, gnawing away on grain that does not belong to them, tainting water that it has no right to drink. The only way to deal with a rat’s nest is to hunt it down and smoke out its occupants. Even if there are no Fae in the Silver City, somebody trained you. Somebody showed you how to hurt and kill my men. Do you think we’d leave a form of rebellion that insidious to fester? Oh no.” She bared her teeth, gripping hold of my jaw, her nails suddenly too sharp, too long, gouging into my skin.

“You took something of mine, girl, and I am not in the business of letting theft slide. So, I will take from you. First, your life. Then, I’ll make a column of greasy smoke out of those who matter to you, and when they’re

gone, I will tear the Third Ward to the ground. For the next one hundred years, anyone foolish enough to think twice about stealing from me will remember the black day Saeris Fane offended the Zilvaren crown and a hundred thousand people paid the price.”