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Taly gave another shrug. “Because I’ve got more than enough enemies and not enough friends, and I’m tired of picking pointless fights, and… I don’t know. I just figured this was the part where we say uncomfortably personal things just for shits and giggles. I could be wrong, though. I haven’t had that many female friends.”

That easy, Aimee felt the hate shift into something less sharp, less all-consuming.

“I never loved Skylen,” she said because if that was the case—if this was the time to say the things that still needed to be said—thenthisstill needed to be said. “I saw him as a means to an end—a way to get myself out of Picolo.” She could feel Taly’s eyes on her like a physical weight. “You have to understand, mystepfather, he’s… not a good man. I thought if I married Skylen, I could get away from him.”

The noble Houses had stopped giving away their women in the wake of the birth crisis. Marriages now almost always involved the transfer of a man between families. But Skylen’s status, his crown, was enough of a prize to tempt Arys Thorne into petitioning House Thanos’ Matriarch to make the trade.

Taly slowly circled the room, looking at books and pictures, studying the vase of weeds glamoured to look like roses and smiling when she figured out the trick. “Is that what you’re wearing?” she asked.

Aimee looked down at her blouse. “Yes. Why?”

Taly finally dropped into a chair, crossing an ankle over her knee—sitting like a man and either too unaware or too uncaring to feel any shame at the display. “Because we’re going to a bar. And even at their cleanest, bar floors are still perpetually coated in a fine layer of vomit, stale beer, and whatever else people track in. It’s worse when it rains. The water makes everything into a nice little shit slurry, and that skirt is going to mop it right up.”

Aimee blinked. “You paint a… very graphic picture.”

Taly shrugged. “I just wanted to be sure you got the message and didn’t turn it down just to spite me. Bar floors are nasty. I might not like you, but I’m not heartless.”

Aimee laughed—truly laughed for what felt like the first time in too long. “Okay. I’ll change,” she conceded and grabbed her quill. “But only if you let me do something about that sweater.”

Taly picked at her sweater. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s hideous. That’s what’s wrong with it.” Aimee touched the tip of the quill to Taly’s cheek. The glamour shimmered as she began applying the first layer. “Now, don’t move. The glamour needs to be skin-tight, or the itch will be unbearable.”

Quiet fell, broken only by the scratch of the quill and the audible pop of magic as Aimee applied the first layer.

“By the way,” Aimee murmured, “I thought the sequel,The Shadow’s Dance,was better than the first.”

Taly frowned as the quill traced along her jaw. “I thought you’d never read it.”

“I lied.”

“Why?”

Aimee smiled a bit. “Because I thought you were going to be a bitch about it.”

“Oh. That’s fair.”

Taly stared at her face in the mirror—her human face.

It was simultaneously like seeing an old friend and a complete stranger.

The glamour was perfect. It didn’t itch at all. Anchored to a braided leather bracelet woven with silver thread and crystals, it masked her scent, her magic, and could stand up to even a shadow mage’s scrutiny, as they’d already been able to test. Ivain couldn’t detect even the faintest whiff of her magic.

Aimee knew what she was doing. When it came to glamours, at least. Taly would even admit that the outfit her newcousin—that word still felt so awkward in her head—had chosen wasn’t as bad as she’d been expecting.

Having Aimee pick apart her closet was painful, make no mistake. But it was Sarina joining halfway through that took it to a new level of agony. Together, they’d managed to browbeat Taly into heeled boots, black velvet leggings, and a black silk shirt layered beneath some blue brocaded bodicethingthat dipped low between her breasts and laced up her back like a corset.

It was uncomfortable, both the shoes and the bodice. Also, Sarina spent way too much time fussing with her hair, braidingback the sides and curling the rest. It was just going to flatten with the first burst of humidity.

But standing in front of her closet mirror, turning to admire the cinched-in curve of her waist and silently acknowledging that the boots did in fact make her legs look longer, Taly couldn’t say she hated the result.

Especially when she came down the stairs, and Skye’s breath hitched, a slow heat sparking in his gaze as he traced the line of her body. Lingering on the glimpse of skin revealed by the few buttons Aimee had insisted she leave undone.

“Well, there’s a familiar face.” He caught her hand and spun her, making her sway a little on the too-high heels. He caught her around the waist, steadying her. “Flawless, actually. And I suppose the glamour’s good too.”

Taly snorted. “Youdorealize that’s the worst line I’ve ever heard.”

He grinned, utterly unrepentant. “I’ll workshop it.” His fingers brushed one of her curls, absently twining the end around his fingertip. “Not going to lie—seeing you makes me feel a little better about this plan. Not by much, but enough.”